Sweet is it, when the stormy winds have roused The boisterous ocean, from on shore to view The toiling mariner; not that the pain Of others gives us pleasure, but for that To see what ills we ’scape ourselves is sweet: And it is sweet, when armies on the plain Array’d for battle join in mortal strife, To stand aloof from danger and look on: But nothing sweeter is, than all serene In the strong towers of wisdom high to dwell, And thence look down upon the wandering race Of men, that vainly seek the path of life; Vying in genius, or nobility; With unabated labour, night and day Striving to rise supreme in wealth or power. FROM LUCRETIUS. Avia Pieridum peragro loca.—Lib. IV. v. 1. Pierian heights, the Muses’ trackless haunts And wilds untrodden erst by mortal feet, O’er these I wander, haply there to find New flowers and fountains new; I love to drink Of the pure stream fresh-welling, and to cull A wreath of orient hues and odours rare, Whence never poet yet his chaplet wove. PSALM LXXII. ABRIDGED, AND ADAPTED[22] TO A PARTICULAR TUNE. Lord, to the King thy judgments give, Give to his Son thy righteousness: So shall thy people safely live, So he thy chosen flock shall bless. Great his dominion, large his sway O’er earth and ocean shall extend: Him shall remotest isles obey, Him the wide sea from end to end. War and the battle then shall cease, Then righteous men in favour stand; Peace shall return, a lasting peace; Plenty again shall store the land. While He, with choicest blessings crown’d, Long on his throne shall sit sublime; Honour’d by all the nations round, Honour’d by Kings of every clime. Blest be our God for these fair days, These happy days that rise again! O may his glorious name and praise Fill all the earth! Amen, amen. [22] By adapted, is here meant, partly, that the accented syllables in the verse coincide with the accented notes of the tune. MIDNIGHT DEVOTION. WRITTEN IN THE GREAT STORM, 1822. When the storm’s increasing roar, In the fearful hour of night, And the blast that rives my door Start the sleepers with affright; While the fierce descending rain And the warring winds of heaven All embattled rush amain On my fragile window driven; I, for those who bide this pelting, Breathe a prayer of charity, And, my soul with pity melting, Heavenly Father, call on Thee. SILBURY HILL[23].