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O make our notes with theirs agree,
And blefs the fouls that fing of thee!
To thee the churches here rejoice,
The folemn organs aid the voice:
To facred roofs the found we raise,
The facred roofs refound thy praise:
And while our notes in one agree,
O! blefs the church that fings to thee!



HE morning opens, very freshly gay,

And life itself is in the month of May. With green my fancy paints an arbour o'er, And flowerets with a thousand colours more; Then falls to weaving that, and spreading these, And foftly shakes them with an eafy breeze. With golden fruit adorns the bending shade, Or trails a filver water o'er its bed. Glide, gentle water, ftill more gently by, While in this fummer-bower of blifs I lye, And fweetly fing of fenfe-delighting flames, And nymphs and shepherds, soft invented names; Or view the branches which around me twine, And praise their fruit, diffufing sprightly wine; Or find new pleasures in the world to praise, And still with this return adorn my lays; "Range round your gardens of eternal fpring, "Go, range my fenfes, while I fweetly fing :"

In vain, in vain, alas! feduc'd by ill,
And acted wildly by the force of will!
I tell my foul, it will be conftant May,
And charm a season never made to stay ;
My beauteous arbour will not stand a storm,
The world but promises, and can't perform :
Then fade, ye leaves; and wither, all ye flowers;
I'll doat no longer in enchanted bowers;

But fadly mourn, in melancholy fong,

The vain conceits that held my foul fo long.
The lufts that tempt us with delufive show,
And fin brought forth for everlasting woe.
Thus fhall the notes to Sorrow's object rise,
While frequent refts procure a place for fighs;
And, as I moan upon the naked plain,
Be this the burthen closing every strain :
Return, my fenfes; range no more abroad;
He'll only find his blifs who feeks for God.



HE fleeting joys, which all affords below, Work the fond heart with unperforming show; The wish that makes our happier life compleat, Nor grafps the wealth nor honours of the great; Nor loosely fails on Pleasure's easy stream, Nor gathers wreaths from all the groves of fame; Weak man, whose charms to these alone confine, Attend my prayer, and learn to make it thinc.


From thy rich throne, where circling trains of light
Make day that 's endless, infinitely bright;
Thence, heavenly Father! thence with mercy dart
One beam of brightnefs to my longing heart.
Dawn through the mind, drive Error's clouds away,
And still the rage in Paffion's troubled fea;
That the poor banish'd foul, ferene and free,
May rife from earth, to vifit heaven and thee:
Come, Peace divine! fhed gently from above,
Infpire my willing bofom, wondrous Love;
Thy purpled pinions to my shoulders tye,
And point the paffage where I want to fly.
But whither, whither now! what powerful fire
With this blefs'd influence equals my defire?
I rife (or Love, the kind deluder, reigns,
And acts in fancy fuch enchanted scenes);
Earth leffening flies, the parting skies retreat,
The fleecy clouds my waving feathers beat;
And now the fun and now the stars are gone,
Yet ftill methinks the fpirit bears me on,
Where tracts of æther purer blue display,
And edge the golden realm of native day.

Oh, ftrange enjoyment of a blifs unfeen!
Oh, ravishment! Oh, facred rage` within!
Tumultuous pleafure, rais'd on peace of mind,
Sincere, exceffive, from the world refin'd!
I fee the light that veils the throne on high,
A light unpierc'd by man's impurer eye;

I hear the words, that iffuing thence proclaim,
"Let God's attendants praise his awful name!"

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Then heads unnumber'd bend before the fhrine,
Myfterious feat of Majefty divine!

And hands unnumber'd ftrike the filver ftring,
And tongues unnumber'd Hallelujah sing.
See, where the fhining Seraphims appear,
And fink their decent eyes with holy fear.
See flights of angels all their feathers raise,
And range the orbs, and, as they range, they praise;
Behold the great Apoftles! fweetly met,

And high on pearls of azure æther fet.
Behold the Prophets, full of heavenly fire,
With wandering finger wake the trembling lyre;
And hear the Martyrs' tune, and all around
The church triumphant makes the region found.
With harps of gold, with bows of ever-green,
With robes of white, the pious throngs are feen;
Exalted anthems all their hours employ,

And all is mufick, and excefs of joy.

Charm'd with the fight, I long to bear a part;
The pleasure flutters at my ravish'd heart.
Sweet faints and angels of the heavenly choir,
If love has warm'd you with celestial fire,
Affift my words, and, as they move along,
With Hallelujahs crown the burthen'd fong.
Father of all above, and all below,

O great, and far beyond expreffion fo;

No bounds thy knowledge, none thy power confine, For power and knowledge in their fource are thine; Around thee glory spreads her golden wing:

Sing, glittering angels, Hallelujah fing.


Son of the Father, firft-begotten Son,

Ere the fhort meafuring line of time begun,

The world has feen thy works, and joy'd to fee
The bright effulgence manifeft in thee.

The world muft own thee Love's unfathom'd fpring; Sing, glittering angels, Hallelujah fing.

Proceeding Spirit, equally divine,

In whom the Godhead's full perfections shine,
With various graces, comforts unexprefs'd,
With holy transports you refine the breast ;
And earth is heavenly where your gifts you bring,
Sing, glittering angels, Hallelujah fing.

But where 's my rapture, where my wondrous heat, What interruption makes my blifs retreat?

This world 's got in, the thoughts of t' other 's croft, And the gay picture 's in my fancy loft.

With what an eager zeal the confcious foul

Would claim its feat, and, foaring, pafs the pole !

But our attempts thefe chains of earth restrain,,
Deride our toil, and drag us down again.
So from the ground afpiring meteors go,

And, rank'd with planets, light the world below;
But their own bodies fink them in the sky,

When the warmth 's gone that taught them how to fly.

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