When Phaebus had withdrawn his radiant beams,
And evening spread her sable curtains round;
In that soft hour when to the listening grove
Her pleasing, soothing, melancholy airs,
Poor Philomel begins — (the kindly dews
Shed their soft influence on the fragrant herb,
And gave fresh odours to the flowery shrub,
Refreshing to the sense — ) the charming scene
Alluring call'd to taste the evening air,
Amid the verdure of the lonely shade:
The lonely shade indulgent to the Muse.

Here may I stretch my wondering eyes around
O'er all the beauteous landscape, and behold
Almighty power and wisdom plain impress'd
On every tree, on every plant and flower.
All own the sovereign Architect divine,
And in their different language speak his praise.
The gentle zephyrs with harmonious breath,
Brush through the grove, and play along the stream,
And in soft whispers to the silver wave,
Speak their Creator's name, and die away.
The silver wave retains the pleasing theme,
Laves her glad banks, and gently murmuring on,
Bears to the neighbouring trees the welcome sound;
They bend their wavering tops, adore and praise.
The lofty mountains rear their towering heads,
Tall and majestic, to the fleecy clouds;
With awful pride confess their Maker God,
How great his power, how wide his dread command.
Dress'd in a thousand charms, the flowery vale
Displays his goodness in her cheerful bloom,
And smiling owns beneficence divine.

Harmonious all and fair! whole nature joins
To speak the wonders of creating skill;
Bids us in all his works confess the God,
And bend our souls adoring at his feet.

Whether with pleasing rapture I survey
The smiling green in rich embroidery drest,
Or the more solemn grove in shady state,
Or contemplate the smoothly flowing stream;
Or if I raise my wandering eyes to gaze
On yonder azure plain, unnumber'd beauties
Inspire my breast with wonder and delight.

Serenely bright ascends the silver moon
Attended by the innumerable train
Of sparkling stars, with rich profusion pour'd
O'er all the vast expanse; and every star,
In every beam, proclaims his Maker's praise.

O thou both nature's author and her lord,
Whose power and skill, in all thy works confess'd,
Demand the tribute of my noblest song;
Instruct my heart, and raise my humble thoughts
To trace thy forming hand in every scene,
And in thy works to meditate thy praise:
'Till, led by these, my raptur'd soul ascends,
On heavenly contemplation's soaring wing,
To thee, the sacred source of all perfection.