Downward I turn my wondering eyes
On clouds and storms below,
Those under regions of the skres
Thy numerous glories show.

The noisy winds stand ready there
Thy orders to obey,

With sounding wings they sweep the air,
To make thy chariot way.

There, like a trumpet, loud and strong,
Thy thunder shakes our coast?
While the red lightnings wave along,
The banners of thine host.

On the thin air, without a prop,
Hang fruitfuií showers around:
At thy command they sink, and drop
Their fatness on the ground.
PART III.

Now to the earth I bend my song,
And cast my eyes abroad,
Glancing the British isles along,

Bless'd isles, confess your God.
How did his wondrous skill array
Your fields in charming green;
A thousand herbs his art display,

A thousand flowers between!

Tall oaks for future navies grow, Fair Albion's best defence, While corn and vines rejoice below. Those luxuries of sense.

The bleating flocks his pasture feeds:
And herds of larger size,

That bellow through the Lindian meads,
His bounteous hand supplies.

PART IV.

We see the Thames caress the shores,
He guides her silver flood:
While angry Severn swells and roars,
Yet hears her ruler God,

The rolling mountains of the deep
Observe his strong command;

His breath can raise the billows steep,
Or sink them to the sand.

Amidst thy watery kingdoms, Lord,
The finny nations play,

And scaly monsters, at thy word,
Rush through the Northern sea,
PART V.

Thy glories blaze all nature round,
And strike the gazing sight,
Through skies, and seas, and solid ground,
With terror and delight.

Infinite strength, and equal skill,
Shine through the worlds abroad;
Our souls with vast amazement fill,
And speak the builder God.

But the sweet beauties of thy grace,
Our softer passions move;
Pity Divine in Jesus' face
We see, adore, and love.

GOD'S ABSOLUTE DOMINION.
LORD, when my thoughtful soul surveys
Fire, air and earth, and stars and seas,
I call them all thy slaves;
Commission'd by my Father's will,
Poisons shall cure, or balm shall kill;

Vernal suns, or Zephyr's breath,
May burn or blast the plants to death
That sharp December saves;

What can winds or planets boast
But a precarious pow'r?
The sun is all in darkness lost,
Frost shall be fire, and fire be frost,

When he appoints the hour.

Lo, the Norwegians near the polar sky,
Chafe their frozen limbs with snow,
Their frozen limbs awake and glow,
The vital flame, touch'd with a strange supply,
Rekindles, for the God of life is nigh:

He bids the vital flood in wonted circles flow.
Cold steel expos'd to Northern air,
Drinks the meridian fury of the midnight Bear,
And burns the unwary stranger there.

Enquire, my soul, of ancient fame,
Look back two thousand years, and see
Th' Assyrian prince transform'd a brute,
For boasting to be absolute;

Once to his court the God of Israel came,
A King more absolute than he.

I see the furnace blaze with rage
Sevenfold: I see amidst the flame
Three Hebrews of immortal name;

They move, they walk across the burning stage
Unhurt, and fearless, while the tyrant stood
A statue; fear congeal'd his blood:
Nor did the raging element dare
Attempt their garments, or their hair;
It knew the Lord of nature there.
Nature compell'd by a superior cause,
Now breaks her own eternal laws,
Now seems to break them, and obeys
Her sovereign king in different ways.
Father, how bright thy glories shine!
How broad thy kingdom, how divine;
Nature, and miracle, and fate, and chance are thine

Hence from my heart, ye idols, flee,

Ye sounding names of vanity!

No more my lips shall sacrifice

To chance and nature, tales and lies;

Creatures without a God can yield me no supplies.

My sorrows, like a flood,
Impatient of restraint,
Into thy bosom, O my God,
Pour out a long complaint.

This impious heart of mine
Could once defy the Lord,
Could rush with violence on to sin,
In presence of thy sword.

How often have I stood
A rebel to the skies,
The calls and tenders of a God,
And mercy's loudest cries!

He offers all his grace, And all his heaven to me; Offers, but 'tis to senseless brass, That cannot feel nor see.

Jesus the Saviour stands

To court me from above,

And looks and spreads his wounded hands, And shows the prints of love.

