James Thomson (1700 – 1748)
Scottish poet and playwright.
These as they change, Almighty Father! these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of Thee.
A pleasing land of drowsyhed it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
Forever flushing round a summer sky:
There eke the soft delights that witchingly
Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast,
And the calm pleasures always hover'd nigh;
But whate'er smack'd of noyance or unrest
Was far, far off expell'd from this delicious nest.
Come then, expressive silence, muse His praise.
For loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is when unadorned adorned the most.
The best of men have ever loved repose:
They hate to mingle in the filthy fray;
Where the soul sours, and gradual rancour grows,
Imbitter'd more from peevish day to day.
He ceased; but still their trembling ears retained
The deep vibrations of his witching song.
A little, round, fat, oily man of God.
Plac'd far amid the melancholy main.