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2. VOLUME the Second.
570
A Soliloqui in HAMLET, Imitated.
To Marry or Live single! That's the Question!
Whether 'tis happier, in the Mind to stifle,
The Heats and Tumults, of outragious Love,
Or with some prudent Fair in solemn Contract
Of Matrimony joyn? To have and hold!
No more! and in a trice to say we end.
The Heart ake, and the Thousand love sick Pains;
Which Cælibacy yields! A Consumation:
Devoutly to be wished. In Nuptial Bands
To joyn till Death dissolve ay there's the Rub,
For in that space what dull remorse may come,
When we have taken our solemn leave of Liberty,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That slacks our Speed in suing for a Change:
For who wou'd bear the Scorn and Sneers which Batchelors
When aged feel, the Pains and Fluttering fears
Which each new Face gives to the Roving lover,
When he at once, might rid himself of all
By Marriage Knot? Who cou'd with patience bear
To fret and Linger out a single Life,
But that the Dread of something yet unseen,
Some hazard in a State from whose strict Bonds
Death only can release, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others which perhaps are greater;
Thus Cool Reflection makes us Slow and Wary,
Filling the dubious Mind with dreadfull Thoughts
Of future Discords Jealousies and Costs
Extravagantly great, entail'd on Wedlock:
Which to avoid, the Lover cheeks his Passion,
And rather dies a Batchelor.
Whether 'tis happier, in the Mind to stifle,
The Heats and Tumults, of outragious Love,
Or with some prudent Fair in solemn Contract
Of Matrimony joyn? To have and hold!
No more! and in a trice to say we end.
The Heart ake, and the Thousand love sick Pains;
Which Cælibacy yields! A Consumation:
Devoutly to be wished. In Nuptial Bands
To joyn till Death dissolve ay there's the Rub,
For in that space what dull remorse may come,
When we have taken our solemn leave of Liberty,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That slacks our Speed in suing for a Change:
For who wou'd bear the Scorn and Sneers which Batchelors
When aged feel, the Pains and Fluttering fears
Which each new Face gives to the Roving lover,
When he at once, might rid himself of all
By Marriage Knot? Who cou'd with patience bear
To fret and Linger out a single Life,
But that the Dread of something yet unseen,
Some hazard in a State from whose strict Bonds
Death only can release, puzzles the will,
571
Than fly to others which perhaps are greater;
Thus Cool Reflection makes us Slow and Wary,
Filling the dubious Mind with dreadfull Thoughts
Of future Discords Jealousies and Costs
Extravagantly great, entail'd on Wedlock:
Which to avoid, the Lover cheeks his Passion,
And rather dies a Batchelor.
693
[The tragick muse full twice a thousand years]
The tragick muse full twice a thousand years,
In lofty scenes has rais'd our hopes and fears;
By unexpected turns she gives surprise,
New joys she gives, then fils with tears our eyes;
A war of passions in their breasts they feel
As the muse fires, who have not hearts of Steel.
In lofty scenes has rais'd our hopes and fears;
By unexpected turns she gives surprise,
New joys she gives, then fils with tears our eyes;
A war of passions in their breasts they feel
As the muse fires, who have not hearts of Steel.
Old Aschilus in tragick numbers bold,
The griefs of mortals, and immortals, told;
He leaving nature and terrestial plains,
Sung Joves revenge, and bound a God in chains.
The griefs of mortals, and immortals, told;
He leaving nature and terrestial plains,
Sung Joves revenge, and bound a God in chains.
Next Sophocles majestick in his rage,
To admiration charms a knowing age;
In all the pomp of words he greatly sings,
The wreck of empires and the woes of Kings.
To admiration charms a knowing age;
In all the pomp of words he greatly sings,
The wreck of empires and the woes of Kings.
Euripides sententious and serene,
Bright tho' not blazing, grac'd the tragick scene;
Proud Rome that gather'd of old greece their store,
Compar'd with her, in tragedy was poor;
In Nero's reign the moralizing sage
Drew but faint lines of the Greecian page.
Bright tho' not blazing, grac'd the tragick scene;
Proud Rome that gather'd of old greece their store,
Compar'd with her, in tragedy was poor;
In Nero's reign the moralizing sage
Drew but faint lines of the Greecian page.
694
To these succeeds a race of monkish days,
In which no learned bard was crown'd with bays;
One dismal cent'ry to another yeilds,
No sound is heard but the loud clash of shields;
Hums, Goths and Sandals, from the northern clime,
Swarm on the Earth, and fright the land of rhime;
Mute are the nine, virtue and learning sleep
Whilst war and zeal their wakeful vigils keep.
