noon
The buds decked the trees , the flowers adorned the land : the dark branches , swollen with seasonable juices , expanded into leaves , and the variegated foliage of spring , bending and singing in the breeze , rejoiced in the genial warmth of the unclouded empyrean : the brooks flowed murmuring , the sea was waveless , and the promontories that over-hung it were reflected in the placid waters ; birds awoke in the woods , while abundant food for man and beast sprung up from the dark ground . Where was pain and evil ? Not in the calm air or weltering ocean ; not in the woods or fertile fields , nor among the birds that made the woods resonant with song , nor the animals that in the midst of plenty basked in the sunshine . Our enemy , like the Calamity of Homer , trod our hearts , and no sound was echoed from her steps -- With ills the land is rife , with ills the sea , Diseases haunt our frail humanity , Through noon , through night , on casual wing they glide , Silent , -- a voice the power all-wise denied . -LSB- 1 -RSB- Once man was a favourite of the Creator , as the royal psalmist sang , `` God had made him a little lower than the angels , and had crowned him with glory and honour . God made him to have dominion over the works of his hands , and put all things under his feet . '' Once it was so ; now is man lord of the creation ?