John Bowring

1792-1872 / England

Winter: Thursday Morning

Thou best of Beings!-now the night is fled,
And day awakes in all its bliss again;
Man, rising from his heaven-protected bed,
Is launch'd on duty's ever-flowing main.
Thou art the Lord! alike the day, the night,
Thy love proclaim-for each Thy love pervades;
Thou smilest in the Aurora's purple light,
And wrapp'st Thyself in evening's solemn shades.
God! Thou art Love! repeats the youthful spring;
God! Thou art Love! the summer days proclaim;
God! Thou art Love! the autumnal valleys sing,
And hoary winter echoes back the name.
Thou rock'st the cradle of sweet infancy,
Lead'st active youth thro' its fair path of flowers,
And manhood owes its golden fruit to Thee;
To Thee old age its calm and lovely hours.
Thou deck'st all nature with its swan-like robe,
Coverest the snow with million diamonds' gleam,
Bid'st icy pyramids tower above the globe,
And build'st Thy crystal bridges o'er the stream.
How infinite Thy works! the great, the small,
Rich with Thy bounty, teeming with Thy love,
All fraught with pure intelligence, and all
Tending to perfect bliss,-where Thou above
Shalt justify Thy purpose. We below,
The moral subjects of vicissitude,
Would to Thy holy dispensations bow,
Secure that all must end in boundless good.
How mild, how wise, how beautiful Thy reign!
Thy sun-an image of Thyself-O Lord!
Shines e'en upon the unthankful; and Thy rain
Is on the unrighteous, as the holy, pour'd.
Existence hangs upon Thy fostering cares,
And even the worst partake those cares divine;
Ingratitude itself Thy favour shares-
Ingratitude!-'midst favours such as Thine!
Ingratitude to Him, whose bounty gave
Life, and the joys of life; who leads us on
With gentle guidance even to the grave!
But who, alas! is not ungrateful? None.
His love protects us, leads us, lights us, cheers;
Gives to our morning, brightness, beauty, bliss;
Conducts us gently to the eve of years,
Crowns us with hope and peace and happiness.
My God! my Father!-on Thee will I rest-
Rest with unbounded confidence on Thee;
No slavish fears shall now enthral my breast;
I stand erect in holiest liberty.
Thou dwell'st in light unsearchable-and here
Thy children in a night of darkness roam;
But earth shall not detain the wanderer;
Heaven is his destiny, and heaven his home.
There peace and love, in holiest union bound,
Shall gild with everlasting smiles the scene,
And God's pure presence, scattering light around,
Fill every heart with joy and bliss serene.
110 Total read