In which no learned bard was crown'd with bays;
One dismal cent'ry to another yeilds,
No sound is heard but the loud clash of shields;
Hums, Goths and Sandals, from the northern clime,
Swarm on the Earth, and fright the land of rhime;
Mute are the nine, virtue and learning sleep
Whilst war and zeal their wakeful vigils keep.
At length the tragick muse again appears,
And gives the promise of successful years;
Britain and France the sacred influence feel,
From Shakespear, Fletcher, and the great Corneile.
And gives the promise of successful years;
Britain and France the sacred influence feel,
From Shakespear, Fletcher, and the great Corneile.
Their bright examples other bards inspire,
And emulous of fame, their bosoms fire;
In virtue's cause the sons of verse engage,
And most instructing, most they charm the age.
And emulous of fame, their bosoms fire;
In virtue's cause the sons of verse engage,
And most instructing, most they charm the age.
This night our bard the glorious tract persues,
New to the Stage he courts the tragick muse;
By an invented tale, a tale of love,
Without the guilt of blood, he strives to move;
To their own peace he shews the parents blind,
Who disunite the hearts which love has join'd;
With candour he intreats you to attend
And hopes your favour, as he's virtues friend.
New to the Stage he courts the tragick muse;
By an invented tale, a tale of love,
Without the guilt of blood, he strives to move;
To their own peace he shews the parents blind,
Who disunite the hearts which love has join'd;
With candour he intreats you to attend
And hopes your favour, as he's virtues friend.
June, 1731.
709
To the Memory of Mat. Concanen, Esq;
late Attorney General of Jamaica.
Friendship began in unexperienc'd Youth,
In Honour founded, and secur'd by Truth,
In distant Climes, and various Fortunes try'd,
Not Death, the grand Destroyer, can divide:
True to thine honest Fame, which long shall live,
This last just Tribute, to thy worth I give.
In Honour founded, and secur'd by Truth,
In distant Climes, and various Fortunes try'd,
Not Death, the grand Destroyer, can divide:
True to thine honest Fame, which long shall live,
This last just Tribute, to thy worth I give.
A Humour pleasing, and a Wit refin'd,
Knowledge, and Judgment clear, enrich'd your Mind;
In you, to full Perfection met the Pow'rs,
Which sweeten, and adorn, the social Hours;
In Fancy's flow'ry Gardens when you stray'd,
If you invok'd the Muse, she gave her aid:
Nor, covetous, nor negligent, of Fame,
You've gain'd a fair, deserv'd a lasting Name.
Knowledge, and Judgment clear, enrich'd your Mind;
In you, to full Perfection met the Pow'rs,
Which sweeten, and adorn, the social Hours;
In Fancy's flow'ry Gardens when you stray'd,
If you invok'd the Muse, she gave her aid:
Nor, covetous, nor negligent, of Fame,
You've gain'd a fair, deserv'd a lasting Name.
710
To The Right Rev. Benjamin Lord Bishop of Winchester,
on his Collection of Sermons published in in the Year, 1754.
In early Days of Manhood you began,
To prove yourself th'impartial Friend of Man;
With reason arm'd, you broke the Tyrant's Rod,
And shew'd that freedom's Foes were Foes to God:
You from our civil Right expel'd the Storm,
And drew Religion in an Angel's form:
Gladly we see the same Pursuits engage,
Thine active Soul in thy declining Age:
Proceed, as you began, the Friend of Truth,
The Comfort of the Old, and guide of Youth.
In thy rewards contented shall thou rest,
Bless'd in thy labours, in thine Offspring bless'd.
Yet, farther yet, throw thy discerning Eye,
And see thy Lot beneath a purer Sky;
Where doubts no more the restless Mind employ,
Where all is Health, and Harmony, and Joy.
To prove yourself th'impartial Friend of Man;
With reason arm'd, you broke the Tyrant's Rod,
And shew'd that freedom's Foes were Foes to God:
You from our civil Right expel'd the Storm,
And drew Religion in an Angel's form:
Gladly we see the same Pursuits engage,
Thine active Soul in thy declining Age:
Proceed, as you began, the Friend of Truth,
The Comfort of the Old, and guide of Youth.
In thy rewards contented shall thou rest,
Bless'd in thy labours, in thine Offspring bless'd.
