"Wherefore nature's form
So exquisitely fair? her breath perfum'd
With such ethereal sweetness? whence her voice,
Inform'd at will, to raise or to depress
Th' impression'd soul,
and whence the robes of light,
Which thus invest her with more likely pomp,
Than fancy can describe? whence but from Thee,
O source divine of never failing love,
And thy unmeasur'd goodness not content
With ev'ry food of life to nourish man,
Thou mak'st all nature, beauty to his eye,
Or music to his ear; well pleas'd he scans
The goodly prospect, and with inward smiles, Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain,
Beholds the azure canopy of heav'n,
And living lamps, that overarch his head
With a more than regal splendor, lends his ears
To the full choir of water, air, and earth.
In ev'ry part
We trace the bright impressions of his hand,
In earth, or air, the meadow's purple stores,
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin form,
Blooming with rosy smiles, we see pourtray'd
That uncreated beauty, which delights
The mind supreme—"