Address to the Deity.
WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF ELEVEN.
The infant muse, Jehovah! would aspire
To swell the adoration of the lyre:
Source of all good! oh, teach my voice to sing
Thee, from whom Nature’s genuine beauties spring;
Thee, God of truth, omnipotent and wise,
Who saidst to Chaos, “let the earth arise.”
O Author of the rich luxuriant year!
Love, Truth, and Mercy in thy works appear:
Within their orbs the planets dost Thou keep,
And e’en hast limited the mighty deep.
Oh! could I number thy inspiring ways,
And wake the voice of animated praise!
Ah, no! the theme shall swell a cherub’s note;
To Thee celestial hymns of rapture float.
’Tis not for me in lowly strains to sing
Thee, God of mercy,—heaven’s immortal King!
Yet to that happiness I’d fain aspire—
Oh! fill my heart with elevated fire:
With angel-songs an artless voice shall blend,
The grateful offering shall to Thee ascend.
Yes! Thou wilt breathe a spirit o’er my lyre,
And “fill my beating heart with sacred fire!”
And when to Thee my youth, my life, I’ve given,
Raise me to join Eliza,[1] blest in Heaven.
[1] A sister whom the author had lost.