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Lettered inside image: "80 | What, night eternal--but a frown from thee? | What, heaven's meridian glory--but thy smile? | And shall not praise be thine? not human praise? | While heaven's high host on hallelujahs live? | O may I breathe no longer than I breathe | My soul in praise to HIM who gave my soul | And all her infinite of prospect fair; | Cut through the shades of hell, great love! by THEE, | Oh most adorable, most unadored! | Where shall that praise begin, which ne'er should end? | Where'er I turn, what claim on all applause! | How is night's sable mantle labour'd o'er! | How richly wrought with attributes divine! | What wisdom shines! what love! this midnight pomp, | This gorgeous arch with golden worlds inlaid, | Built with divine ambition, nought to THEE! | For others this profusion: THOU apart, | Above, beyond: oh tell me, mighty mind! | Where art thou? shall I dive into the deep? | Call to the sun, or ask the roaring winds | For their creator? shall I question loud | *The thunder, if in that the ALMIGHTY dwells? | Or holds HE furious storms in streighten'd reins, | And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car? | What mean these questions?--trembling I retract; | My prostrate soul adores the present GOD: | Praise I a distant DEITY? HE tunes | My voice, if tuned; the nerve that writes, sustains; | Wrapp'd in his being I resound his praise: | But though past all diffused, without a shore"; lower left: "in & s | WB"; lower left: "Pubd. June 1st. 1797, by R. Edwards No. 142 New Bond Street."; Lettered on facing page: "81 | His essence; local is his throne, as meet, | To gather the dispersed, as standards call | The listed from afar; to fix a point-- | A central point, collective of his sons; | Since finite every nature but his own. | The nameless HE, whose nod is nature's birth; | And nature's shield the shadow of his hand; | Her dissolution his suspended smile; | The great FIRST LAST! pavilion'd high HE sits | In darkness, from excessive splendor; borne | By gods unseen, unless through lustre lost: | His glory, to created glory bright, | As that, to central horrors; HE looks down | On all that soars, and spans immensity. | Though night unnumber'd worlds unfold to view; | Boundless creation! what art thou? a beam, | A mere effluvium of his majesty: | And shall an atom of this atom world | Mutterin dust and sin the theme of heaven? | Down to the centre should I send my thought | Through beds of glittering ore, and glowing gems; | Their beggar'd blaze wants lustre for my lay, | Goes out in darkness: if on towering wing, | I send it through the boundless vault of stars; | The stars, though rich, what dross their gold to THEE! | Great--good--wise--wonderful--eternal KING! | If to those conscious stars thy throne around, | Praise ever-pouring, and imbibing bliss; | And ask their strain; they want it, more they want, | Poor their abundance, humble their sublime,"