HYMNS.
113
The morning ſtars with joyful acclamation
Exulting ſung, and hail'd the new creation.
Yet this fair world, the creature of a day,
Tho' built by God's right hand, mud paſs away;
And long oblivion creep o'er mortal things,
The fate of empires, and the pride of kings:
Eternal night ſhall veil their proudeſt ſtory,
And drop the curtain o'er all human glory.
The ſun himſelf, with weary clouds oppreſt,
Shall in his ſilent, dark pavilion reſt;
His golden urn ſhall broke and uſeleſs lie,
Amidſt the common ruins of the ſky;
The ſtars ruſh headlong in the wild commotion
And bathe their glittering foreheads in the ocean.
But
