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"He who beheld me at my humble toil,
Content and cheerful, in my native soil;
He who perceives you, from the frowning skies,
And all your rage and impotence defies;
He call'd me from my flock and pastures fair,
He gave the message which I boldly bear;
And which I bear 'till death: so spend your ire,
And wreak what vengeance your mad souls desire.
Say, whose strong arm compos'd this wond'rous frame?
Who quench'd the fury of the rushing flame?
Who fill'd with spacious orbs, the empty space?
Who made the mighty sun to know his place?
Who hung upon the cloud the dazzling bow?
Who from his cistern, bade the waters flow?
Who turneth light to darkness, night to death?
Who giveth life, and gathereth back the breath?
Who drives thro' realms immense, his flaming car?
To visit Orion, and the morning star?
Who gave this pond'rous globe, with nicest care,
To balance lightly on the fluid air?
Who rais'd the mountains to their lofty height?
Who speeds the whirlwind in its trackless flight?
Who darts thro' dark disguise, his piercing ken,
To read the secret thoughts and ways of men?
Who gave the morning and the midnight birth?
Whose muffled step affrights the trembling earth?
