In Whitman's Hand

Marginalia

About this Item

Title: Addison's Ode to Deity

Creators: Walt Whitman, Joseph Addison

Annotation Date: Undated

Source: The Charles E. Feinberg Collection of the Papers of Walt Whitman, 1839–1919, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. Transcribed from digital images of the original item.

Whitman Archive ID: loc.03441

Contributors to digital file: Lauren Grewe, Ty Alyea, and Matt Cohen


Key


Whitman's Hand | Highlighting | Paste-on | Erasure | Overwrite



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Addison's Ode to Deity
How are thy servants bless'd, oh Lord!
How sure is their defence!
Eternal wisdom is their guide,
Their help Omnipotence.

In foreign realms, and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,
Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt,
And breathed in tainted air.

Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil,
Made every region please;
The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd,
And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas.

Think, oh my soul, devoutly think,
How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep
In all its horrors rise.

Confusion dwelt on every face,
And fear in every heart;
When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs,
O'ercame the pilot's art.

Yet then from all my griefs, on lord!
Thy mercy set me free;
Whilst in the confidence of prayer
My soul took hold on thee.

For though in dreadful whirls we hung
High on the broken wave;
I knew thou wert not slow to hear,
Nor impotent to save.

The storm was laid, the winds retired,
Obedient to thy will;
The sea, that roar'd at thy command,
At thy command was still.

In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
Thy goodness I'll adore;
And praise thee for thy mercies pass'd,
And humbly hope for more.


My life, if thou preserv'st my life,
Thy sacrifice shall be,
And death, if death must be my doom
Shall join my soul to thee.

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