For (if a mortal tongue may speak of him
And his dread ways) even as his boundless eye, 200
Connecting every form and every change,
Beholds the perfect Beauty; so his will,
Through every hour producing good to all
The family of creatures, is itself
The perfect Virtue. Let the grateful swain
Remember this, as oft with joy and praise
He looks upon the falling dews which clothe
His lawns with verdure, and the tender seed
Nourish within his furrows; when between
Dead seas and burning skies, where long unmoved 210
The bark had languish'd, now a rustling gale
Lifts o'er the fickle waves her dancing prow,
Let the glad pilot, bursting out in thanks,
Remember this; lest blind o'erweening pride
Pollute their offerings; lest their selfish heart
Say to the heavenly ruler, 'At our call
Relents thy power; by us thy arm is moved.'
Fools! who of God as of each other deem;
Who his invariable acts deduce
From sudden counsels transient as their own; 220
Nor further of his bounty, than the event
Which haply meets their loud and eager prayer,
Acknowledge; nor, beyond the drop minute
Which haply they have tasted, heed the source
That flows for all; the fountain of his love
Which, from the summit where he sits enthroned,
Pours health and joy, unfailing streams, throughout
The spacious region flourishing in view,
The goodly work of his eternal day,
His own fair universe; on which alone 230
His counsels fix, and whence alone his will
Assumes her strong direction.
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