Thomson and Pollok: containing The seasons, by James Thomson, and The course of time, by Robert Pollok, A. M.

HYMN. 153
On Nature write with every beam His praise.
The thunder rolls: be hush'd the prostrate world, 70
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills: ye mossy rocks,
Retain the sound: the broad responsive lowe,
Ye valleys, raise; for4the GREASh~-LrERD-reigns,
And hi.onnuffering kingdom yet will come. 7
Ye woodlands all, awaKl: a boundless song
Burst from the groves! and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep,
Sweetest of birds! sweet Philomela, charm
The listening shades, and teailThe night His praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, 81
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all,
Crown the great hymn; in swarming cities vast,
Assembled men, to the deep organ join
The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 85
At solemn pauses, through the swelling base;
And, as each mingling flame increases x3ch,
In one united ardour rise to heaven.
Or if yoil rather choose the rural shade,
And find a fane in every sacred grove; 90
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the GOD OF SEASONS as they roll!--
For me, when 1 forget the darling theme,
Vhether the blossom blows, the summer ray 95
Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams,
Or Winter rises in the blackening east;
Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more,,And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!
Should fate command me to the furthest verge 100
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 the' Atlantic isles; 'tis nought to me:
Since GOD is ever present, ever felt, 105
In the void waste as in the city full: