Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-ftrings, Rolling afore him. Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver Down to the centre. Stop here, my fancy: (all away, ye horrid How he fits God-like! and the faints around him Thron'd, yet adoring! O may I fit there when he comes triumphant, Shout the Redeemer. E The SONG of ANGELS above. ARTH has detain'd me prisoner long, And I'm grown weary now: My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue, Tir'd in my thoughts, I ftretch me down, Upward (my Father) to thy throne, H 4 There There the dear Man my Saviour fits, The God, how bright he shines ! And scatters infinite delights On all the happy minds. Seraphs with elevated ftrains And move and charm the starry plains Jefus the Lord their harps employs, Jefus the name of both our joys Sounds fweet from every ftring. Hark, how beyond the narrow bounds The godhead of the Son. How on the Father's breaft he lay, The darling of his foul, Infinite years before the day Or heavens began to roll. And now they fink the lofty tone, O facred beauties of the Man! (The God refides within) His flesh all pure, without a flain, His foul without a fin. Then, Then, how he look'd, and how he fmil'd, Sweet cherubs, ftay, dwell here a while, At his command the blind awake, He shed a thousand bleffings round Thus while with unambitious ftrife In the full choir a broken ftring Seraph and faint, with drooping wings, Then all at once to living strains They fummon every chord, Break up the tomb, and burft his chains, And fhew their rifing Lord. Around Around the flaming army throngs To guard him to the skies, With loud Hofannas on their tongues, In awful state the conquering God Now let me rife, and join their fong, My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue, I would begin the mufic here, And fo my foul fhould rife: Oh! for fome heavenly notes to bear There, ye that love my Saviour, fit, There I would fain have place, I am confin'd to earth no more, To blefs the God that I adore, Fire, Air, Earth, and Sea, praife ye the LORD. ARTH, thou great footstool of our God EA Who reigns on high; thou fruitful fource Our house, our parent, and our nurse; Blefs that Almighty Word that fix'd and holds thee there. Fire, thou fwift herald of his face, Whofe glorious rage, at his command, Levels a palace with the fand, Blending the lofty fpires in ruin with the base: Ye heavenly flames, that finge the air, Artillery of a jealous God, Bright arrows that his founding quivers bear To fcatter deaths abroad; Lightnings, adore the fovereign arm that flings His vengeance, and your fires, upon the heads of kings, Thou vital element, the Air, Whofe boundless magazines of breath Our fainting flame of life repair, And fave the bubble Man from the cold arms of death: |