Timothy Dwight (1752–1817)

ABOVE tall western hills, the light of day

Shot far the splendors of his golden ray;

Bright from the storm with tenfold grace he smiled,

The tumult softened, and the world grew mild.

With pomp transcendent, robed in heavenly dyes,

Arch’d the clear rainbow round the orient skies;

Its changeless form, its hues of beam divine,

—Fair type of truth and beauty’s—endless shine

Around the expanse, with thousand splendors rare;

Gay clouds sail’d wanton through the kindling air;

From shade to shade, unnumber’d tinctures blend;

Unnumber’d forms of wond’rous light extend:

In pride stupendous, glittering walls aspire,

Graced with bright domes, and crown’d with towers of fire,

On cliffs cliffs burn; o’er mountains mountains roll:

A burst of glory spreads from pole to pole:

Rapt with the splendor, every songster sings,

Tops the high bough, and claps his glistening wings:

With new born green, reviving nature blooms,

And sweeter fragrance freshening air perfumes.

Far south the storm withdrew its troubled reign;

Descending twilight dimm’d the dusky plain;

Black night arose; her curtains hid the ground:

Less roar’d, and less, the thunder’s solemn sound;

The bended lightning shot a brighter stream,

Or wrapp’d all heaven in one wide, mantling flame;

By turns, o’er plains, and woods, and mountains, spread

Faint, yellow glimmerings, and a deeper shade.

From parting clouds, the moon outbreaking shone,

And sate, sole empress, on her silver throne;

In clear, full beauty, round all nature smiled,

And claim’d o’er heaven and earth, dominion mild;

With humbler glory, stars her court attend,

And bless’d, and union’d, silent lustre blend.