green nurslings of his favor raise
Their dewy heads, and welcome his approach
With thankful greetings; and each gentle flower
Turns her fair face to the munificent god
Of her idolatry, and well repays
His warm caresses with her perfumed breath.

[4] 'When the morning stars sang together,' etc.
JOB: XXXVIII., 7. In the same chapter observe the
astonishing boldness of scripture personification,
and the unequalled pomp of oriental imagery.

But while inanimate nature takes the shows
Of life, and joy, and deep and passionate sense,
The animal kingdom sleeps not; all its tribes
Swell the glad anthem. Birds, that all night long
Slept and dreamed sweetly 'neath their folded wings,
At nature's summons are awakening now;
Nor unmelodiously; for from their throats,
In many a warbling trill, or mingled gush,
Comes music of such sweet and innocent strength,
As might force tears from the black murderer's eyes,
And make the sighing captive, while he weeps
His own hard wrongs, lift his chained hands, and pray
For his oppressor more than for himself.

Thou, too, my soul, if wearing years have left
Aught of high feeling in thy wasted powers,
Of gratitude for mercies undeserved,
Or hope of future favors, here and now,
Upon this breezy hill-top, in the eye
Of the bright day-god rising from his sleep,
Perform thine orisons:
'Father and King,
While here thy quickening breezes round me play,
And yonder comes thy visible delegate
With his bright scutcheon, to diffuse again
All day the rays of thy beneficence
Over this lovely earth, thy six days' work;
To Thee, ALMIGHTY ONE! thy child would raise
A loud thanksgiving. And if this, my strain
Of joy and thanks, and supplication, be
Or cold, or weak, or insincere in aught,
(As our poor hearts deceive themselves so oft,)
Thou! O OMNIPOTENT! canst make it warm,--
Warm as thy love, strong as thy Son's strong tears,
And pure as thine own essence. Formed by Thee,
Saved by thy mercy from thy wrath, we all
Are guilty ingrates, and the best of men
Hath sins perchance which might outweigh the worth
Of all the angels. _I_, at least, have sinned,
Sinned long and deeply; and if still my heart,
Warped by its own bad passions, or allured
By the world's glitter and the arts of him,
Thy foe and our destroyer, should forget
Its source and destin