Address to the Deity

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, blest in Heaven.