But I, a stupid fool,

How long have I withstood

The blessings purchased with his soul,
And paid for all in blood?

The heavenly Dove came down,
And tender'd me his wings,
To mount me upward to a crown,
And bright immortal things.

Lord, I'm ashamed to say
That I refused thy Dove,
And sent thy Spirit grieved away,
To his own realms of love.

Not all thine heavenly charms,
Nor terrors of thy hand,

Could force me to lay down my arms,
And bow to thy command.

Lord, 'tis against thy face
My sins like arrows rise,

And yet, and yet, O matchless grace!
Thy thunder silent lies.

O shall I never feel

The meltings of thy love?
Am I of such hell-harden'd steel
That mercy cannot move?

Now for one powerful glance,
Dear Saviour, from thy face!
This rebel-heart no more withstands,
But sinks beneath thy grace.

O'ercome by dying love, I fall,
Here at thy cross I lie;

And through my flesh, my soul, my All,
And weep, and love, and die.

Rise', says the Prince of Mercy, 'rise,' With joy and pity in his eyes:

Rise, and behold my wounded veins, Here flows the blood to wash thy stains.

'See my great Father reconciled:'
He said, and lo! the Father smiled;
The joyful cherubs clapp'd their wings,
And sounded grace on all their strings.

Flying Fowl, and creeping Things, praise ye the
Lord,-PSALM cxlviii. 10.

Sweet flocks, whose soft enamel'd wing
Swift and gently cleaves the sky;
Whose charming notes address the spring
With an artless harmony;

Lovely minstrels of the field,
Who in leafy shadows sit,

And your wondrous structures build,

Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light;
To Nature's God your first devotions pay,
Ere you salute the rising day,

Tis he calls up the sun, and gives him every ray.

Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide,
And wear upon your shining back
Numerous ranks of gaudy pride,
Which thousand mingling colours make;
Let the fierce glances of your eyes
Rebate their baleful fire:
In harmless play twist and unfold
The volumes of your scaly gold;
That rich embroidery of your gay attire,
Proclaims your Maker kind and wise.

Insects and mites, of mean degree,
That swarm in myriads o'er the land,
Moulded by wisdom's artful hand,
And curl'd and painted with a various dye;
In your innumerable forms

Praise him that wears th' ethereal crown,
And bends his lofty counsels down
To despicable worms.

Justice was pleased to bruise the God,
And pay its wrongs with heavenly blood;
What unknown racks and pangs he bore!
Then rose: the law could ask no more.

Amazing work! look down, ye skies;
Wonder and gaze with all your eyes;
Ye heavenly thrones stoop from above,
And bow to this mysterious love.

See, how they bend! See, how they look!
Long had they read th' eternal book,
And studied dark decrees in vain,
The Cross and Calvary makes them plain.

Now they are struck with deep amaze,
Each with his wings conceals his face:
Now clap their sounding plumes, and cry,
The wisdom of a Deity!

Lo, they adore th' incarnate Son,
And sing the glories he hath won;
Sing how he broke our iron chains,
How deep he sunk, how high he reigns!

Triumph and reign, victorious Lord,
By all thy flaming hosts adored :
And say, dear Conqueror; say, how long,
Ere we shall rise to join their song.

Lo, from afar, the promised day,
Shines with a well distinguish'd ray;
But my wing'd passion hardly bears
These lengths of slow delaying years.

Send down a chariot from above,
With fiery wheels, and paved with love;
Raise me beyond th' ethereal blue,
To sing and love as angels do.

LOOKING UPWARD.

THE heavens invite mine eye, The stars salute me round; Father, I blush, I mourn to lie. Thus grovelling on the ground.

My warmer spirits move, And make attempts to fly; I wish aloud for wings of love To raise me swift and high

Beyond those crystal vaults,
And all their sparkling balls;
They're but the porches to thy courts,
And paintings on thy walls.

Vain world, farewell to you;
Heaven is my native air:
I bid my friends a short adieu,
Impatient to be there.

I feel my powers released
From their old fleshy clod;
Fair Guardian bear me up in haste,
And set me near my God.

