Great Sol, arise! and spread thy lustre high-- Go warm the earth, and decorate the sky! When thou retir’st, the silver moon will rise, With pearly radiance, o’er those spangled skies! Without a cloud to intercept thy way, Go, clearly shine, and make the evening gay! God saw his work was great, when it he view’d, Approved the same, and then pronounced it good. And why this garden, walled so rich and fair, With glittering stone that is beyond compare-- With walks, and bowers, and interwoven scenes, With silver rivulets that roll between, Tossing their golden pebbles in the stream! Here richest fruits, in clusters ripe and fair, And variegated blooms perfume the air; Here beast of every kind, playful yet mute, And birds with plumage gay, and warbling throat, Chanting to their Maker with melodious note! And is the richness of these fruits conceal’d, That grow spontaneous in this fertile field? Is no one here these sweets to taste? And none the banquet share? Within these walls is a majestic form, Graceful and noble as the rising morn! Adam! survey thy wond’rous form, and see The image of thy God is stamped on thee! Be grateful, then, and be obedient, too; For this respect is to thy Sov’reign due. And here are richest fruits in store for thee; And all is thine, except that hallow’d tree: And should’st thou touch it, thou shall surely die! I have pronounced! Ask not the reason why.” Then Adam bows assent, and walks the rounds, To view the beauties of these fertile grounds-- He stops to listen to the bubbling stream, That gently trickles down the sloping green; And on his way he views the crystal pond Where gold-fish play. Delighted with the scene, he looks above, Adores the greatness of the God of Love. But day is done: Beyond the western hills now sinks the sun. Adam with wonder views the evening scene-- The first fair twilight he had ever seen. But now with drowsy sleep his eyes are pressed, For God has sanctioned all creation rest. In Christian attitude kneels to the shrine, And offers up his prayers in words divine; Then to his mossy pillow Adam goes, Nought to disturb or break his soft repose. He sleeps secure till morning light appears, And birds of Paradise salute his ears. Then o’er some loaded bough his arm he’s flung, Addressed his Maker with his morning song. Then to the willow’d meads he did repair, To view his flocks, and see them gambol there. With scrutiny, he sees each has a friend; In his own bosom he thus contends: But why am I exempt, my mind is good, And I’ve a speech well to be understood---- But here’s my Sov’reign.” “Adam, answer! why That downcast look--that soft, expressive sigh? Will not a Paradise for thee suffice?” “Great Sov’reign! oft I stand in ecstacy,