Great God of Nature ! 'Tis thy voice 

 That bids th' obedient world rejoice ! 

 'Tis in the depths of ocean heard, 

 And in the forest— where the bird 

 Joins with her naate the song to raise, 

 And celebrate their Maker's praise. 

 The opening buds their offerings pour. 

 Their fragrance swells the teeming store 

 Of incense, caught from hill and dale, 

 And wafted on the spicy gale. 

 And there's the music of the breeze 

 That's answer'd by the murm'ring trees. 

 Afar the placid, lowing herd 

 Advancing to the well-known word ; 

 While, unseen, the cuckoo near 

 Pours his note upon the ear. 

 Soar upward to the glowing sky 

 Gay lark, with untaught melody; 

 And in thy early flight thou 'It meet 

 Near to earth — with burden sweet. 

 The grateful bee — and higher still 

 The giddy moth — but pause not till 

 Heaven's gate thou find'st in fields of air, 

 And sing thy morning anthem there. 

 Amidst this joyous sound of gladness 

 Shall man retain one tone of sadness ? 

 Shall he, for whom all things were given, 

 Refuse his offering to heaven ? 

 Shall be alone discordant be 

 Amidst creation's harmony ! 

 Ah no ! chase discontent away : 

 It suits not with this blithesome day: 

 By evil fears is evil brought — 

 Then for the morrow take no thought — 

 Blithe as the birds aloft in air. 

 Be now thy heart devoid of care : 

 This passing globe their only tie. 

 They sing their little song and die : 

 But thou shalt seek thy Maker's shrine — 

 A glad eternity is thine. 



