4
A viewless harp responds—soft tones arise,
And quick within an answering harp replies;
No more the vague and wild ideas float,
Charm'd into order by that blended note;
But waking genius strives, with fondest care,
To woo the magic music from the air;
The strong, unmeasured minstrelsey to bind,
In harmony by mortal pow'rs confin'd.
GOD DISPLAYED IN HIS WORKS.
WHO gave thee clothes to shield thy shrinking form?
Who gave thee shelter from the wintry storm?
Who gave the senseless beasts to be thy food?
Spread for thy use the pure and limpid flood?
Gave the quick ear to hear,—the mind to know,
The eye to sparkle, and the blood to flow?
Who gave the day of health—the night of rest,
Joy at thy call, and comfort in thy breast?
Who deals with kindest care thy chequer'd lot?
Whose arm sustains thee tho' thou see'st it not?
