Thou, too, my soul, if wearing years have left Aught of high feeling in thy wasted powers, Of gratitude for mercies undeserved, Or hope of future favors, here and now, Upon this breezy hill-top, in the eye Of the bright day-god rising from his sleep, Perform thine orisons: 'Father and King, While here thy quickening breezes round me play, And yonder comes thy visible delegate With his bright scutcheon, to diffuse again All day the rays of thy beneficence Over this lovely earth, thy six days' work; To Thee, ALMIGHTY ONE! thy child would raise A loud thanksgiving. And if this, my strain Of joy and thanks, and supplication, be Or cold, or weak, or insincere in aught, (As our poor hearts deceive themselves so oft,) Thou! O OMNIPOTENT! canst make it warm,-- Warm as thy love, strong as thy Son's strong tears, And pure as thine own essence. Formed by Thee, Saved by thy mercy from thy wrath, we all Are guilty ingrates, and the best of men Hath sins perchance which might outweigh the worth Of all the angels. _I_, at least, have sinned, Sinned long and deeply; and if still my heart, Warped by its own bad passions, or allured By the world's glitter and the arts of him, Thy foe and our destroyer, should forget Its source and destiny, and breathe its vows Again to idols, yet reject Thou not This present offering. Let thy Grace surround My steps as with a muniment of rocks, And guide me in the uneven paths of life, A pilgrim shielded by thy hollow hand. And as the grateful earth sends up all day Her exhalations through the bibulous air To the sun, her monarch; and receives them back Rich, soft, and fertile, in the still small shower, That falls invisible from the morning's womb: So may my fervent heart exhale to Thee Daily, the breathings of its thankful prayer. And praise spontaneous; which thy heavenly grace Shall render back in a perpetual dew Of benedictions, making all the waste Green with cool verdure. Oh! the time hath been, When thy benighted children lost the creed Of thy true worship, and to brutes bowed down, And senseless stones, and, kneeling in sincere But vain devotion, to the creature gave The adoration due to Thee alone, The mighty Maker. Others strove to turn Thine anger from them, by the streaming blood Of human victims; and the reverend priest Stood up, and in the name of people and king, Prayed Thee, or some vain substitute, to bless The holy murder. Even thy chosen, thine own Peculiar nation, did forget that Thou Lov'st the oblation of a grateful heart, A holocaust self-sacrificed to God,[5] And trusted to the blood of bulls and goats, And whole burned offerings. And _still_ mankind Kneel in blind worship. Every heart sets up Its separate Dagon. Fierce Ambition breathes His burning vow, and, to secure his prayer,