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The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ

An Heroic Poem: Dedicated to Her Most Sacred Majesty. In Ten Books. Attempted by Samuel Wesley ... Each Book illustrated by necessary Notes, explaining all the more difficult Matters in the whole History: Also a Prefatory Discourse concerning Heroic Poetry. With Sixty Copper-Plates

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52

When thus each others rural skill they'd try'd
To my desire young Claius thus reply'd:
As in yon Plain that stretches wide away
Near Edars Tow'r to guard our Flocks we lay,
The Night, as honest Shepherds use, we spent,
In Tales and Songs and harmless merriment:
On antient Heroes stories some proceed,
Who not disdaind to touch the tuneful reed:

Gen. 28, 29. 31, 32, &c. Gen. 35. 21, 22.

Old Father Jacob's Travels these relate,

And these unstable Ruben's crime and fate:
Others that valiant Ephratean Swain

1 Sam. 17. 2, 49.

Who vast Goliah quell'd on Elahs plain;

How with his Praises all the Valleys rung;
How well he fought how well he lov'd and sung.
While thus, on Earths soft Couch employ'd we lay
From neighbouring Cottages the Bird of Day
Loud sounds his first alarm, and every star
Revolving swift thro' Heav'ns high Arch declare
Their Noon was past, and Night began to wear:
When on a sudden aged Ægon cries
See Shepherds see, descending from the Skies
Yon light! Kind Heav'n! What mean these Prodigies?
The Sun it cannot be, for Night's not done,
And almost half his Under-Day to run;
Besides, it mounts not, but oblique descends,
And hitherwards its wondrous Journy bends—
—He trembling said, but soon no more cou'd say;
For the next moment all around was day;
The Ewes disturb'd arose and scatter'd wide,
The little Lambs ran bleating by their side:
Our faithful Dogs coucht on the ground affraid,
And none besides my old Lycisca bay'd:
Profound we prostrate lay, long groveling there,
Nor cou'd th' unsufferable splendor bear:
Till a fair Youth, as my Urania fair

Luke 2. 9.

Sweet Peace and Heav'n-born Joy descending brings,

As soft he touch'd us with his purple wings.

10.

Blest Swains, let no vain Terrors you affright!

Believe 'tis no Illusion of the Night!
To you, he cry'd, I happy tidings bring

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From yon fair place, and Heav'ns Almighty King.
To you, the Lamb of God, this happy morn

Luke 2. 11.


To you, the Saviour of the World is born
In Ephratean Bethlem, where of old
The Royal Swain so well did guard his Fold;
You'll find him wrapt in feeble Infants bands

12.


Who grasps all Nature with his mighty hands.
A Cave and homely Stable claim his birth
Who rais'd the goodly Pile of Heav'n and Earth.
—He said and strait we saw the welkin wide
Throng'd with the Heav'nly Host from side to side;

13.


Thick as those glitt'ring motes that ever stray
And dance in the refulgent Beams of day;
Night and our Fear they both from us remove,
And thus repeat those Hymns they learn'd above.