The Works of Mr. Henry Needler

Arise, my Muse: Awake thy Sleeping Lyre,
And fan with tuneful Airs thy languid Fire.
On daring Pinions rais'd, low Themes despise;
But stretch thy Wings in yon' bright azure Skies.
Let not this chearful Prime, these Genial Days,
In Silence pass, so friendly to thy Lays.

Hark! how the Birds, on ev'ry blooming Spray,
With spritely Notes accuse thy dull Delay:
See how the Spring, adorn'd with gaudy Pride
And youthful Beauty, smiles on ev'ry Side!
Here painted Flow'rs in gay Confusion grow;
There chrystal Streams in wild Meanders flow:
The sprouting Trees their leafy Honours wear,
And Zephyrs whisper thro' the balmy Air.
All things to Verse invite. But, O! my Muse,
What lofty Theme, what Subject wilt thou chuse?
The Praise of Wine let Vulgar Bards indite,
And Love's soft Joys in wanton Strains recite;
With Nobler Thoughts do Thou my Soul inspire,
And with Diviner Warmth my Bosom fire.

Thee, BEST and GREATEST! let my grateful Lays,
Parent of Universal Nature, praise!
All things are full of Thee! Where-e'er mine Eye
Is turn'd, I still thy present Godhead spy!
Each Herb the Footsteps of thy Wisdom bears,
And ev'ry Blade of Grass thy Pow'r declares!
As yon' clear Lake the pendent Image shows
Of ev'ry Flow'r that on its Border grows;

So, in the fair Creation's Glass, we find
A faint Reflection of th' Eternal Mind.

Whate'er of Goodness and of Excellence
In Nature's various Scene accost the Sense,
To Thee alone their whole Perfection owe,
From Thee, as from their proper Fountain, flow.

Fair are the Stars, that grace the sable Night,
And Beauteous is the Dawn of Rosie Light;
Lovely the Prospect, that each flow'ry Field,
These limpid Streams and shady Forests yield:
To Thee compar'd, nor Fair the Stars of Night,
Nor Beauteous is the Dawn of Rosie Light;
Nor Lovely is the Scene, each flow'ry Field,
The limpid Streams and shady Forests yield.

Incapable of Bounds, above all Height,
Thou art invisible to Mortal Sight;
Thy-self thy Palace! And, sustain'd by Thee,
All live and move in thy Immensity.

Thy Voice Omnipotent did Infant-Day
Thro' the dark Realms of empty Space display,
This glorious Arch of heav'nly Sapphire rear,
And spread this Canopy of liquid Air.

At Thy Command, the Starry Host, the Sun,
And Moon, unerringly their Courses run;
Ceaseless they move, Obsequious to fullfil
The Task assign'd by Thy Almighty Will.
Thy Vital Pow'r, diffus'd from Pole to Pole,
Inspires and animates this ample Whole.

If Thou wert Absent, the Material Mass
Wou'd without Motion lie in boundless Space.
The Sun, arrested in his Spiral Way,
No longer wou'd dispense alternate Day;
A breathless Calm wou'd hush the stormy Wind,
And a new Frost the flowing Rivers bind.

Whate'er, thro' false Philosophy, is thought
To be by Chance or Parent-Nature wrought,

From Thee alone proceeds. With timely Rain
Thou sate'st the thirsty Field and springing Grain.
Inspir'd by Thee, the Northern Tempests sweep
The bending Corn, and toss the foamy Deep:
Inspir'd by Thee, the softer Southern Breeze
Wafts fragrant Odours thro' the trembling Trees.
By Thee conducted thro' the darksom Caves
And Veins of hollow Earth, the briny Waves
In bubling Springs and fruitful Fountains rise,
And spout their sweeten'd Streams against the Skies.

By Thee, the Brutal Kind are taught to chuse
Their proper Good, and Noxious things refuse;
Hence each conforms his Actions to his Place,
Knows to preserve his Life, and propagate his Race.
Hence the wise Conduct of the painful Bee;
Who future Want does constantly foresee,
Contrive her waxen Cells with curious Skill,
And with rich Stores of gather'd Honey fill.
Hence the gay Birds, that sport in fluid Air,
Soft Nests, to lodge their callow Young, prepare,

Rear with unweari'd Toil the tender Brood,
From Harms protect, and furnish 'em with Food.

But Man, whom thy peculiar Grace design'd
The Image of thine own Eternal Mind,
Man thy chief Favourite, Thou did'st inspire
With a bright Spark of thy Celestial Fire.
Rich with a Thinking Soul, with piercing Eye
He views the spacious Earth and distant Sky;
And sees the various Marks of Skill Divine,
That in each Part of Nature's System shine.
Him therefore it becomes, in grateful Lays,
To sing his bounteous Maker's solemn Praise.

University of Virginia Library

A VERNAL HYMN, In PRAISE of the CREATOR.