CHRIST DYING, RISING, AND REIGNING.

HE dies! the heavenly Lover dies!
The tidings strike a doleful sound
On my dear heart-strings: deep he lies
In the cold caverns of the ground.

Come, saints, and drop a tear or two,
On the dear bosom of your God;
He shed a thousand drops for you,
A thousand drops of richer blood.

Here's love and grief beyond degree;
The Lord of glory dies for men!
But lo, what sudden joys I see!
Jesus the dead revives again.

The rising God forsakes the tomb,
Up to his Father's court he flies;
Cherubic legions guard him home,
And shout him welcome to the skies.

Hark, the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches!
Lively bright horror, and amazing anguish,
Stare through their eye-lids, while the living worm
lies
Gnawing within them.

Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart

strings, And the smart twinges, when the eye beholds the Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance Rolling before him.

Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver,
While devils push them to the pit wide yawning
Hideous and gloomy to receive them headlong
Down to the centre.

Stop here, my fancy: (all away ye horrid
Doleful ideas,) come arise to Jesus,
How he sits God-like! and the saints around him
Throned, yet adoring.

O may I sit there when he comes triumphant, Dooming the nations! then ascend to glory, While our Hosannas all along the passage Shout the Redeemer.

THE SONG OF ANGELS ABOVE, EARTH has detain'd me prisoner long,

And I'm grown weary now;

My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue,
There's nothing here for you.

Tired in my thoughts I stretch me down,
And upward glance mine eyes,
Upward, my Father, to thy thione,
And to my native skies.

There the dear Man, my Saviour sits,
The God, how bright he sbines!
And scatters infinite delights

On all the happy minds.

Seraphs, with elevated strains,

Circle the throne around,

And move and charm the starry plains
With an immortal sound.

Jesus, the Lord, their harps employs,
Jesus, my love, they sing :
Jesus, the name of both our joys,

Sounds sweet from every string.

Hark, how beyond the narrow bounds
Of time and space they run,
And speak in most majestic sounds,
The Godhead of the Son.

How on the Father's breast he lay,
The darling of his soul,
Infinite years before the day
Or heavens began to roll.

And now they sink the lofty tone,
And gentler notes they play,

And bring th' eternal Godhead down,
To dwell in humble clay.

O sacred beauties of the Man!
(The God resides within)

His flesh all pure without a stain,
His soul without a sin.

Then, how he look'd, and how he smiled,
What wondrous things he said!
Sweet cherubs, stay, dwell here a while,
And tell what Jesus did.

At his command the blind awake,
And feel the gladsome rays;
He bids the dumb attempt to speak,
They try their tongues in praise.
He shed a thousand blessings round
Whene'er he turn'd his eye:
He spoke, and at the sovereign sound
The hellish legions fly.

Thus while with unambitious strife
'Th' ethereal minstrels rove
Through all the labours of his life,
And wonders of his love,

In the full choir a broken string

Groans with a strange surprise;

The rest in silence mourn their King,
That bleeds, and loves, and dies.

Seraph and saint, with drooping wings,
Cease their harmonious breath;
No blooming trees, nor bubbling springs,
While Jesus sleeps in death.

Then all at once to living strains

They summon every chord,
Break up the tomb, and burst his chains,
And show their rising Lord.

Around the flaming army throngs
To guard him to the skies,

With loud Hosannas on their tongues,
And triumph in their eyes.

Fire, thou swift herald of his face,
Whose glorious rage at his command,
Levels a palace with the sand,

Blending the lofty spires in ruin with the base:

Ye heavenly flames, that singe the air,
Artillery of a jealous God,

Bright arrows that his sounding quivers bear

To scatter deaths abroad;

Lightnings, adore the sovereign arm that flings His vengeance, and your fires upon the heads of kings.

Thou vital element, the air,

Whose boundless magazines of breath
Our fainting flame of life repair,

And save the bubble Man from the cold arms of death:

And ye whose vital moisture yields
Life's purple stream a fresh supply;
Sweet waters, wandering through the flowery
fields,

Or dropping from the sky;

Confess the power whose all-sufficient name Nor needs your aid to build, or to support our frame.