HYMN
,
WRITTEN
AMONG
THE
ALPS
.
CREATION'S
GOD
!
with
thought
elate
,
Thy
hand
divine
I
see
Impressed
on
scenes
,
where
all
is
great
,
Where
all
is
full
of
thee
!
Where
stern
the
Alpine
mountains
raise
Their
heads
of
massive
snow
;
When
on
the
rolling
storm
I
gaze
,
That
hangs
—
how
far
below
!
Where
on
some
bold
,
stupendous
height
,
The
Eagle
sits
alone
;
Or
soaring
wings
his
sullen
flight
To
haunts
still
more
his
own
:
Where
the
sharp
rock
the
Chamois
treads
,
Or
,
slippery
summit
scales
;
Or
where
the
whitening
Snow-bird
spreads
Her
plumes
to
icy
gales
:
Where
the
rude
cliff's
steep
column
glows
With
morning's
tint
of
blue
;
Or
evening
on
the
glacier
throws
The
rose's
blushing
hue
:
Or
where
by
twilight's
softer
light
,
The
mountain's
shadow
bends
;
And
sudden
casts
a
partial
night
,
As
black
its
form
descends
:
Where
the
full
ray
of
noon
alone
Down
the
deep
valley
falls
:
Or
where
the
sunbeam
never
shone
Between
its
rifted
walls
:
Where
cloudless
regions
calm
the
soul
,
Bid
mortal
cares
be
still
,
Can
passion's
wayward
wish
controul
,
And
rectify
the
will
:
Where
midst
some
vast
expanse
the
mind
,
Which
swelling
virtue
fires
,
Forgets
that
earth
it
leaves
behind
,
And
to
it's
heaven
aspires
:
Where
far
along
the
desart
air
Is
heard
no
creature's
call
:
And
undisturbing
mortal
ear
The
avalanches
fall
:
Where
rushing
from
their
snowy
source
,
The
daring
torrents
urge
Their
loud-toned
waters
headlong
course
,
And
lift
their
feathered
surge
:
Where
swift
the
lines
of
light
and
shade
Flit
o'er
the
lucid
lake
:
Or
the
shrill
winds
its
breast
invade
,
And
its
green
billows
wake
:
Where
on
the
slope
,
with
speckled
dye
The
pigmy
herds
I
scan
;
Or
soothed
,
the
scattered
Chalets
spy
,
The
last
abode
of
man
:
Or
where
the
flocks
refuse
to
pass
,
And
the
lone
peasant
mows
,
Fixed
on
his
knees
,
the
pendent
grass
,
Which
down
the
steep
he
throws
:
Where
high
the
dangerous
pathway
leads
Above
the
gulph
profound
,
From
whence
the
shrinking
eye
recedes
,
Nor
finds
repose
around
:
Where
red
the
mountain-ash
reclines
Along
the
clifted
rock
;
Where
firm
the
dark
unbending
pines
The
howling
tempests
mock
:
Where
,
level
with
the
ice-ribb'd
bound
The
yellow
harvests
glow
;
Or
vales
with
purple
vines
are
crown'd
Beneath
impending
snow
:
Where
the
rich
min'rals
catch
the
ray
,
With
varying
lustre
bright
,
And
glittering
fragments
strew
the
way
With
sparks
of
liquid
light
:
Or
where
the
moss
forbears
to
creep
Where
loftier
summits
rear
Their
untrod
snow
,
and
frozen
sleep
Locks
all
the
uncolour'd
year
:
In
every
scene
,
where
every
hour
Sheds
some
terrific
grace
,
In
Nature's
vast
o'erwhelming
power
,
THEE
,
THEE
,
my
GOD
,
I
trace
!