The Knickerbocker/Volume 13/Number 5/God in Nature
GOD IN NATURE
Come, climb along with me this mountain top,
Thou unbeliever in Eternal Good,
And look upon the wide outstretching scene,
That from the summit meets the eager sight!
Far as the eye may reach, a varied map
Of earth and water, upland, mead, and vale,
Of flowery fields, and forests waving wild;
Acres, which bless the thrifty farmer's toil,
And barren peaks, where not a leaflet grows;
This varied scene in solemn beauty lies,
On which each heart, with just conceptions fraught,
In admiration muses, and is mute.
What say'st thou, unbeliever, dark in soul!
Did chance accomplish all! Does chance maintain
The graceful harmony in constant round!
Come, thou most learned of unbelieving men,
Whose deep philosophy has mastered art,
Will all thy skill make such simple flower
As this frail blue-bell, that amid the crags
Looks up in beauty, smiling to the sun!
Thou canst not! Then, perhaps thou canst unmake.
Here is an atom, which thy art declares
To be the smallest part of matter known,
(Atoms on atoms piled, compose the world;)
Take this, and o'er it exercise thy power:
Destroy, annihilate! Thou look'st abashed!
Thy boasted skill is vain! Now, answer me:
If the mean dust be of immortal mould,
Why, what art thou, who to the soul denies
Its immortality? Blaspheming man!
Go hide thy pigmy head: In sackloth weep,
J. L.And pray thy soul may be by grace illumed!
Thou unbeliever in Eternal Good,
And look upon the wide outstretching scene,
That from the summit meets the eager sight!
Far as the eye may reach, a varied map
Of earth and water, upland, mead, and vale,
Of flowery fields, and forests waving wild;
Acres, which bless the thrifty farmer's toil,
And barren peaks, where not a leaflet grows;
This varied scene in solemn beauty lies,
On which each heart, with just conceptions fraught,
In admiration muses, and is mute.
What say'st thou, unbeliever, dark in soul!
Did chance accomplish all! Does chance maintain
The graceful harmony in constant round!
Come, thou most learned of unbelieving men,
Whose deep philosophy has mastered art,
Will all thy skill make such simple flower
As this frail blue-bell, that amid the crags
Looks up in beauty, smiling to the sun!
Thou canst not! Then, perhaps thou canst unmake.
Here is an atom, which thy art declares
To be the smallest part of matter known,
(Atoms on atoms piled, compose the world;)
Take this, and o'er it exercise thy power:
Destroy, annihilate! Thou look'st abashed!
Thy boasted skill is vain! Now, answer me:
If the mean dust be of immortal mould,
Why, what art thou, who to the soul denies
Its immortality? Blaspheming man!
Go hide thy pigmy head: In sackloth weep,
J. L.And pray thy soul may be by grace illumed!