Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on th’ Atlantic isles ; 'tis nought to me :
Since God is ever present, ever felt,
In the void waste as in the city full;
And where He vital breathes there must be joy.
When ev'n at last the folemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey ; there, with new pow'rs,
Will rising wonders fing: I cannot go
Where UNIVERSAL Love not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their fons ;
From seeming Evil ftill educing Good,
And Better thence again, and Better still,
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in Him, in Light INEFFABLE!
Come then, expressive filence, mufe his praise.