C8 nEirr.y kirke whites POE^rs. 



(For why should sober reason cast away 



A thought which soothes the soul?) — yet still my spirit 



Shall wing its way to these my native regions, 



And hover o'er this spot. Oh, then 111 think 



Of times when I was seated 'neath this yew 



In solemn rumination ; and will smile 



With joy that I have got ray long'd release. 



LINES WRITTEX ON A SURVEY OF THE HEAVENS, 

 In the Morning before Dayhreah 



^Te many-twinlvling stars, who yet do hold 



Your brilliant places in the sabre vault 



Of night's dominions ! — Planets, and central orbs 



Of other systems I — big as the burning sun, 



Which lights this nether globe, — yet to our eye, 



Small as the glow-worm's lamp ! — To you I raise 



My lov/ly orisons, while all bewildered, 



My vision strays o'er your ethereal hosts ; 



Too vast, too boundless, for our narrow mind, 



Warped with low prejudices, to infold, 



And sagely comprehend. Thence higher soarinor, 



Through ye, I raise my solemn thoughts to Him ! 



The mighty founder of this wondrous maze, 



The great Creator ! Him ! who now sublime 



Wrapt in the solitary amplitude 



Of boundless space, above the rolling spheres 



Sits on His silent throne, and meditates. 



The angelic hosts, in their inferior heaven, 

 Hymn to their golden harps His praise sublime, 

 Kepeating loud, " The Lord our God is great," 

 In varied hanuonies. — The glorious sounds 

 Koll o'er the air serene. — The -.-Eolian spheres. 

 Harping along their viewless boundaries. 

 Catch the full note, and cry, " The Lord is great,'' 

 Eesponding to the Seraphim. — O'er all. 

 From orb to orb, to the remotest verge 



