attend; join every living soul,
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join; and, ardent, raise
An universal  to  ye gales,
Breathe soft; whose spirit teaches you to breathe.
Oh talk of  in solitary glooms!
Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely-waving pine
Fills the brown void with a religious awe.
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,
Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heaven
Th' impetuous song, and say from whom you rage.
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;
And let me catch it as I muse along.
Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound;
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
A secret world of wonders in thyself,
Sound His tremendous praise; whose greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall,
Roll up your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to ; whose sun elates,
Whose hand perfumes you, and whose pencil paints
Ye forests, bend; ye harvests, wave to
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,
Homeward, rejoycing with the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Ye constellations, while your angles strike,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.
Great source of day! best image here below
Of thy creator, ever darting wide,
From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On nature write with every beam his praise.
The thunder rolls: be hush'd the prostrate world;
While cloud to cloud returns the dreadful hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks,
Retain the sound: the broad responsive low,
Ye vallies, raise; for the  reigns;
And yet again the golden age returns.
Wildest of creatures, be not silent here;
But, hymning horrid, let the desart roar.
Ye woodlands all, awake: a general song
Burst from the groves; and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep,
Sweetest of birds! sweet  charm
The listening shades; and thro' the midnight hour;
Trilling, prolong the wildly-luscious note;
That night, as well as day, may vouch His praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles;
At once the head, the heart, and mouth of all,
Crown the great  in swarming cities vast,
Concourse of men, to the deep organ join
The long-resounding voice, oft-breaking clear,
At solemn pauses, thro' the swelling base;
And, as each mingling frame encreases each,
In one united ardor rise to heaven.
Or if you rather chuse the rural shade,
To find a fane in every sacred grove;
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's chaunt,
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the  as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the  the
Russets the plain, delicious  gleams;
Or  rises in the reddening east;
Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat.