TIME. 37 



Is he not standing in the self- same place 



^Vhere once we stood ! — The same eternity 



Hath gone before hira, and is yet to come : 



His past is not of longer span than ours, 



Though myriads of ages intervened ; 



For who can add to what has neither sum, 



Nor hound, nor source,, nor estimate, nor end ! 



Oh, who can compass the Almighty mind ? 



Who can unlock the secrets of the High ? 



In speculations of an altitude 



Sublime as this, our reason stands confest 



Foolish, and insignificant, and mean. 



Who can apply the futile argument 



Of finite beings to infinity ? 



He might as well compress the universe 



Into the hollow compass of a gourd, 



Scooped out by human art ; or bid the whale 



Drink up the sea it swims in. — Can the less 



Contain the greater ? or the dark obscure 



Infold the glories of meridian day ? 



What does philosophy impart to man 



But undiscovered wonders ? — Let her soar 



Even to her proudest heights, — to where she caught 



The soul of Xewton and of Socrates, 



She but extends the scope of wild amaze 



And admiration. All her lessons end 



In wider views of God's unfathom'd depths. 



Lo ! the unlettered hind, who never knew 

 To raise his mind excursive to the heights 

 Of abstract contemplation ; as he sits 

 On the green hillock by the hedgerow side, 

 What time the insect swarms are murmuring, 

 And marks, in silent thought, the broken clouds 

 That fringe, with loveliest hues, the evening sky. 

 Feels in his soul the hand of nature rouse 

 The thrill of gratitude to Him who form'd 

 The goodly prospect ; he beholds the God 

 Throned in the west ; and his reposing ear 

 Hears sounds angelic in the fitful breeze, 



