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Ode

    THE spacious firmament on high,
    With all the blue ethereal sky,
    And spangled heav'ns, a shining frame,
    Their great Original proclaim.
    Th'unwearied sun from day to day
    Does his Creator's pow'r display,
    And publishes to every land
    The work of an almighty hand.

    Soon as the ev'ning shades prevail,
    The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
    And nightly to the list'ning earth
    Repeats the story of her birth;
    Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
    And all the planets in their turn,
    Confirm the tidings as they roll,
    And spread the truth from pole to pole.

    What though in solemn silence, all
    Move round this dark terrestrial ball?
    What though nor real voice nor sound
    Amidst their radiant orbs be found?
    In Reason's ear, they all rejoice,
    And utter forth a glorious voice,
    Forever singing as they shine:
    "The hand that made us is divine!"

    Joseph Addison

Hymn

    THE spacious firmament on high,
    With all the blue ethereal sky,
    And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
    Their great Original proclaim.
    Th' unwearied Sun from day to day
    Does his Creator's power display;
    And publishes to every land
    The work of an Almighty hand.

    Soon as the evening shades prevail,
    The Moon takes up the wondrous tale;
    And nightly to the listening Earth
    Repeats the story of her birth:
    Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
    And all the planets in their turn,
    Confirm the tidings as they roll,
    And spread the truth from pole to pole. p>
    What though in solemn silence all
    Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
    What though nor real voice nor sound
    Amidst their radiant orbs be found?
    In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
    And utter forth a glorious voice;
    For ever singing as they shine,
    'The Hand that made us is divine.'

    Joseph Addison

Marlborough at Blenheim

    from The Campaign

    BEHOLD in awful march and dread array
    The long extended squadrons shape thier way!
    Death, in approaching terrible, imparts
    An anxious horror to the bravest hearts;
    Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife,
    And thirst of glory quells the love of life.
    No vulgar fears can British minds control:
    Heat of revenge, and noble pride of soul,
    O'erlook the foe, advantag'd by his post,
    Lessen his nmbers,a nd contract his host;
    Though fens and floods possest the middle space,
    That unprovok'd they would have fear'd to pass;
    Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands,
    When her proud foe rang'd on their borders stands.
    But O, my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find
    To sing the furious troops in battle join'd!
    Methinks I hear the drums tumultuous sound
    The victor's shouts and dying groans confound,
    The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies,
    And all the thunder of the battle rise.
    'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was prov'd,
    That, in the shock of charging hosts unmov'd,
    Amidst confusion, horror, and despair,
    Examin'd all the dreadful scenes of war:
    In peaceful thought the field of death survey'd,
    To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,
    Inspir'd repuls'd battalions to engage,
    And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
    So when an angel by divine command
    With rising tempests shaks a guilty land,
    Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past,
    Calm and serene he drives the furious blast;
    And, pleas'd th' Almighty's orders to perform,
    Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

    Joseph Addison

The Blessings of Liberty

    from Letter from Italy

    OH LIBERTY, thou goddess heavenly bright,
    Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight!
    Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign,
    And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train;
    Eas'd of her load subjection grows more light,
    And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight;
    Thou mak'st the gloomy face of Nature gay,
    Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day.

    Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's Isle adores;
    How has she oft exhausted all her stores,
    How oft in fields of death thy presence sought,
    Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought!
    On foreign mountains may the sun refine
    The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine,
    With citron groves adorn a distant soil,
    And the fat olive swell with floods of oil:
    We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
    In ten degrees of more indulgent skies,
    Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine,
    Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine:
    'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's Isle,
    And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile.

    Others with towering piles may please the sight,
    And in their proud aspiring domes delight;
    A nicer touch to the stretch'd canvas give,
    Or teach their animated rocks to live:
    'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
    And hold in balance each contending state,
    To threaten bold presumptuous kings with war,
    And answer her afflicted neighbours' pray'r.
    The Dane and Swede, rous'd up by fierce alarms,
    Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms:
    Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
    And all the northern world lies hush'd in peace.

    Joseph Addison


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