16 This past, the sun shines on the earth; and they Retire into their dens; man goes abroad Unto his work, and at the close of day Returns home with his load. 17 O Lord my God, how many and how rare Are thy great works! In wisdom hast thou made Them all; and this the earth, and every blade Of grass we tread declare. 18 So doth the deep and wide sea, wherein are Innumerable creeping things, both small And great; there ships go, and the shipmen's fear, The comely, spacious whale. 19 These all upon thee wait, that thou mayst feed Them in due season: what thou giv'st they take; Thy bounteous open hand helps them at need, And plenteous meals they make. 20 When thou dost hide thy face, (thy face which keeps All things in being,) they consume and mourn: When thou withdraw'st their breath their vigour sleeps, And they to dust return. 21 Thou send'st thy Spirit forth, and they revive, The frozen earth's dead face thou dost renew. Thus thou thy glory through the world dost drive, And to thy works art true. 22 Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole stage Is moved and trembles, the hills melt and smoke With thy least touch; lightnings and winds that rage At thy rebuke are broke. 23 Therefore as long as thou wilt give me breath I will in songs to thy great name employ That gift of thine, and to my day of death Thou shalt be all my joy. 24 I'll spice my thoughts with thee, and from thy word Gather true comforts; but the wicked liver Shall be consumed. O my soul, bless thy Lord! Yea, bless thou him for ever! THE TIMBER. 1 Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers Passed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodged in thy living bowers. 2 And still a new succession sings and flies; Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot Towards the old and still-enduring skies, While the low violet thrives at their root. 3 But thou, beneath the sad and heavy line Of death, doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark; Where not so much as dreams of light may shine, Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or bark. 4 And yet, as if some deep hate and dissent, Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, Were still alive, thou dost great storms resent, Before they come, and know'st how near they be. 5 Else all at rest thou liest, and the fierce breath Of tempests can no more disturb thy ease; But this thy strange resentment after death Means only those who broke in life thy peace. 6 So murdered man, when lovely life is done, And his blood freezed, keeps in the centre still Some secret sense, which makes the dead blood run At his approach that did the body kill.