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.