12 INTRODUCTORY VERSES. 



His voice is in the tempest's wrath, 

 And in the soft south zephyr's path. 



For us, frail, feeble things of clay, 



Are all these beauties given, 

 The glorious, wide-spread orb of day, 



And the bright starry heaven; 

 The far-stretch'd waters, and the land, 



The mountain, and the plain, 

 These are the free gifts of his hand, 



And shall they plead in vain? 

 Rocks, hills, and flowers, their homage pav, 

 And shall we worship less than they? 



No — from the green enamell'd sod 



Let the soul's praises rise, 

 The living temple of our God, 



Arch'd by his own blue skies. 

 There, let thy grateful praise be heard, 



There, let thy prayers be given, - 

 And with the hymns of flower and bird, 



They shall ascend to heaven, 

 And sooner reach the eternal bowers 

 Breathed over beds of blushing flowers. 



