Classic Poem

Illustrious are the works divine
Which ev'ry man may see;
Both these that farthest off do shine,
And these most near the eye.

Each rational beholder must
Remember to extol,
And give the Maker, wise and just,
The glory of the whole.

Who can behold, but in amaze,
Th' eternal God? and who
Can count the number of his days,
Which no beginning know?

We sooner may, from pole to pole,
Our feeble arms extend,
Than can our little finite soul
His greatness comprehend.

Our thoughts o'erwhelmed at shadows grope,
In sentiments like this;
Losing their way, they're swallowed up
Into the vast abyss.

Th' Immortal view'd but in the skies,
His too resplendent light,
Does dash and dazzle mortal eyes,
For want of equal sight.

His hand dark meteors, high in air,
Does powerfully sustain,
Which he converts, around the sphere,
To gentle dews and rain.

Vapours exhal'd from earth to heav'n,
He wondrously restores,
And sends them back with int'rest given
In fructifying show'rs.

These from the drooping clouded skies,
He artfully distils;
And thus man's mouth with food supplies,
His mind with wonder fills.

Who knows how God extends his clouds,
And makes the tender air,
The pond'rous burden of the floods
And heavy waters bear?

Who can account, by human arts,
For that tremendous noise;
These awful murm'rings, fiery darts,
And most majestic voice;

That issue from these clouds commix'd,
And terribly declare,
That the Almighty God hath fixed
His high pavilion there?

Consider, too, how not in vain
He spreads upon the streams,
And on the wide and spacious main,
The sun's attractive beams.

To raise recruits for wasted clouds,
And levy fresh supplies
Of vapours, drawn up from the floods
To muster in the skies.

He these, for different purposes,
In wisdom doth employ;
Some serve in tempests, if he please,
The wicked to destroy:

Some not to curse, but bless the field,
And fatness on it drop,
That it in plenty meat may yield,
And crown the farmer's hope.

'Tween heav'n and earth clouds intervene,
Now as a fav'ring shade:
Then as a black sun darkn'ing screen
With stormy frownings spread.

Brute beasts the sign of rain descry,
By nature's instinct wise,
Observing, with a heedful eye,
The gath'ring meteors rise.

They soon, by certain signs can tell
If storms are nigh at hand;
Then seek they shelter where to dwell
Most safe, by sea or land.

These see and fly; shall men purblind,
More stupid than the storks,
Forget their God and rest, nor mind
To magnify his works?