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James Thomson (Джеймс Томсон)


Nothing Formed In Vain


Let no presuming impious railer tax
Creative wisdom, as if aught was form'd
In vain, or not for admirable ends.
Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce
His works unwise, of which the smallest part
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 spreads
An inch around, with blind presumption bold,
Should dare to tax the structure of the whole.
And lives the man, whose universal eye
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 seen
The mighty chain of beings, less'ning down
From infinite perfection, to the brink
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's other poems:
  1. To Seraphina
  2. Farewell To Ravelrig
  3. Insects In Summer
  4. On The Death Of His Mother
  5. Verses Addressed To Amanda


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