Nothing Formed In Vain
Let no presuming impious railer tax Creative wisdom, as if aught was
In vain, or not for admirable ends.
Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce His works unwise, of which the smallest
Excceeds the narrow vision of her mind?
As if, upon a full-proportion'd dome,
On swelling columns heav'd, the pride of art!
A critic-fly, whose feeble ray scarce
An inch around, with blind presumption bold,
Should dare to tax the structure of the whole.
And lives the man, whose universal
Has swept at once th' unbounded scheme of things;
Mark'd their dependence so, and firm accord,
As with unfalt'ring accent to conclude,
That this availeth nought?
Has any
The mighty chain of beings, less'ning
From infinite perfection, to the
Of dreary nothing, desolate abyss!
From which astonish'd thought, recoiling, turns?
Till then alone let zealous praise ascend,
And hymns of holy wonder, to that Power,
Whose wisdom shines as lovely in our minds,
As on our smiling eyes his servant-sun.
James Thomson
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