Yet, farther yet, throw thy discerning Eye,
And see thy Lot beneath a purer Sky;
Where doubts no more the restless Mind employ,
Where all is Health, and Harmony, and Joy.
711
An ODE, to Master Stone, not a Day old.
Happy Infant of a Day,
Safe from ev'ry flatt'ring Lay,
'E're thou yet hast seen the Sky,
Where thy latest Glorys lye,
'E're thou hast arriv'd at Noon,
Take the Muse's early Boon.
Safe from ev'ry flatt'ring Lay,
'E're thou yet hast seen the Sky,
Where thy latest Glorys lye,
'E're thou hast arriv'd at Noon,
Take the Muse's early Boon.
Millions unregarded pass,
As beneath the Scythe the Grass,
For of Millions, from their Birth,
Few are little more than Earth.
As thy future Days encrease,
'E're thou know'st the Stores of Greece,
Or hast hear'd the Roman Lyre,
All familiar to thy Sire,
May'st thou lisp this faithful Lay,
Which to thee and Truth I pay.
As beneath the Scythe the Grass,
For of Millions, from their Birth,
Few are little more than Earth.
As thy future Days encrease,
'E're thou know'st the Stores of Greece,
Or hast hear'd the Roman Lyre,
All familiar to thy Sire,
May'st thou lisp this faithful Lay,
Which to thee and Truth I pay.
Thro' thy young and sportive Hours,
May'st thou bloom like vernal Flow'rs,
Which no sudden Blights, or Storm,
Ever shrivel or deform:
Never may thy spritely Years,
Fill thy Mother's Eyes with Tears;
But may all thy joyful Days
Win thy Father's Love and Praise:
Then a Bard, as yet unborn,
May thy Name and Worth adorn,
While the Poet of thy Spring,
Form'd by Nature now to sing,
Sleeps with Worms beneath the Ground,
And with Kings whom Death uncrown'd.
May'st thou bloom like vernal Flow'rs,
Which no sudden Blights, or Storm,
Ever shrivel or deform:
Never may thy spritely Years,
Fill thy Mother's Eyes with Tears;
But may all thy joyful Days
Win thy Father's Love and Praise:
Then a Bard, as yet unborn,
May thy Name and Worth adorn,
While the Poet of thy Spring,
Form'd by Nature now to sing,
Sleeps with Worms beneath the Ground,
And with Kings whom Death uncrown'd.
712
To the Memory of the Right Hon. Henry Pelham, Esq
When Death at random throws his ebon Dart,
He wounds a Friend's, perhaps a Lover's heart,
This Day unweep'd a slothful Prelate fell,
The Mitre fits another's Brow as well;
Commons and Nobles undistinguish'd fall;
And unconcern'd their Heirs succeed them all;
But, when the Fury lays a Pelham low,
A Nation weeps, a Nation feels the Blow.
He wounds a Friend's, perhaps a Lover's heart,
This Day unweep'd a slothful Prelate fell,
The Mitre fits another's Brow as well;
Commons and Nobles undistinguish'd fall;
And unconcern'd their Heirs succeed them all;
But, when the Fury lays a Pelham low,
A Nation weeps, a Nation feels the Blow.
To the Right Honourable John Earl of Westmoreland,
On his return from France, in the Year, 1752.
To foreign Climes, illustrious Fame, you roan,
In search of Health you could not gain at Home;
Yet, gen'rous man, thou no Relief could'st find
For the Disorder of thy troubled Mind,
Again return'd to thy lov'd native Shore,
Let state afflictions rack thine Heart no more:
Hail Patriot true! Long on the Kentish Plains,
On thy Paternal Lands where Plenty reigns,
With thy lov'd Consort may'st thou live, possess'd,
Of the fair Cherub Health, compleatly bess'd.
Like the great Censor in the Sabine Ground
Enjoy thy Lot, in Quietude renown'd,
While the just muse, true to thy virtuous Fame,
Shall to thy Countrymen proclaim thy Name.
In search of Health you could not gain at Home;
Yet, gen'rous man, thou no Relief could'st find
For the Disorder of thy troubled Mind,
Again return'd to thy lov'd native Shore,
Let state afflictions rack thine Heart no more:
Hail Patriot true! Long on the Kentish Plains,
On thy Paternal Lands where Plenty reigns,
With thy lov'd Consort may'st thou live, possess'd,
Of the fair Cherub Health, compleatly bess'd.
