The sun goes down, the stars come out ; Look up, and God provides them food. Morn dawns far east; ere long, the sun And night returns to them in dreams: How manifold thy works, O Lord, In wisdom, power, and goodness wrought! The earth is with thy riches stor❜d, And ocean with thy wonders fraught: Unfathom'd caves beneath the deep For Thee their hidden treasures keep. There go the ships, with sails unfurl'd, And tribes that range immensity, By Thee alone, the living live; Hide but thy face, their comforts fly; Take Thou away their breath, they die : Joy in his works, Jehovah takes, ON THE LONGEST DAY. Addressed to Laura. BY WORDSWORTH. LET us quit this leafy arbour, And the torrent murmuring by; Weary of the open sky. Evening now unbinds the fetters All that breathe are thankful debtors Yet by some grave thoughts attended, For the day that now is ended, Laura! sport as now thou sportest, Who would check the happy feeling That inspires the linnet's song? Who would stop the swallow wheeling On her pinions swift and strong? Yet, at this impressive season, Words which tenderness can speak, From the truths of homely reason, Might exalt the loveliest cheek; And while shades to shades succeeding, Steal the landscape from the sight, I would urge the moral pleading, Last forerunner of " Good night!" Summer ebbs: each day that follows Tending to the darksome hollows, He who governs the creation, To the life of human kind. Yet we mark it not: fruits redden; Fresh flowers blow as flowers have blown; And the heart is loath to deaden Hopes that she so long hath known. Be thou wiser, youthful maiden! POWER OF MUSIC. BY WORDSWORTH. An Orpheus! an Orpheus! yes, faith may grow bold, And take to herself all the wonders of old: Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same, In the street that from Oxford hath borrow'd its name. His station is there; and he works on the crowd, What an eager assembly! what an empire is this! The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss ; The mourner is cheer'd, and the anxious have rest; And the guilt-burthen'd soul is no longer opprest. As the moon brightens round her the clouds of the night, So he, where he stands, is a centre of light: |