Still sing the God of Seasons, as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the summer-ray,95
Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams;
Or Winter rises in the blackening east;
Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!
Should fate command me to the farthest verge100
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on th' Atlantic isles; 'tis nought to me;
Since God is ever present, ever felt, 105
In the void waste as in the city full;
And where He vital spreads there must be joy.
When even at last the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I chearful will obey! there, with new powers,110
Will rising wonders sing; I cannot go
Where Universal Love not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs and all their sons,
From seeming Evil still educing Good,
And Better thence again, and Better still,115
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable!
Come then, expressive silence, muse his praise.
THE END.