Like the great Censor in the Sabine Ground
Enjoy thy Lot, in Quietude renown'd,
While the just muse, true to thy virtuous Fame,
Shall to thy Countrymen proclaim thy Name.
714
An Answer to the above Letter.
Dear Sylph,
You always please me when you flatter,Tho' now you very idly chatter:
I drop my Glove it's true, what then?
Such things are private Hints to Men;
And amongst other female Arts,
We drop our Gloves, to pick up Hearts.
Like Champions whom Poet's sing,
I threw my Gauntlet, in the Ring:
Nor can the Girl deserve rebuke,
That Challenge, and gains a Duke.
388
A POEM, on the Death of Edward Dawson, Esq; of Vaux-Hall, June 19, 1755.
Farewel departed and lamented shade,
Whose work no song of flatt'ry shall degrade;
I've known thy virtues long, and known them well;
Which none can more esteem, or better tell.
Malice, or envy, never broke thy rest;
For honour always occupy'd thy breast:
Thy friends were many, and thy foes were few;
Only the foes of truth were foes to you.
Whose work no song of flatt'ry shall degrade;
I've known thy virtues long, and known them well;
Which none can more esteem, or better tell.
Malice, or envy, never broke thy rest;
For honour always occupy'd thy breast:
Thy friends were many, and thy foes were few;
Only the foes of truth were foes to you.
Some to the grave descend for arms renown'd,
And have for conquests been with glory crown'd:
On these the muse has long bestow'd her praise
And with heroic worth adorn'd her lays,
While the pacifick arts neglected lye,
And milder virtues pass unheeded by,
Like flow'rs which rise to deck the lonely glades,
And fade unseen in unfrequented shades.
Be mine the task thy praises to prolong
To after ages in recording song,
To give, as right decrees, thy fav'rite name
To, what thro' life you shun'd, the voice of fame.
And have for conquests been with glory crown'd:
On these the muse has long bestow'd her praise
And with heroic worth adorn'd her lays,
While the pacifick arts neglected lye,
And milder virtues pass unheeded by,
Like flow'rs which rise to deck the lonely glades,
And fade unseen in unfrequented shades.
Be mine the task thy praises to prolong
To after ages in recording song,
To give, as right decrees, thy fav'rite name
To, what thro' life you shun'd, the voice of fame.
Proud Venice long had triumph'd in her store
Of treasure rising from her chrystal ore,
Long from from her fiery cells the liquid mass
Transparent flow'd, and harden'd into glass;
Of all the nations round she got the start,
Without a rival in the lucid art,
Till noble Villiers rose with projects fraught,
And the grand alchymy to England brought;
Which, to thy country's profit, now we see
Improv'd, and to perfection brought by thee:
The mirrour now to nature adds a grace,
Gives back a lovelier form, and fairer face.
Of treasure rising from her chrystal ore,
Long from from her fiery cells the liquid mass
Transparent flow'd, and harden'd into glass;
Of all the nations round she got the start,
Without a rival in the lucid art,
Till noble Villiers rose with projects fraught,
And the grand alchymy to England brought;
Which, to thy country's profit, now we see
Improv'd, and to perfection brought by thee:
The mirrour now to nature adds a grace,
Gives back a lovelier form, and fairer face.
As thro' the peaceful vale of life you trod,
And daily there walk'd humbly with your god,
The virgin Faith attendant at your side,
And fair Benevolence your constant guide,
Whene'er you met the painful sons of care,
You from their bosoms drove the fiend despair,
With salutary counsel sooth'd their grief,
And to their wants extended due relief
And daily there walk'd humbly with your god,
The virgin Faith attendant at your side,
And fair Benevolence your constant guide,
Whene'er you met the painful sons of care,
You from their bosoms drove the fiend despair,
With salutary counsel sooth'd their grief,
And to their wants extended due relief
Oft have you clear'd the wrinkled brow of need,
The naked cloth'd, and bad the hungry feed,
Pleas'd unexpected blessings to dispense,
While they who had them had, but knew not whence:
So the parch'd Indian from the sultry plain,
Where all the wither'd herbage thirsts for rain,
Sees, as he travels thro' the tedious way,
Where the smooth gliding winding currents stray;
With eager eyes the friendly stream he views;
And thro' his breast new joys themselves diffuse;
With the refreshing draught he cures his pains,
But stranger to the fountain-head remains.
