AN

ODE

TAKEN FROM

THE BEGINNING OF PSALM XIX.

I.

THE spacious firmament on high,

With all the blue ethereal sky,

The spangled heavens, a shining frame,

Their great original proclaim.

The unwearied sun, from day to day,

Does his Creator's power display;

And publishes to every land

The work of an almighty hand.

ODE

EX INITIO

PSALMI XIX. DESUMPTA.

I.

EXPANSA cœlorum, profunda cærula, Et arcuati qua patet spatium ætheris, Convexa stellis plena, splendens fabrica, Sui decoris indicant originem.

Lætus diurnum sol iter decurrere,

Quis ille fons declarat et lucis parens,
Et cuique terræ, qaum revisit, nunciat

Quam sancta se potensque formârit manus.

II.

Absente sole, cum statim vesper suas
Reducit umbras, luna carmen excipit,
Et singulis, ut eunt renarrat noctibus,
Sui quis ille magnus author luminis:
Quod et planetæ per vices, quod ignium
Pro se minorum totus affirmat chorus,
Et dum movetur quisque certis legibus,

Utrumque veritate pervadit polum.

III.

Solenniore quamlibet silentio

Circum hunc opacum orbem feruntur omnia,

Nec ulla clare vox ab extra, nec sonus

Tot lucidos auditur inter ordines;

Auditur intus, quam canoris vocibus,
Quibusque cœlum ferveat concentibus,
Ut hunc in hymnum concinat frequentia,
"Divinus est, qui nos creavit, artifex."

II.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,

The moon takes up the wond'rous tale, And nightly, to the listening earth,

Repeats the story of her birth:

Whilst all the stars, that round her burn,

And all the planets in their turn,

Confirm the tidings, as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

III.

What, though in solemn silence, all
Move round this dark terrestrial ball?
What, though nor real voice nor sound
Amidst their radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter fort!, a glorious voice,

For ever singing as they shine,

"The hand that made us is divine."

ON THE ASCENSION.

YE numerous hosts of angels bright,
Your winged multitudes prepare,

In all your grandeur to attend

The king of glory thro' the air.

O make your sweetest harmony,
As he triumphant takes his flight;
Towering on high above the sun,

Thro' realms immense of spacious light.

In choicest hymns, melodious throng,
Salute the conqueror, your king ;

In joyful lays and loudest strains,

Ye blest, your God returning sing.