Spring: Friday Morning Poem by John Bowring

Sing thy Creator's praise, and own
Him greatest-wisest-God alone;
He wraps himself in robes of light,
And, clothed in garments pure and bright,
Of honour and of majesty,
He makes the skies His canopy.


The pillars of His temple are
Built on the ocean; and His car,
The clouds of heaven. Th' Eternal Mind
Rides on the pinions of the wind:
A thousand spirits wait His will,
And, touch'd with fire, His word fulfil.


Thou rear'dst the universe sublime
On arches of unshaken time-
And wrap'dst this vast terraqueous globe
With the deep waters as a robe-
And badst the eternal hills sustain
The o'erhanging pregnant clouds of rain.


At Thy decree the waters fall-
They hasten at Thy thunder's call;
Down from the rocky heights they gush,
And thro' the thirsty valleys rush
On to the vast receptacle,
Where Thou hast bid the waters dwell.


There hast Thou girt them with a shore,
That they may flood the earth no more:
While thousand and ten thousand rills,
Wand'ring among the mazy hills,
Fresh from their sparkling fountain burst,
Where the wild asses quench their thirst.


'Tis there, along the streamlet's side,
The winged fowls of heaven abide;
Among the waving boughs they sing,
That overhang the crystal spring;
The hills are water'd from above,
And earth reflects a heaven of love.


He bids the emerald verdure grow,
He makes the smiling flow'rets blow;
He plants the roots, He sows the grain,
A common feast for beasts and men:
To each He gives his portion'd food-
He, ever active, wise and good!


He bids the loaded vine produce
For man its generous, joyous juice;
And oil that makes his face to shine,
And bread to nourish-all is Thine,
Thou great, life-giving Deity!
Yes! all we have we owe to Thee.


The life-sap at Thy bidding flows
Thro' the young trees-the cedar grows
Tow'ring above the mountain's crest,
Where the wood songster builds her nest;
While 'mid the solitary pines,
The careful stork her home enshrines.


To the rude rocks the conies fly;
The wild goats seek the mountains high;
While o'er them the benignant moon
Shines mildly-and the night, the noon,
In their appointed courses fall:
Govern'd by Him who governs all.


'Tis night-Thou spreadst the darkness deep:
The wild beasts from their hidings creep,
And the young lions seek their prey
From their Creator-till the ray
Of morning calmly dawns, and then
They slumber in their lairs again.


Man to his daily labour goes,
Until the evening brings repose.
O Lord! how great, how manifold
Thy works, how glorious and untold!
Their ever-during songs proclaim
The vast perfections of Thy name.


The mighty, the unbounded sea,
(Image of Thine immensity!)
Fill'd with ten thousand creatures-all
Sharing Thy care, the great, the small:
The whale's gigantic mass-the swarms
Of unseen myriads' insect-forms.


The ships the busy billows crowd;
And 'midst the waters rushing loud,
(He owns not the control of man,)
The huge, the dread leviathan
Sits on his ever-shifting throne,
And claims that kingdom for his own.


On Thee they wait, on Thee depend-
While Thou, their ever-present Friend,
Provid'st their food;-Thy plenteous hand
Outstretch'd, fills all the sea, the land,
With good, which they, delighted, gather
From Thy great store, Thou gracious Father!


Thy face is hidden-darkness clouds
The trembling earth; Thy frowning shrouds
Existence with its gloom; Thy ray
Is hidden from them-they decay:
Thou dost withdraw Thy breath-they die,
And in the clayey valley lie.


Thy Spirit is sent forth again,
And life resumes its joyous reign;
Again is nature's face renew'd,
And love, and bliss, and gratitude,
Clad all the face of earth with light,
And hope, and bliss, and promise bright.


His glory shall endure for ever-
His praise shall perish never, never!
Rejoicing in his work, and pleas'd
With the proud fabric He hath raised,
Blest 'midst the blessings He hath given-
In heaven directing all to heaven!


A thousand worlds His presence greet;
The mountains smoke beneath His feet;
The earth His presence fears;-but I
Will sing His praises joyfully,
While I have life or breath to sing,
In His existence triumphing.


How sweet to meditate, O Lord!
On Thy great name, Thy glorious word,
In Thy blest presence to rejoice,
To Thy blest praise attune my voice,
And from Thy cup to drink the stream
Of gladness and of joy supreme!


If daring worldly ones contemn
That Power whose glance might scatter them-
I, in my honest purpose, still
Will own Thy hand and do Thy will;
Blest, blest unutterably, to be
Devoted, Lord! to truth and Thee.