The Landscape

G OD of Landscape's beauty, hail!
Who can skirt this charming Vale;
Who the paradise can see,
Nature's gem, and form'd by thee,
Unenraptur'd — uninspir'd,
His Creator un-admir'd?
Let an Atheist hither come,
All his obloquies are dumb.
Nor shall Beauty's dimpled cheek
To a thankless vision speak;
Infidels her glance explore,
And Impiety 's no more.
But is God a partial giver,
In the cheek? or in the River ?
Not a Valley — not a Hill —
Not a form that He could spill —
Man — could for the better change,
In Creation's ample range.
Dig the mountain's barren sod,
And the mine — proclaims a God.
Thus atoning for the face,
All the intellect is grace;
And, with claims for homage born,
Could a Sherlock's mind adorn.
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