A MIDNIGHT HYMN, TO DEITY. How grand and awful is this midnight hour! The world is still....and not a sound disturbs And gives it to the numbers that have pass'd. While all its scenes and all its noise are fled, Truths strike the mind with more impressive force. Almighty Power in his eternal counsels, Design'd a world the Theatre of Love. He spoke; all nature hear'd his awful voice. The sun roll'd burning from the hand of God. The vales and mountains spread beneath his beams; And in their channels flowed the wandering waters. The moonlight trembled thro' the shades of Eve, 22 And led the train of Night. Then joy arose. The voice of Music lull'd the peaceful scene: And thro' the thickets sang the hollow breeze. The fragrant herb wav'd to the breath of morn. The fowls of Heaven uprose upon the wing; And the deep forest shelter'd in its arms The Brutes that roam'd its haunts. “Let us make man"....spoke then Almighty power, In image like his God; " and let his rule Then from the dust, see man to being rise, Array'd in glory like his father God, Man thus abode not....but from honour fell. 31 The gates of Paradise were closed against him, Its shades no more would shelter his repose; 40 "Where came the voice of God at early morn." Its cooling stream would no more meet his lip, Or babble to his ear. A dreary world, Spread wide before his view, where toil and pain Stood arm'd, to bear him on the road of life; While o'er him howl'd the dark and angry sky. O son of morn....how art thou fall'n from Heaven The fall of angels was the fall of man. Or when he sinks beneath the western wave, 60 By Adam's disobedence earth was curs'd. In Nature's garden thorns and thistles grew: Chill o'er the vallies swept the howling blast, The thunders roar'd....the earthquake shook the globe; The mountains pour'd their streams of liquid fire, And blew o'er earth his pestilential breath. There came Misfortune with his iron scythe 70 Folded her arms upon her heaving bosom, Her face directed to the dewy moon. There came Remorse absorb'd in gloomy thought: There rush'd Despair....his dark eye roll'd in blood; He tore the mantle from his raging breast, 80 And plung'd his dagger in his heart....There came Poor Lunacy in tatter'd robes, and wav'd A straw, and told the kingdoms which he rul'd. |