The naked cloth'd, and bad the hungry feed,
Pleas'd unexpected blessings to dispense,
While they who had them had, but knew not whence:
So the parch'd Indian from the sultry plain,
Where all the wither'd herbage thirsts for rain,
Sees, as he travels thro' the tedious way,
Where the smooth gliding winding currents stray;
With eager eyes the friendly stream he views;
And thro' his breast new joys themselves diffuse;
With the refreshing draught he cures his pains,
But stranger to the fountain-head remains.
For truth, for honour, and for ev'ry worth,
You was a constant advocate on earth,
To ev'ry vice, to ev'ry breach of trust
Severe, but never more severe than just:
Had thine own son been from all virtues free.
That son no more had found a sire in thee.
Thro' all thy life thy fortitude of heart
Could baffle pain and blunt the tyrant's dart:
With the same firmness you resign'd your breath,
In purer worlds to triumph over death.
You was a constant advocate on earth,
389
Severe, but never more severe than just:
Had thine own son been from all virtues free.
That son no more had found a sire in thee.
Thro' all thy life thy fortitude of heart
Could baffle pain and blunt the tyrant's dart:
With the same firmness you resign'd your breath,
In purer worlds to triumph over death.
George Villiers, the second Duke of Buckingham of that Name, founded the Plate-Glass-Houses at Vauxhall, and brought Artificers with him from Venice, the Manufactory of which was brought to Perfection by the late Mr. Edward Dawson.
An ODE to the Right Honourable Sir John Ligonier,
occasioned by the several Accounts in the public Papers of his Death.
I
The carrion crow, that hovers o'erThe armies on the blood-stain'd shore,
The vilest of the feather'd race,
Is like the scribling crew which run,
From morning to the setting sun,
Collecting praises and disgrace.
II
The virgin's triumphs in her bloom,Her early passage to the tomb,
Or her lamented follies pass'd,
Her pains, her transports, or her ease,
Alike the servile wretches please,
Whose breath is like the eastern blast.
III
On falshood or on truth they prey,The ministers of rumour they,
Creeping in darkness and in light:
Vermin like them none can be found,
In water, air, or under ground,
Detestable to human sight.
IV
Often the brazen lye they flingFrom the nocturnal raven's wing,
Pointed with anguish and despair,
Heedless whose gentle breast they rend:
Nor lover they regard, nor friend,
The brave, the virtuous, nor the fair.
V
E'en now, dear Ligonier, the dartOf rumour rancles in my heart,
Which spread the tydings of thy fall:
Still hangs the chrystal on my eye,
Still in my bosom heaves a sigh,
Obedient they to friendship's call.
VI
And is he gone my sorrows cry'd,In camps, in courts more dang'rous try'd?
Then break the warlike spear in twain;
Turn loose the gallant martial steed,
To neigh thro' Cobham's flow'ry mead,
For he'll a second lord disdain.
VII
These were the words of grief; but nowWith roses will I bind my brow,
And offer at Minerva's shrine,
(Who still her soldier's life regards
With glory who his worth rewards,)
The cheerful juices of the vine.
390
BENEDICITE—
O all ye Works of God bless ye, &c.
I
Ye works of God on him alone,(In earth his footstool, heav'n his throne)
Be all your praise bestow'd;
Whose hand the beauteous fabrick made,
Whose eye the finish'd world survey'd,
And saw that all was good.
II
Ye angels, who with loud acclaimAdmiring view'd the new born frame,
And hail'd th'eternal king,
Again proclaim your maker's praise,
Again your thankful voices raise,
And touch the tuneful string.
III
Praise him ye bright etherial plains,Where in full majesty he deigns
To fix his awful throne;
Ye waters, that above them roll
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,
Oh! make his praises known.
IV
Thrones, dominations, virtues, powers,Oh! join your joyful songs with ours,
With us your voices raise;
From age to age extend the lay,
To heav'ns eternal monarch pay
Hymns of eternal praise.
V
Cælestial orb, whose pow'rful rayOpes the glad eye-lids of the day,
Whose influence all things own,
Praise him whose courts effulgent shine
With light as far excelling thine,
As thine the paler moon.
VI
Ye glitt'ring planets of the sky,Whose beams the absent sun supply,
With him the song pursue;
And let himself submissive own,
He borrows from a brighter sun
The light he lends to you.
VII
Ye show'rs and dews, whose moisture shedCalls into life the op'ning seed,
To him your praises yield;
Whose influence makes the genial birth,
Drops fatness on the pregnant earth,
And crowns the laughing field.
