Classic Poem

O Thou ! with never ceasing splendour crown'd,
Who dwell'st supreme amidst the etherial day;
Father of all! at whose all powerful word
This wondrous frame, with endless beauty crown'd,
Sprung out of nothing; Source of every good!
O! wouldst thou deign to animate my breast
With the least spark of thy celestial fire,
Then should the rapturous animated song
Flow unpolluted as the silver stream,
Soft gliding thro' the flower-enamel'd field.
— When the bright source of light
Pours o'er the plain the invigorating ray,
And bids the opening buds their breasts unfold
To meet his cheering beams: then shall my soul
With unaffected ardour pour the song
To Thee alone, and hail thy glorious name;
And when cool evening, solemn, slow, and still,
Spreads her grey mantle o'er yon eastern brow,
And contemplation fills my peaceful breast
With thoughts divine, beneath some rustic bower,
Then shall my artless tongue adore thy name,
And teach the listening echo how to praise Thee!
O first, and last, eternal, unconfined,
Thou all-creative power, who, thron'd sublime
Upon the whirlwind's wing, viewest unmov'd
The jarring elements, and at whose nod
Whole systems tremble; Thou, whose sovereign sway
Extends beyond the stretch of human thought,
Wilt Thou indulgent hear the lowly prayer
Of a frail son of earth! wilt Thou, whose eye
Darts through the dark abyss of endless night,
Descend to listen to my humble strain
That strives to chaunt thy praise? Thou wilt! Thou wilt!
Thy piercing eye surveys my inmost soul!
Thou seest th' unform'd idea in my mind,
Ere yet the accents murmur on my tongue.
To Thee, all-wise Disposer, I submit
My future life, and shouldst thou deign to send
Prosperity array'd in all her charms,
To strew my path with roses; may I then,
When fell disease with unrelenting hand
Writhes the pale victim on the restless bed,
And meagre poverty conjoins to raise
The horrors of his mind; oh! may I then,
With sympathetic sighs, relieve his pain,
Pour the sweet balm of pity on his woes,
Soft as the gentle dew from heaven descends.
And far from me remove the stoic pride,
That drowsy apathy of joy and sense,
That deadly languor of the feeling mind
And foe to every bliss. When that prevails,
Lost is each virtuous feeling of the soul;
The tear no more must stream for others' woes,
Dead to the sense of every dear delight.
But, oh! may Love and all its pleasing cares
Still flourish in my breast; still be the joys
Of virtuous friendship mine — 'tis these alone
Expand the heart, and bid the noble soul
Aspire to virtuous deeds; the only spring
Of every bliss the generous mind enjoys.
But should Adversity, with frowns severe,
Dash the bright cup of pleasure from my hand,
Whilst every summer friend with eager haste
Flies from her wintry blast: when left alone
Unpitied and neglected, when the bloom
Of youth shall fade, and age with trembling steps
Shall spread his hoary honors on my head,
And every day a gloomier scene unfold: —
O then, be Thou my guardian and my friend,
Nor let me sink beneath the weighty blow,
For wisest purpose, tho' unknown to me,
But say with heart resign'd, " Thy will be done. "

O Thou ! with never ceasing splendour crown'd,
Who dwell'st supreme amidst the etherial day;
Father of all! at whose all powerful word
This wondrous frame, with endless beauty crown'd,
Sprung out of nothing; Source of every good!
O! wouldst thou deign to animate my breast
With the least spark of thy celestial fire,
Then should the rapturous animated song
Flow unpolluted as the silver stream,
Soft gliding thro' the flower-enamel'd field.
— When the bright source of light
Pours o'er the plain the invigorating ray,
And bids the opening buds their breasts unfold
To meet his cheering beams: then shall my soul
With unaffected ardour pour the song
To Thee alone, and hail thy glorious name;
And when cool evening, solemn, slow, and still,
Spreads her grey mantle o'er yon eastern brow,
And contemplation fills my peaceful breast
With thoughts divine, beneath some rustic bower,
Then shall my artless tongue adore thy name,
And teach the listening echo how to praise Thee!
O first, and last, eternal, unconfined,
Thou all-creative power, who, thron'd sublime
Upon the whirlwind's wing, viewest unmov'd
The jarring elements, and at whose nod
Whole systems tremble; Thou, whose sovereign sway
Extends beyond the stretch of human thought,
Wilt Thou indulgent hear the lowly prayer
Of a frail son of earth! wilt Thou, whose eye
Darts through the dark abyss of endless night,
Descend to listen to my humble strain
That strives to chaunt thy praise? Thou wilt! Thou wilt!
Thy piercing eye surveys my inmost soul!
Thou seest th' unform'd idea in my mind,
Ere yet the accents murmur on my tongue.
To Thee, all-wise Disposer, I submit
My future life, and shouldst thou deign to send
Prosperity array'd in all her charms,
To strew my path with roses; may I then,
When fell disease with unrelenting hand
Writhes the pale victim on the restless bed,
And meagre poverty conjoins to raise
The horrors of his mind; oh! may I then,
With sympathetic sighs, relieve his pain,
Pour the sweet balm of pity on his woes,
Soft as the gentle dew from heaven descends.
And far from me remove the stoic pride,
That drowsy apathy of joy and sense,
That deadly languor of the feeling mind
And foe to every bliss. When that prevails,
Lost is each virtuous feeling of the soul;
The tear no more must stream for others' woes,
Dead to the sense of every dear delight.
But, oh! may Love and all its pleasing cares
Still flourish in my breast; still be the joys
Of virtuous friendship mine — 'tis these alone
Expand the heart, and bid the noble soul
Aspire to virtuous deeds; the only spring
Of every bliss the generous mind enjoys.
But should Adversity, with frowns severe,
Dash the bright cup of pleasure from my hand,
Whilst every summer friend with eager haste
Flies from her wintry blast: when left alone
Unpitied and neglected, when the bloom
Of youth shall fade, and age with trembling steps
Shall spread his hoary honors on my head,
And every day a gloomier scene unfold: —
O then, be Thou my guardian and my friend,
Nor let me sink beneath the weighty blow,
For wisest purpose, tho' unknown to me,
But say with heart resign'd, " Thy will be done. "