Poems on Several Occasions | ||
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Psalm the 139th.
I.
To thee, omniscient Being, I appeal;For 'twou'd be vain my Actions to conceal,
From thine all-searching Eye!
The Works thy pow'rful Hands have wrought,
In thy Immensity of Thought,
For ever open lie.
My rising up, and lying down,
My very Thoughts to Thee are known!
Known, 'ere their Schemes are model'd in my Mind,
Before I can their Form and Likeness find.
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And views the Embryo's of my Heart within.
Which way soe'er I turn my self about,
Thy Godhead finds me out!
Where'er I go, thou my Companion art!
Trace I the Valley, Wood, or Hill,
I cannot from Omniscience start:
Thou look'st Creation thro', and see'st me still!
Go I in publick, Thou art there!
In solitude, I'm ne'er alone!
My Bed is guarded by thy Care!
And all my secret Whispers reach thy Throne!
Such Knowledge is too great for Man!
'Tis Mystery all! who comprehend it can?
It is a Depth, that swallows up my Mind!
And, like thy Self, immense to all Mankind!
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Bewilder'd are, and lost!
II.
Cou'd I so foolish, so perfidious, prove,To think of once deserting God?
O whether cou'd my Fancy mean to rove,
Where Omnipresence keeps no fix'd Abode?
Whether, ah! whether cou'd I run
Thy universal Influences to shun?
To what Retirement cou'd I fly,
T'elude thy comprehensive Eye?
If to the Regions of eternal Day
I take my hasty flight,
There, dazzled with immediate Beams of Light,
I durst not make a Stay,
But downward seek my safer Way.
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For certain Refuge go,
Ev'n there almighty Terrors dwell,
And nourish never-ending Woe.
Unable there my residence to hold,
If, next, the Wings of Light I take,
And, with a Spirit, curiously bold,
Of some strange Land a new Discovery make,
Thy swifter Pow'r would first arrive,
And there arrest the Fugitive.
Beneath the cold, or burning Zone,
No Spot remains to Providence unknown!
O hide me, hide me, Shades of Night!
Thick Darkness is a solid Screen.
Vain Wish! one glance of piercing Light,
Can cut the Veil, and make the Sinner seen.
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Thro' Night's Disguise to clear a Way!
Enthron'd in Light, thy Self its sacred Spring,
Thou, with one undivided View,
Uncover'st Darkness' closest Wing,
And look'st its Horrors thro'.
III.
Thine are the Springs, that Life and Motion give!By thee alone, I move and live!
Long, ere my earliest Rudiments of Thought
Were found within my Mind,
Thou laid'st the Plan of me, now wrought
Into the Likeness of Mankind.
Betimes, I grew the Object of thy Care!
Each single Thread, in Nature's Loom,
By thee, was fashion'd in the Womb,
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Each Feature, Ligament, and Vein,
The very texture of my Heart,
Were Subjects of almighty Art.
Well do'st thou know whatever I contain,
And well thou can'st th' Anatomy explain.
But whether tends this Care divine?
Why all this waste upon my poor Machine?
“My Wonder, and my Gratitude to raise.
Yes, while I live, with deep amaze,
I'll wonder at thy Works, and sing thy Praise.
Let me into my self retire,
I cannot want Materials for my Song:
Reflection will the Muse inspire,
Awake my Harp, and tune my Lyre,
And drop melodious Homage from my Tongue.
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Which, since the Maze of Life I trod,
In spite of all my Wanderings, gracious prove,
Increase my Wonder, and my Debt to God.
When shall my poor Acknowledgments be done?
When shall I pay the Debt I owe?
Each Day, in more Arrears I run!
So high my great Account does grow,
That ev'n revising seems but new begun!
Poems on Several Occasions | ||