ON THE IMMENSITY OF THE SUPREME BEING. Christopher Smart Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1137 K093079.004 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. IV. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 299-304. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ON THE IMMENSITY OF THE SUPREME BEING . BY THE SAME . ONCE more I dare to rouse the sounding string THE POET OF MY GOD — Awake my glory , Awake my lute and harp — myself shall wake , Soon as the stately night-exploding bird In lively lay sings welcome to the dawn . List ye ! how nature with ten thousand tongues Begins the grand thanksgiving , Hail , all hail , Ye tenants of the forest and the field ! My fellow subjects of th' eternal King , I gladly join your Mattins , and with you Confess his presence , and report his praise . O Thou , who or the Lambkin , or the Dove , When offer'd by the lowly , meek , and poor , Prefer'st to Pride's whole hecatomb , accept This mean Essay , nor from thy treasure-house Of Glory' immense the Orphan's mite exclude . What tho' th' Almighty's regal throne be rais'd High o'er yon azure Heaven's exalted dome By mortal eye unkenn'd — where East nor West Nor South , nor blustering North has breath to blow ; Albeit He there with Angels , and with Saints Hold conference , and to his radiant host Ev'n face to face stand visibly confest : Yet know that nor in Presence or in Power Shines He less perfect here ; 'tis Man's dim eye That makes th' obscurity . He is the same , Alike in all his Universe the same . Whether the mind along the spangled sky Measures her pathless walk , studious to view Thy works of vaster fabric , where the Planets Weave their harmonious rounds , their march directing Still faithful , still inconstant to the Sun ; Or where the Comet thro' space infinite ( Tho' whirling worlds oppose , and globes of fire ) Darts , like a javelin , to his destin'd goal . Or where in Heaven above the Heaven of Heavens Burn brighter Sans , and goodlier Planets roll With Satellits more glorious — Thou art there . Or whether on the Ocean's boisterous back Thou ride triumphant , and with out-stretch'd arm Curb the wild winds and discipline the billows , The suppliant Sailor finds Thee there , his chief , His only help — When Thou rebuk'st the storm — It ceases — and the vessel gently glides Along the glassy level of the calm . O ! could I search the bosom of the sea , Down the great depth descending ; there thy works Would also speak thy residence ; and there Would I thy servant , like the still profound , Astonish'd into silence muse thy praise ! Behold ! behold ! th' unplanted garden round Of vegetable coral , sea-flowers gay , And shrubs of amber from the pearl-pav'd bottom Rise richly varied , where the finny race In blithe security their gambols play : While high above their heads Leviathan , The terror and the glory of the main , His pastime takes with transport , proud to see The ocean's vast dominion all his own . Hence thro' the genial bowels of the earth Easy may fancy pass ; till at thy mines Gani or Raolconda she arrive , And from the adamant's imperial blaze Form weak ideas of her Maker's glory . Next to Pegu or Ceylon let me rove , Where the rich ruby ( deem'd by Sages old Of Sovereign virtue ) sparkles ev'n like Sirius , And blushes into flames . Thence will I go To undermine the treasure-fertile womb Of the huge Pyrenean , to detect The Agat and the deep-intrenched gem Of kindred Jasper — Nature in them both Delights to play the Mimic on herself ; And in their veins she oft pourtrays the forms Of leaning hills , of trees erect , and streams Now stealing softly on , now thundering down In desperate cascade with flowers and beasts And all the living landskip of the vale : In vain thy pencil Claudio , or Poussin , Or thine , immortal Guido , would essay Such skill to imitate — it is the hand Of God himself — for God himself is there . Hence with the ascending springs let me advance Thro' beds of magnets , minerals , and spar , Up to the mountain's summit , there t' indulge Th' ambition of the comprehensive eye , That dares to call th' Horizon all her own . Behold the forest , and the expansive verdure Of yonder level lawn , whose smooth-shorn sod No object interrupts , unless the oak His lordly head uprears , and branching arms Extends — Behold in regal solitude , And pastoral magnificence he stands So simple ! and so great ! the under-wood Of meaner rank an awful distance keep . Yet Thou art there , yet God himself is there Ev'n on the bush ( tho' not as when to Moses He shone in burning majesty reveal'd ) Nathless conspicuous in the Linnet's throat Is his unbounded goodness — Thee her Maker , Thee her Preserver chaunts she in her song ; While all the emulative vocal tribe The grateful lesson learn — no other voice Is heard , no other sound — for in attention Buried , ev'n babbling Echo bolds her peace . Now from the plains , where th' unbounded prospect Gives liberty her utmost scope to range , Turn we to yon enclosures , where appears Chequer'd variety in all her forms , Which the vague mind attract and still suspend With sweet perplexity . What are yon towers , The work of labouring man and clumsy art , Seen with the ring-dove's nest — on that tall beech Her pensile house the feather'd Artist builds — The rocking winds molest her not ; for see , With such due poize the wond'rous fabric's hung , That , like the compass in the bark , it keeps True to itself , and stedfast ev'n in storms . Thou ideot that asserts , there is no God , View and be dumb for ever — Go bid Vitruvius or Palladio build The bee his mansion , or the ant her cave — Go call Correggio , or let Titian come To paint the hawthorn's bloom , or teach the cherry To blush with just vermillion — hence away — Hence ye prophane ! for God himself is here . Vain were th' attempt , and impious to trace Thro' all his works th' Artificer Divine — And tho' nor shining sun , nor twinkling star Bedeck'd the crimson curtains of the sky ; Tho' neither vegetable , beast , nor bird Were extant on the surface of this ball , Nor lurking gem beneath ; tho' the great sea Slept in profound stagnation , and the air Had left no thunder to pronounce its maker ; Yet man at home , within himself , might find The Deity immense , and in that frame So fearfully , so wonderfully made , See and adore his providence and power — I see , and I adore — O God most bounteous ! O infinite of Goodness and of Glory ! The knee , that thou hast shap'd , shall bend to Thee , The tongue , which thou hast tun'd , shall chaunt thy praise , And , thine own image , the immortal foul , Shall consecrate herself to Thee for ever .