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Poems on Several Occasions

By Mr. George Woodward
 
 

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A HYMN TO THE CREATOUR.
 


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A HYMN TO THE CREATOUR.

An Imitation of Milton's Style.

To Thee I'll lift my Voice, to Thee I'll sing,
Father of Light and Life! Thou Good Supreme!
Eternal Majesty! whose awful Throne,
Inviron'd by thick Waters, Clouds on Clouds
Convolv'd, support; Darkness embow'ring shrowds
Thy sacred Presence, to the feeble Eye
Of Man invisible, yet These thy Works,
This lower World, and yon huge starry Vault

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Bespeak thy Greatness; These thy Hand Divine
Proclaim, and Those thy Grandeur in the Heav'ns,
Infinite, ineffable, beyond all Thought
Incomprehensive: who shall tell thy Praise?
Who walk'st the Sun-pav'd Circuit of the Skies
From all Eternity, Thou Great Three-One!
E'er yet the mighty Fiat was sent out
Into rude Chaos, or Informing Light
Began to spring; e'er yet th' Ætherial Spirit
Soft-breathing o'er the watry Surface mov'd;
Before the deep Foundations of the Earth
Were stretch'd upon the Floods; before the Air,
Contexture Fine! was spun, or yon blew Fields
Of Æther were display'd; e'er the bright Orbs,
Worlds countless! were launch'd forth upon the Deeps
Of Space Interminate; before Old Time
Eldest of Things! e'er was, Thou art for ever,
Being uncreated! Self-Existent Cause!

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But how shall I attempt this mighty Theme?
How shall I sing of him, (whose high Behests
Were utter'd erst, on Sinai's radiant Mount,
In Clouds and dreadful Thund'rings; all the while
Was heard a shrilling Clangour wondrous loud,
Sonorous Metal breathing from on high
Tremendous Harmony, the Mountain smok'd,
Thick, dusky Vapours rising, Israel quak'd,
And trembled all below,) the groveling Muse
Sinks far beneath, nor dares renew her flight
Ætherial: O! ye flaming Pow'rs above!
Ye, who behold him dayly, and in Hymns,
And sacred Songs, rejoycing laud his Name,
His Greatness, Majesty, and wondrous Works,
Lend me your Harps, Oh! guide my trembling Hand,
Instruct my Heart, and teach me how to sing.
Begin the Song, ye Sons of Light! begin,
And sing th' Essential Presence: Thou, O Sun!

226

Regent of Day! proclaim him in thy Course,
Both when thou risest from the purpled East,
Emblazoning the Skies, or at Mid-day,
Or when thou bring'st grey Evening on, thy Beams
Shot parallel to Earth. Nor let the Moon
Not know by whom she shines, but as she rides
High on the silver Cloud, with all the Stars,
That lead the mystick Dance around the Heav'ns,
And all the Vocal Planets, joyn in Praise
Of God Eternal; let the waving Air
It's Districts wide expand, and up convey
The grateful Symphony: And ye, ye Winds!
That blow the Cardinals, your Force collect
In one continu'd Blast, and breath aloud
Triumphant Songs of Glory: O ye Birds,
In bolder Notes chaunt out his Praise: ye Springs!
And liquid Fountains! warble in your Flow
Your Author's Goodness, who ordain'd your Course,
And taught you how to run: ye lofty Pines!
And waving Cedars! bow, bow low your Heads,

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And pay your Homage due: ye scaly Tribes!
That see his Wonders in the mighty Deep,
A Voice assume, and make the Coral Groves,
And hollow Rocks your Maker's Praise resound.
Ye Beasts of ev'ry Wood, Forrest, or Chase,
Your Thanks express in hideous Savage Roar,
Shaking the howling Wilderness: Thou Bed
Of Waters deep, old Ocean! in whose Womb
Capacious, lurk unseen a horrid Brood
Of yelling Monsters, let thy hoary Sons
Their inmost Caverns quit, and mingle Praise;
Let too that Tempest-loving, huge Leviathan,
Whose Breath's a Storm, who shading half the Deep
Rides on the loud Sea-wave, and from his Mouth
Wide-snorting Spouts a Tide, let him attest
The Bounty of that God, who gave him Life,
And those wide, liquid Realms for his Possession,
To take his Pastime there. Ye Storms and Tempests!
Ye Clouds and Meteors! Hail and gushing Rain!
Wheel o'er the darken'd Air, and rend the Skies

228

With horrible Applause; let the loud Voice
Of Solemn Thund'rings, length'ning Peal on Peal,
Loading the Winds, the mighty Concert joyn.
And Thou, God's noblest Work! Man, Lord of All!
Created in his Image! look around,
And view with Reason's Intellectual Eye
This vast, complex, amazing Scene of Things,
This Theatre of Nature! then with all
Th' Harmonious Orbs on high, and all the Earth,
In Choral Symphony extoll that God,
Who is from all Eternity—O! Pow'r Supreme!
If ought of Evil is within me lodg'd,
Hid or conceal'd, may thy all-piercing Ray
Purge me and cleanse me, that (when all must end,
And Time shall be no more) with Angel-Choirs,
And all th' Ætherial Host, I may declare,
In Songs Cherubick, joy'n'd with Harps Seraphick,

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And Heav'nly Voices, (when the Morning-Stars
Shall once more sing together) without End
Thy Pow'r, thy Glory, and thy wondrous Works.