Beside the beasts that tread the ground,
The birds that cleave the air;
Seest thou how they the skill profound
And pow'r of God declare?

Is't by thy wit the hawk does fly,
And southward stretch her wings?
Or when cold winter drawing nigh
She wisely sunward swings?

Dost thou command the eagle's flight,
And bid her mount the sky,
Aloft to travel in her might,
And make her nest on high?

Dost thou the royal bird direct
Where thus to build her nest,
That no invading pow'r, or sect,
May dare her peace molest.

That with the strongest forts to vie,
She might her dwelling keep.
In craggy clifts, immensely high,
Insuperably steep.

Thence down her haughty eyes she bends,
Low valleys to survey;
And, like a thunderbolt, descends
To truss her heedless prey.

Then soon her crooked pounces bare
The carcass takes and tears;
And to her young, swift through the air,
The bloody banquet bears.

These creatures act by that instinct
For which thou can't account:
How must their Maker, dost thou think,
Thy silly views surmount?