 | Philomela |  |
The RAPTURE.
I
Lord! if one distant Glimpse of TheeThus elevate the Soul,
In what a Height of Extasy
Do those bless'd Spirits roll;
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II
Who, by a fix'd eternal View,Drink in Immortal Rays;
To whom, unveiled, thou dost shew,
Thy Smiles, without Allays?
III
An Object, which if mortal EyesCou'd make Approaches to,
They'd soon esteem their best-lov'd Toys
Not worth one scornful View.
IV
How then, beneath its Load of Flesh,Wou'd the vex'd Soul complain!
And how the friendly Hand she'd bless,
Wou'd break her hated Chain!
| Philomela | |