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What, night eternal—but a frown from thee ?
What, heaven's meridian glory—but thy smile ?
And shall not praise be thine ? not human praise ?
While heaven's high host on hallelujahs live ?

O may I breathe no longer than I breathe
My soul in praise to HIM who gave my soul
And all her infinite of prospect fair ;
Cut through the shades of hell, great love ! by THEE,
Oh most adorable, most unadored !
Where shall that praise begin, which ne'er should end ?
Where'er I turn, what claim on all applause !
How is night's sable mantle labour'd o'er !
How richly wrought with attributes divine !
What wisdom shines ! what love ! this midnight pomp,
This gorgeous arch with golden worlds inlaid,
Built with divine ambition, nought to THEE !
For others this profusion : THOU apart,
Above, beyond : oh tell me, mighty mind !
Where art thou ? shall I dive into the deep ?
Call to the sun, or ask the roaring winds
For their creator ? shall I question loud
* The thunder, if in that the ALMIGHTY dwells ?
Or holds HE furious storms in streighten'd reins,
And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car ?

What mean these questions ?—trembling I retract;
My prostrate soul adores the present GOD:
Praise I a distant DEITY ? HE tunes
My voice, if tuned; the nerve that writes, sustains;
Wrapp'd in his being I resound his praise :
But though past all diffused, without a shore

Pub-Junes, 1937, by R. Edwards, N. New Hand Street.