VIII
Ye winds that oft tempestuous sweepThe ruffled surface of the deep,
With us confess your God:
See thro' the heav'ns the king of kings,
Up-born on your extended wings,
Comes flying all abroad.
IX
Ye floods of fire where e're ye flow,With just submission humbly bow,
To his superior pow'r,
Who stops the tempest on its way,
Or bids the flaming deluge stray,
And gives it strength to roar.
X
Ye summer's heat, and winter's cold,By turns in long succession roll'd,
The drooping world to chear;
Praise him who gave the sun and moon,
To lead the various seasons on,
And guide the circling year.
XI
Ye frosts that bind the wat'ry plain,Ye silent show'rs of fleecy rain,
Peruse the heavenly theme;
Praise him who sheds the driving snow,
Forbids the harden'd wave to flow,
And stops the rapid stream.
XII
Ye days and nights that swiftly bornFrom morn to eve, from eve to morn,
Alternate glide away;
Praise him whose never varying light
Absent adds horror to the night,
But present gives the Day.
391
XIII
Light, from whose rays all beauty springs,Darkness, whose wide extended wings
Involve the dusky globe;
Praise him who when the heav'ns he spread
Darkness his thick pavilion made,
And light his regal robe.
XIV
Praise him ye lightnings as ye flyWing'd with hot vengeance thro' the sky,
And red with wrath divine,
Praise him ye clouds, that wand'ring stray,
Or, fix'd by him in close array,
Surround his awful shrine.
XV
Exalt O earth thy heavenly king,Who bids the plants, that from the spring
Renew their annual bloom;
Whose frequent drops of kindly rain
Prolifick swell the rip'ning grain,
And bless thy fertile womb.
XVI
Ye mountains that ambitious rise,And lift your summits to the skies,
Revere his awful nod;
Think how ye once affrighted fled,
While Jordan sought his fountain head,
And own'd th'approaching God!
XVII
Ye trees that fills the rural scene,Ye flow'rs that o'er th'enamell'd green,
In native beauty reign,
Oh! praise the ruler of the skies,
Whose hand the genial sap supplies,
And cloathes the thankful plain.
XVIII
Ye secret springs, and gentle rillsThat murm'ring rise among the Hills,
Or fill the humbler vale,
Praise him at whose almighty nod
The rugged rock dissolving flow'd,
And form'd a springing well.
XIX
Praise him ye floods, and seas profound,Whose waves the spacious earth surround,
And roll from shore to shore;
Aw'd by his voice, ye seas subside,
Ye floods within your channels glide,
And tremble and adore.
XX
Ye whales that stir the boiling deep,Or in its dark recesses sleep
Remote from human eye;
Praise him by whom ye all are fed,
Praise him without whose heav'nly aid
Ye sicken, faint, and die.
XXI
Ye birds exalt your maker's name:Begin, and with th'important theme
Your artless lays improve,
Wake with your songs the rising day,
Let musick sound from ev'ry spray,
And fill the vocal grove
XXII
Praise him ye beasts that nightly roamAmid' the solitary gloom,
Th'expected prey to seize;
Ye slaves of the laborious plough,
Your stubborn necks submissive bow
And bend your wearied knees.
XXIII
Ye sons of men, his praise display,Who stamp'd his image on your clay,
And gave it pow'r to move;
Ye that on Judah's confines dwell,
From age to age successive tell
The wonders of his love.
XXIV
Let Levi's tribe the lay prolong,Till angels listen to the song,
And bend attentive down;
Let wonder seize the heav'nly train,
Pleas'd while they hear a mortal strain,
So sweet, so like their own.
392
XXV
And ye your thankful voices join,That oft have bow'd before his shrine,
On Sion's sacred hill;
Where erst th'effulgent glory stood,
And utter'd from the mystick cloud,
The dictates of his will.
XXVI
Ye Spirits of the just and good,That eager for the blest abode,
To heav'nly mansions soar;
Oh! let your songs his praise display,
Till heav'n itself shall melt away,
And time shall be no more
XXVII
Praise him, ye meek and humble train,Ye saints, whom his decrees ordain
The boundless bliss to share;
Oh! praise him till you take your way
To regions of eternal day,
And reign for ever there.
XXVIII
Let us who now impassive stand,Plac'd by the tyrant's stern command
Amid' the fiery blaze;
While thus we triumph in the flame,
Rise, and our maker's love proclaim
In hymns of endless praise.
The End of the Second Part.
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