the uncoloured sky, Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, Rising or falling still advance his praise. His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. Join voices, all ye living Souls; ye Birds, That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, Witness if I be silent, morn or even, To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still To give us only good; and if the night Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.”
So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm. On to their morning’s rural work they haste, Among sweet dews and flowers; where any row Of fruit-trees over-woody reached too far Their pampered boughs, and needed hands to check Fruitless embraces: or they led the vine To wed her elm; she, spoused, about him twines Her