The forked lightenings, which, with double glare,
Sublimely wave, and linger in the air,
From thy dread arm with pointed fury fly,
And, ting'd with ruddy vengeance, fweep the fky.
The ray divine, o'er all the frame prefides,
Glows in the fun, and in the ocean glides.
From thee each atom of creation springs;
Hail great fupport of all inferior things!
The orbs above, and floating feas below,
Move by thy laws, and by thy influence flow:
All, rang'd in order, know their deftin'd place,
All but the mad, degenerate human race :
But thou canst order from confufion bring,
Bid peace from difcord, good from evil spring:
And when all nature frowns, and nations jar,
Set calms in ftorms, and harmony in war.
Great Jove fo juftly fram'd the earthly ball,
That univerfal good refults from all;
While common fenfe ftill fhines with certain ray,
And thro' the feeming maze points out the way;
Yet thoughtless men, to this bleft convoy blind,
Court the wild dictates of a restless mind;
Perversely fly the univerfal light,
And the sweet voice of heavenly reason flight.
Unhappy men who toil and hunt for blifs,
But the plain road of facred wifdom miss:
Led by this conftant, this unerring guide,
Thro' flowery paths, man's life would smoothly glide:
But urg'd by paffion, heedlefs we purfue
The first mad pleasures that invite the view.
Some avarice and fordid tafte inspire,
Ambition fome, and fame's ungovern'd fire;
Soft luxury fome, and Cyprian charms delight,
While all rush forward to the heaven in fight.
But thou, who thundereft in the vault above,
Correct these vain defires, O bounteous Jove!
Let god-like reafon in our bofoms dwell,
And from weak minds this lunacy expel;
A ray of wisdom on our fouls bestow,
By which thou rul'ft all nature's scene below:
Then with devotion fir'd, we'll hail thee king,
And in eternal fongs, thy wonders fing.
No greater good can men or gods attend,
Than at thy throne with proftrate hearts to bend.
OD of my health! whose bounteous care
Firft gave me power to move,
my thankful heart declare
The wonders of thy love?
While void of thought and sense I lay,
Duft of my parent earth,
Thy breath inform'd the fleeping clay,
And call'd me into birth.
From thee my parts their fashion took,
And ere my life begun,
Within the volume of thy book
Were written one by one.
beheld in open view
The yet unfinish'd plan;
The shadowy lines thy pencil drew,
And form'd the future man.
this frame that rising grew,
Beneath thy plaftic hands,
Be ftudious ever to pursue
Whate'er thy will commands.
The foul that moves this earthly load,
Thy femblance let it bear,
Nor lose the traces of the God
That ftamp'd his image there.
ON BEING WAKED IN THE NIGHT, BY A VIOLENT
STORM OF THUNDER AND LIGHTENING.
Ock'd in the arms of balmy sleep,
From every care of day,
As filent as the folded fheep,
And as fecure I lay.
Sudden, tremendous thunders roll;
Quick lightenings round me glare;
The folemn scene alarms my foul,
And wakes the heart to prayer.
Whate'er, O Lord, at this still hour,
These awful founds portend,
Whether fole enfigns of thy power,
Or groans for nature's end;
Grant me to bear with equal mind,
These terrors of the sky;
For ever, as thou wilt, refign'd,
Alike to live or die.
If, wak'd by thy vindictive hand,
This mighty tempest stirs
That peal, the voice of thy command,
These flames thy meffengers:
Welcome the bolt, where'er it fall
Beneath the paffing fun;
Thy righteous will determines all,
And let that will be done.
But if, as nature's laws ordain,
Nor deftin'd by thy will,
Each bolt exerts its wide domain,
Self-authoriz'd to kill,
Quick interpose, all-gracious Lord,
In this remorseless night;
Arife, and be alike ador'd
For mercy, as for might.
Vouchsafe, amidst this time of dread,
Thy fuppliant's voice to hear:
O fhield from harm each friendly head,
And all my foul holds dear.
Let it not kill where riot foul,
Pours forth the drunken jeft:
Nor where the guilt-envenom'd foul
Starts wild from troubled reft.
A while O fpare those finful breasts,
"Whose deeds the night deform,
Nor ftrike where smiling virtue rests,
Unconscious of the ftorm.
Succour the couch where beauty lies,
All pale with tender fear;
Where fickness lifts its languid eyes;
O pour thy comforts there!
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