How insignificant is mortal man, Bound to the hasty pinions of an hour! How poor, how trivial in the vast conceit Of infinite duration, boundless space! God of the universe! Almighty One! Thou who dost walk upon the winged winds, Or with the storm, thy rugged charioteer, Swift and impetuous as the northern blast, Ridest from pole to pole; Thou who dost hold The forked lightnings in thine awful grasp, And reignest in the earthquake, when thy wrath Goes down towards erring man, I would address To thee my parting pæan; for of Thee, Great beyond comprehension, who thyself Art Time and Space, sublime Infinitude, Of Thee has been my song!--With awe I kneel Trembling before the footstool of thy state, My God!--my Father!--I will sing to thee A hymn of laud, a solemn canticle, Ere on the cypress wreath, which overshades The throne of Death, I hang my mournful lyre, And give its wild strings to the desert gale. Rise, Son of Salem! rise, and join the strain, Sweep to accordant tones thy tuneful harp, And, leaving vain laments, arouse thy soul To exultation. Sing hosanna, sing, And halleluiah, for the Lord is great, And full of mercy! He has thought of man; Yea, compass'd round with countless worlds, has thought Of us poor worms, that batten in the dews Of morn, and perish ere the noonday sun. Sing to the Lord, for he is merciful: He gave the Nubian lion but to live, To rage its hour, and perish; but on man He lavish'd immortality and Heaven. The eagle falls from her aërial tower, And mingles with irrevocable dust: But man from death springs joyful, Springs up to life and to eternity. Oh, that, insensate of the favouring boon, The great exclusive privilege bestow'd On us unworthy trifles, men should dare To treat with slight regard the proffer'd Heaven, And urge the lenient, but All-Just, to swear In wrath, "They shall not enter in my rest." Might I address the supplicative strain To thy high footstool, I would pray that thou Wouldst pity the deluded wanderers, And fold them, ere they perish, in thy flock. Yea, I would bid thee pity them, through Him, Thy well beloved, who, upon the cross, Bled a dread sacrifice for human sin, And paid, with bitter agony, the debt Of primitive transgression.