Spring: Thursday Morning Poem by John Bowring

The heavens, O Lord! Thy power proclaim,
And the earth echoes back Thy name;
Ten thousand voices speak Thy might,
And day to day, and night to night,
Utter Thy praise,-Thou Lord above!
Thy praise-Thy glory-and Thy love.


All things I see, or hear, or feel,
Thy wisdom, goodness, power reveal.
The silent crescent hung on high,
So calmly sailing through the sky;
The lowliest flower that lights the dells;
The lightest wave the stream that swells;


The breeze that o'er the garden plays;
The farthest planet's glimmering rays;
The dew upon the distant hill;
The vapours that the valley fill;
The grove's untutor'd harmony-
All speak, and loudly speak, of Thee.


Thy name, Thy glories, they rehearse,
Great Spirit of the universe!
Sense of all sense, and Soul of soul,
Nought is too vast for Thy control;
The meanest and the mightiest share
Alike Thy kindness and Thy care.


Beneath Thy all-directing nod,
Both worlds and worms are equal, God!
Thy hand the comets' orbits drew,
And lighted yonder glow-worm too;
Thou didst the dome of heaven build up,
And form'dst yon snow-drop's silver cup.


And nature with its countless throng,
And sun and moon and planets' song,
And every flower that light receives,
And every dew that tips its leaves,
And every murmur of the sea-
Tunes its sweet voice to worship Thee.


Yes! all below and all above
Drink of Thy flowing stream of love;
Yes! wheresoe'er existence is,
There, there is greatness, hope and bliss:
There never was a mortal eye
Which has not shone with smiles of joy.


And all are bending to the spot
Where disappointment enters not;
The seed of man's mortality
Shall on earth's bosom scatter'd be,
And from its germs at last arise
Fair blossoms, fit for paradise.


And we, creation's princes, we,
The favourites of the Deity,
The wise-the strong-whose thoughts can soar
Heaven's brightest, highest concave o'er;
And hold, above created things,
Communion with the King of kings-


Shall we not praise and worship Thee,
Thou infinite Divinity?
Thank Thee for what we know-and own
Thou hidest what is best unknown;
And kindly, wisely, hast conceal'd
The future, from our vision veil'd?


Shall we disturb the harmony
Which all creation tunes to Thee;
Those sweet concordant notes, that sound
The arched hall of nature round;
That fill the earth, the sea, the air,
And reach Thy throne-accepted there?


No: rather our according voice
Shall in the general praise rejoice,
And join the ever-during hymn
With cherubim and seraphim-
With all to whom a tongue is given,
To worship Thee, the Lord of heaven.