Iii[Ck]

What if those bright fires Shine subject to decay, Sons haply of extinguished sires, Themselves to lose their light, or pass away Like clouds before the wind, Be thanks poured out to Him whose hand bestows, Nightly, on human kind That vision of endurance and repose. --And though to every draught of vital breath Renewed throughout the bounds of earth or ocean, The melancholy gates of Death Respond with sympathetic motion; Though all that feeds on nether air, Howe'er magnificent or fair, Grows but to perish, and entrust Its ruins to their kindred dust: Yet, by the Almighty's ever-during care, Her procreant vigils Nature keeps Amid the unfathomable deeps; And saves the peopled fields of earth From dread of emptiness or dearth. Thus, in their stations, lifting tow'rd the sky The foliaged head in cloud-like majesty, The shadow-casting race of trees survive: Thus, in the train of Spring, arrive Sweet flowers;--what living eye hath viewed Their myriads?--endlessly renewed, Wherever strikes the sun's glad ray; Where'er the subtle waters stray; Wherever sportive breezes bend Their course, or genial showers descend! Mortals, rejoice! the very Angels quit Their mansions unsusceptible of change, Amid your pleasant bowers to sit, And through your sweet vicissitudes to range!"