- - Had returned to England, and had obtained a situation in the
Customs; and his wife, my friend Emilia, was keeping a school in the
village; so that I felt more solitary than ever, thus deprived of so
many kind, sympathising friends.
A SONG OF PRAISE TO THE CREATOR
Oh, thou great God! from whose eternal throne
Unbounded blessings in rich bounty flow,
Like thy bright sun in glorious state alone,
Thou reign'st supreme, while round thee as they go,
Unnumber'd worlds, submissive to thy sway,
With solemn pace pursue their silent way.
Benignant God! o'er every smiling land.
Thy handmaid, Nature, meekly walks abroad,
Scattering thy bounties with unsparing hand,
While flowers and fruits spring up along her road.
How can thy creatures their weak voices raise
To tell thy deeds in their faint songs of praise?
When, darkling o'er the mountain's summit hoar,
Portentous hangs the black and sulph'rous cloud,
When lightnings flash, and awful thunders roar,
Great Nature sings to thee her anthem loud.
The rocks reverberate her mighty song,
And crushing woods the pealing notes prolong.
The storm is pass'd; o'er fields and woodlands gay,
Gemm'd with bright dew-drops from the eastern sky,
The morning sun now darts his golden ray,
The lark on fluttering wing is poised on high;
Too pure for earth, he wings his way above,
To pour his grateful song of joy and love.
