Hears Nature's voice well tuned in praise of God.
Each blade of grass that springs beneath his feet,
The new-made hay, in Summer's fragrance sweet,
The flowers that to his eyes their charms disclose,
The waving grain, and every tree that grows,
Each insect fluttering in the bright sunbeams,
Or fishes sporting in pure crystal streams,
Or birds that raise their songs by morning light,
At High mid day, or through the moonlit night;
Each storm that rises, or pure breeze that blows,
The copious rains, or Winter's drifting snows,
Vast mountains rearing their hoar heads on high,
Each gem-like star set in the fair blue sky;
The herds wide feeding in the fields around,
All living things in every country found,
All these in their peculiar ways give forth
Praises to God, the Author of their birth!
"Then, why are _Men_ so silent?" he'd exclaim;
"And, those especially, who know His name:
Who, through His grace, enjoy a heavenly birth,
Why rise they not above the things of Earth?"
The "_why_" to WILLIAM, in his warm first love,
Did truly seem most difficult to prove.
He by experience knew but little then
Of the sad trials of his fellow men;
Nor e'er suspected that _the flesh_ remains
In each poor sinner who true faith obtains.
This bitter truth he soon was made to feel,
Which greatly damped his young and ardent zeal.
How humbling was the thought that human pride