« ElőzőTovább »
While thus his Wonders spread around,
Let the Seas add their watry Noise; Ye Whales, alarm the dark Profound
3 Ye finny Nations take a Voice.
Let Ocean rouse the peaceful Deep,
Loud bell’wing through his large Domain : Ye Surges, break your idle Sleep,
Ye Shores, reverberate the Strain. And shall mute Animals that swim,
Nor thou, O Earth, his Worth declare ? O! pay thy just Devoirs to him
He made thy pond'rous Ball cohere. Ye Dragons, tune your noisome Breath,
From dreadful Hissings into Joy : Ye scaly Ministers of Death,
In Song your forky Tongues employ. Let Beasts their savage Lowing give,
From him they draw their springing Food :: Let Wolves in Emulation (trive,
With the dread Monfters of the Wood.
Let Mountains with their Cedars bow,
Ye proftrate Vallies, higher rife:
Ye Shrubs mount upward to the Skies.
Howe’er diftinguish'd or disjoin'd, Conspire to celebrate his Name,
And laud the Maker of Mankind.
To Him let Kings their Homage pay ;
Their Pow'r, compar'd with his, is none: Ye Monarchs, great in earthly Sway,
Bend low, as Subjects, at his Throne. With the chaste Virgins tender Voice,
Appear, O Youth, in Bloom of Age ; In feebler Plaudits to rejoice,"
Let Years and Infancy engage.
To praise th' Eternal, the Divine,
Far, far be impious Discord hurl'd; Let all his works in Confort join,
And with the gen'ral Chorus fill the World.
O'erwhelm'd with Guilt and Fear, I fee my Maker Face to Face,
O how shall I appear!
If yet, while Pardon may be found,
Ánd Mercy may be fought,
And trembles at the Thought.
When thou, O LORD, shalt stand disclos'd, : . In Majesty severe, And fit in Judgment on my Soul,
O how shall I appear!
But thou haft told the troubled Mind,
Who does her Sins lament,
Shall endless Woe prevent.
Then Then see the Sorrow of VII.
Her Pardon to procure,
Leave Mortality, and Things below;
Farewel to all ye in hafte,
For I am call'd to go;
And lo! I mount, and lo !
Where shall I find the noble Britis Land ?
Which in the Sea does lie,
And seems a Grain o'th' Sand ! For this, will any fin, or bleed? Of Civil Wars is this the Meed?
And is it this, alas, which we (Oh Irony of Words !) do call Great Britany!
I pass by th' arched Magazins, which hold Th'eternal Stores of Frost, and Rain, and Snow;
Dry and secure I go,
Nor shake with Fear, or Cold :
And Lightnings in my Way,
Now into’a gentle Sea of rolling Flame
As Flames mount up through Air :
So perfect, yet fo tame,
My faithful Breast did cover,
Through fev'ral Orbs, which one fair Planet bear,
The Hints of Galileo's Glass,
I toucht at last the spangled Sphere.
"Tis all so bright and gay, And the joint Eyes of Night make up a perfe& Day,
Where am I now? Angels and God is here
Swallows my Senses quite,
And drowns all whar, or how, or where.
The tyrannous Pleasure cou'd express :
The mighty Elijah mounted fo on high,
The rest of Mankind fall,
And went not downwards to the Sky, With much of Pomp and Show (As conqu’ring Kings in Triumph go).
Did he to Heav'n approach ; And wondrous was his Way, and wondrous was his Coach.
'Twas gawdy all, and rich in ev'ry Part,
Was its substantial Mold;
Drawn forth by chymick Angel's Art.
And myftick Shapes cut round in it,
The Horses were of temper'd Lightning made,
The noblest, fprightful'ft Breed;
But such light folid ones as shine
Thus mounted the great Prophet to the Skies.
Or that which so they call,
Wondred from hence to see one rise.
Awhile the sacred Footsteps bore,