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The elements and se'asons: all'/ decla're
For what the eternal Ma'ker/ has ordained
The powers-of ma'n: we feel within ourselves
His energy divi'ne; he tells the heart,
He/ m'eant, he ma'de us, to beho`ld and lo've
(What h'e beholds and lo'ves,) the general orb
Of life and being; to be great like hi'm,
Ben'eficent and active. Thus, the man'
(Whom Nature's works can cha'rm) with God himself
Holds con'verse; grows familiar, da'y by day',
With his conceptions; ac'ts upon his pl'an;
And forms to HIS'-the r'elish of his soul.



THE SE/ are thy glorious works (Parent of go'od ;)
Almighty! thi'ne this universal fra'me,

Thus wondrous fa'ir! thyself/ how won'drous the'n!
Unspeakable! who/ sittest above these Heavens,
To u's invisible, or dimly s'een

In the'se/ thy low'est wo'rks; yet the^se/ declare
Thy goodness/ beyond thought, and po'wer div'ine.
Spe'ak! ye, who be`st can t'ell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for y'e beh'old-him, and with so'ngs
And choral symphonies (da'y without night,)
Circle his throne rejoi'cing; ye in Heaven,
On ea^rth, join all ye creatures/ to extol

Hi'm first, hi'm las't, him midst, and w'ithout e'nd.
Fairest of stars, (las't in the train of night',)

If better thou belong not to the da'wn,

Sure pledge of da`y, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright cir'clet, praise him in thy sph'ere,
While da'y ari ́ses, that sweet ho'ur of prime.

* England's "prophet-bard "- -as some one has designated himJohn Milton-the glorious, the all-but-inspired John Milton (whom Dryden preferred to HOMER,) died in London (where he was born) in 1674, aged 66.


lower and slower.

Thou Su'n, (of this great world both e'ye and soul,)
Acknowledge hi'm thy grea'ter; sound his praise/
In thy eternal course, b'oth/ when thou clim'best,
And when high no`on hast gain ́ed, and wh'en thou fall`est.
Mo'on, that now meet'st the orient S'un, now fliest
With the fixed star's, fixe'd in their o'rb/ that flie's;
And ye five/ o'ther wandering fir'es (that move
In mystic dan'ce, not without s'ong,) resound
Hi's* pr'aise, wh'o, o'ut of dar'kness, called up light.
Ai'r, and ye el'ements, (the eldest birth
Of Nature's wom'h, th'at/ in qu'aternion/ run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mi`x,

And nou`rish all things :) let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Ma'ker/ still new prai`se.
Ye m'ists, and exhal`ations, that now rise
From hi'll or streaming la'ke, dus'ky or gra'y,
(Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,)
In honour to the world's great Au'thor/ rise';
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sk'y,
Or/ wet the thirsty ea`rth/ with falling sh'owers,
Rising, or falling, still advance his praise.

His praise, ye wi'nds, that/ from four quarters blow,
Breathe s'oft or lo`ud; and wave your to'ps, ye pi'nes,
With every plant, in sign of wor'ship wa've.
Fountains, and ye that war'ble, as ye flow,
Melodious m'urmurs, warb'ling tune his praise.
Join voi'ces, all ye living sou`ls; ye birds,
(That singing up to Heaven-gate asc'end,)
Bea'r on your wi'ngs, and/ in your notes/ his praise.
Ye that in wa'ters gli'de, and ye that walk
The earth, and sta'tely trea'd, or low`ly creep;
Wi'tness/ if I be s'ilent, mo'rn or e'ven,
To hi'll or valley, foun'tain or fresh sha'de,
Made vo'cal by my so'ng, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lo'rd! be bounteous st ́ill/]
To give us only goo'd: and, if the night
Have gathered aught of e`vil, or conce'aled,
Dispers'e it, (as now ligh't/ dispels the dark.)]

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Lower and slower.

* Pronouns, whether personal or adjective, when antecedents, it will be observed, require accentual force.

†The adjective "universal" should be pronounced slowly, and as reverentially as possible.




Now came still evening o'n, and twilight gra'y
Ha`d/ in her sober li'very/ all things cla'd.
S'ilence accompanied; for/ bea'st and bi'rd,
They to their grassy couch, the'se to their ne^sts,
Were slun'k; all/ bu't the wakeful nigh'tingale ;
She^/ all night long/ her amorous d'escant sun`g.
Silence was please'd. Now glowed the fi'rmament
With living sapphires: He'sperus (that le`d
The starry hos't) rode brightest; till the moon,
(Rising in clouded majesty,) at lenʼgth,
Apparent que en, unveiled her peerless light,
And o'er the dar'k/ her silver mantle thre'w;

When Ad'am/ th'us to Ev'e: " Fair con'sort, the hour
Of night, and all things now retired to re'st,
Mind u's of lik'e repo'se; since God hath se't
Lab'our and re'st (as day and night to man
Succ'essive ;) and the timely dew of sle'ep
(Now falling/ with soft/ slumbrous wei'ght) inclines
Our eyelids. O'ther creatures/ all day long
Rove i'dle, unemployed, and less need re'st;
Man/ hath his daily work of bo'dy or mi^nd
Appointed, whi'ch declares his dignity,
And the regard of heaven/ to all his wa’ys;
While other animals/ una'ctive range,
And/ of their do'ings/ Go'd takes no account.
To-m'orrow, (ere fresh morning streak the East
With first approach of light,) we must be ri'sen,
And at our pleasant la'bour/ to ref ́orm

