O Nature! all thy seasons please the eye
Of him who sees a present Deity in all.
It is His presence that diffuses charms
Unspeakable o'er mountain, wood and stream.
To think that He, who hears the heavenly choirs,
Hearkens complacent to the woodland song;
To think that He, who rolls yon solar sphere.
Uplifts the warbling songster to the sky;
To mark his presence in the mighty bow
That spans the clouds as in the tints minute
Of tiniest flower; to hear his awful voice
In thunder speak, and whisper in the gale;
To know and feel his care for all that lives;
'T is this that makes the barren waste appear
A fruitful field, each grove a paradise.
  Yes, place me 'mid far-stretching woodless wilds,
Where no sweet song is heard; the heath-bell there
Would please my weary sight, and tell of Thee!
There would my gratefully uplifted eye
Survey the heavenly vault, by day, by night,
When glows the firmament from pole to pole;
There would my overflowering heart exclaim,
"The heavens declare the glory of the Lord,
The firmament shows forth his handiwork."