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of earth which generate and nurture all things, and the track of heaven,
which contains and clasps all things. Now, at this evening hour, at the
period of repose and refection, methinks all hearts breathe one hymn of
love and thanksgiving, and we, like priests of old on the mountain-tops,
give a voice to their sentiment.
"Assuredly a most benignant power built up the majestic fabric we inhabit,
and framed the laws by which it endures. If mere existence, and not
happiness, had been the final end of our being, what need of the profuse
luxuries which we enjoy? Why should our dwelling place be so lovely, and
why should the instincts of nature minister pleasurable sensations? The
very sustaining of our animal machine is made delightful; and our
sustenance, the fruits of the field, is painted with transcendant hues,
endued with grateful odours, and palatable to our taste. Why should this
be, if HE were not good? We need houses to protect us from the seasons, and
behold the materials with which we are provided; the growth of trees with
their adornment of leaves; while rocks of stone piled above the plains
variegate the prospect with their pleasant irregularity.
"Nor are outward objects alone the receptacles of the Spirit of Good. Look
into the mind of man, where wisdom reigns enthroned; where imagination, the
painter, sits, with his pencil dipt in hues lovelier than those of sunset,
adorning familiar life with glowing tints. What a noble boon, worthy the
giver, is the imagination! it takes from reality its leaden hue: it
envelopes all thought and sensation in a radiant veil, and with an hand of
beauty beckons us from the sterile seas of life, to her gardens, and
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