 | The Poetical Works of Horace Smith |  |
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THE WORLD.
Oh, what a palace rare hast thou created,
Almighty Architect, for man's delight!
With sun, and moon, and stars illuminated;
Whose azure dome with pictured clouds is bright,
Each painted by thy hand,—a glorious sight!
Whose halls are countless landscapes, variegated,
All carpeted with flowers; while all invite
Each sense of man to be with pleasure sated.
Almighty Architect, for man's delight!
With sun, and moon, and stars illuminated;
Whose azure dome with pictured clouds is bright,
Each painted by thy hand,—a glorious sight!
Whose halls are countless landscapes, variegated,
All carpeted with flowers; while all invite
Each sense of man to be with pleasure sated.
Fruits hang around us; music fills each beak;
The fields are perfumed; and to eyes that seek
For Nature's charms, what tears of joy will start.
So let me thank thee, God, not with the reek
Of sacrifice, but breathings pour'd apart,
And the blood-offering of a grateful heart.
The fields are perfumed; and to eyes that seek
For Nature's charms, what tears of joy will start.
So let me thank thee, God, not with the reek
Of sacrifice, but breathings pour'd apart,
And the blood-offering of a grateful heart.
| The Poetical Works of Horace Smith | |