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Yon flowery ar'bours, yonder a ́lleys green,
Our w'alk at noon, with branches overgrown,
That mo`ck our scant man'uring, and require

Mo`re hands/ than ou'rs/ to lo'p/ their wanton growth:
Those blossoms also, and those dropping gu'ms,
(That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsm'ooth,)
Ask rid'dance, if we mean to tread with ea'se:
Meanwhile, as Nature wi'lls, night bids us re'st."

To whom thus E've, (with perfect beauty ado'rned): My author and disp'oser! what thou bi'ddest Unar'gued/ I obe'y; so God/ ord'ains :

Go'd is they law, thoˇu mi^ne; to know no mo`re
Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her pra`ise.
With thee conver'sing, I forget all time :

All seasons, and their change; all/ please ali^ke.
Sweet is the breath of mo`rn, her ri^sing sweet,
With cha'rms of earli`est bi'rds; pleasant the su'n,
When fir'st/ on this delightful la'nd/ he spreads
His orient beams/ on herb', tree', fruit', and flower,
Gli'stering with de'w; fragrant the fertile eart`h
After soft show'ers; and sweet the coming on'
Of grateful evening mil'd; then silent night,
With this/ her solemn bi`rd, and this fair moon,
And the'se the ge'ms of heaven, (her starry train :)
B'ut, neither breath of m'orn, when she ascends,
With cha'rm of earliest bir'ds; nor rising su'n
On this delightful lan'd; nor frag'rance/ after sho`wers;
Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night,
With this/ her solemn bir'd; nor walk by mo^on
Or glittering star-light,—without the'e is sw'eet."
Thus ta'lking (ha'nd in ha'nd,) alone they passed/
O'n to their blissful bo'wer:-' There arrived, both stood,
Both turn'ed, an'd (under open sk'y) adored

The G'od/ that made both sk'y, air', earth, and hea'ven,
(Which they beh ́eld ;) the mo^on's resplendent gl'obe,
And starry po`le: Thoˇu also madest the night,
(Maker omn'ipotent!) and thou the da^y,
Which w'e (in our appointed work employed,)
Have finished; happy in our mutual he'lp
And mutual love, (the crown of all our bl'iss,)
Orda'ined by th`ee; and this delicious pla'ce,
(For u's too large :) where thy abu'ndance/ w'ants
Parta kers, and/ uncro'pped, fa'lls to the ground,
But/ thou hast pro'mised/ from us two/ a rac'e/
To fi'll the earth, who sha'll/ with u's/ extol
Thy goodness in'finite, both when we wake',
And when we s'eek (as n'ow) thy gift of sleep.


and slower.



Now Mor'n, her rosy steps in the eastern clim'e
Adv'ancing, sowed the eart'h/ with orient pearl,
When A'dam wa'ked: so 'cu'stomed, for his sleep
Was airy light, from pure digestion br'ed,
And temperate va'pours bla'nd, which the only sound
Of leaves and fuming ri'lls, Aurora's f'an,
(Lightly dispersed,) and the shrill matin so`ng-
Of bir'ds/ on every bo`ugh. So much the more
His wonder was to find/ unwa'kened E've,
With tresses discompo'sed, and glowing ch'eek,
As through unqui'et-rest. H'e (on his si'de
Leaning half-raised, with looks of cordial l'ove,)
Hung over her ena'moured, and beh ́eld
Beauty, wh'ich (whether wa'king or asleep,)
Shot forth peculiar-graces: then, with voi'ce
(Mild as when Zephyrus/ on Flora bre'athes,)
Her hand soft touching, wh'ispered th`us


My fai'rest, my esp'oused, my la test-found, "Heaven's la'st/ best gift', (my ever-new delight!) "Awa'ke: the morning shi'nes, and the fresh fiel'd "Ca'lls us. We lose the pri'me, to mark how spring/ "Our tended plants, how blows the citron gro've, "What drops the my'rrh, and whˇat/ the balmy re`ed; "How nature paints her co`lours, how the be'e/ "Sits on the blo'om, extracting liquids swe'et."

Such whispering wa'ked-her, but/ with startled ey'e
On A'dam: (whom embracing) th'us she spoke-
O S'ole (in whom my thoughts find all rep'ose,)
My gl'ory, my perfection; glad I see

Thy face, and mo`rn returned: for I this night
(Such night/ ti'll this/ I never pa'ssed!) have dreamed,
If drea med, no't, as I oft am wo'nt, of the e,
Wor'ks of day pa'st, or mo^rrow's next de ́sign;
But of offence and trouble, which my mind
Knew n'ever/ till this i'rksome night. Metho'ught
(Close at mine e'ar) one called me forth to walk/
With gentle voice; I thought it thin`e: it said-

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