To share my blifs, my good ele& I call,
The church (my garden) muft include them all;
Now fit and banquet; now, belov'd, you fee
What gifts I love, and prove thefe fruits with

me;

O might this fweet communion ever last!
But with the fun the fweet communion past.
The Saviour parts, ard on oblivion's breaft
Benumb'd and lumbering lies the church to reft,
Pafs the iweet alleys while the dufk abides,
Seck the fair lodge in which the maid refides;
Then, Fancy, feek the maid at night again,
The Chrift will come, but comes, alas, in vain.

I fleep. The fays, and yet my heart awakes

His ivory fhape adorns a costly vest,
Work paints the skirts, and gems enrich the breast ;
His limbs beneath. his fhining fandals cafe
Like marble columus on a golden base.

Nor boasts that mountain, where the cedar-tree
Perfumes our realm, fuch numerous fweets as he.
O, lovely all! what could my king require
To make his prefeuce more the world's defire ?
And now, ye maids, if fuch a friend you know,
'Tis fuch my longings look to find below

While thus her friend the fpoufe's anthem fing, Deck'd with the thummin, crown'd a facred king;

The daughters' hearts the fine defcription drew,

With what fond fervour from without he cries,
Arife, my love; my urdefil'd, arife!
My dove, my fifter, cold the dews alight,
And fill my treffes with the drops of night;
Alas, I'm all unrob'd, I wafh'd my feet,
I taited flumber, and I find it fweet

As thus my words refufe, he flips his hands
Where the clos'd latch my cruel door commands;
What, though deny 'd, fo perfevering kind!
Who long denies a perfevering mind?
From my wak'd foul my flothful temper flies,
My bowels yearn; I rife, my love, I rife;
I find the latch thy fingers touch'd before,
Thy fmelling myrrh comes dropping off the door.
Now, where's my love?-what! hast thou left
the place,

O, to my foul repeat thy words of grace!
Speak in the dark, my love; I feek thee round,
And vainly feck thee, till thou wilt be found.
What, no return! I own my folly paft,
I lay too liftlefs, fpeak, my love, at last.
The guards have found me-are ye guards indeed,
Who imite the fad, who make the feeble bleed?
Dividing teachers, thefe; who wrong my name,
Rend ny long veil, and caft me bare to shame.
But you, ye daughters of the realm of reft,
If ever pity mov'd a virgin-breaft,
Tell my belov'd how languifhing 1 lie,
How love has brought me near the point to die.
And what be ov'd is this you wou'd have found?
Say Salem's daughters, as they flock'd around;
What wondrous thing? what charm beyond
compare?

Say, what's thy lover, faireft o'er the fair?
His face is white and ruddy, the replies,
So mercy, join'd to juftice, tempers dies;
His lotty ftature, where a myriad faine,
O'rtops, and fpeaks a majcity divine.
Fair honour crowns his head, he raven-black,
In bufby curlings, Rows adown his back:
Sparkling his eyes, with full proportion plac'd,
White like the milk, and with a milanefs grac'd;
As the fweet doves whene'er they fondly play
By running waters in a glittering day.
Within his breath what picaling fweetness grows!
'fis fpice exhal'd, and mingled in the rofe.
Within his words what grace with goodnets meets!
So beds of lilies drop with balmy fweets.
What rings of caftern price his fingers hold!
Gold decks the fingers, beryl decks the gold!

view

Then where, they cry, thou fai:eft o'er the fair, Where goes thy lover? Tell the virgins where. What flowering walks invite the steps afide? We'll help to feek him, let those walks be try'd. The fpoufe refolving here the grand descent, 'Twas that he promis'd, there, fhe cries, he went; He keeps a garden where the fpices breathe, Its bowering borders kifs the vale beneath; 'Tis there he gathers lilies, there he dwells, And binds his flowerets to unite the frells. O, 'tis my height of love that I am his! O, he is mine, and that's my height of blifs! Descend, my virgins; well I know the place, He feeds in lilies, that's a fpotless race.

At dawning day the bridegroom leaves a bower, And here he waters, there he props a flower, When the kind damfel, fpring of heavenly flame, With Salem's daughters to the garden came. Then thus his love the bridegroom's words repeat

(The felling borders lent them both a feat) :
O, great as Tirzah! 'twas a regal place,
O, fair as Salem! 'tis the realm of peace;
Whofe afpect, awful to the wondering eye,
Appears like armies when the banners fly;
O turn, my fifter, O my beauteous bride,
Thy face o'ercomes me, turn that face afide;
How bright thy locks, how well their number
paints

The great affemblies f my lovely faints!
So bright the kids, fo numerously fed,
Graze the green wealth of lefty Gilead's head.
How pure thy teeth for equal order made,
Each anfwering each, while all the public aid;
As when the feafon bids the fhepherd lave
His fheep, new fhorn, within the filver wave:
Wafh'd, they return in fuch unfully'd white,
So march by pairs, and in the flock unite.
How fweet thy temples! not pomegranates know,
With equal modeft look, to pleafe and glow.
If Solomon his life of pleature leads,
With wives in numbers, and unnumber'd maids,
In other paths, my life of pleasure shown,
Admits my love, and undefil'd alone.
Thy mother, Ifrael, fhe dame who bere
Her choice, my dove, my fpotlefs, owns no

more;

The Gentile queens, at thy appearance, cry, Hail, queen of nations hail, the maids reply;

And thus they fing thy praife: what heavenly

dame

Springs like the morning, with a purple flame?
What rifes like the morn with filver light?
What, like the fun, affifts the world with fight?
Yet awful ftill, though thus ferenely kind,
Like hofts with enfigns rattling in the wind?
I grant I left thy fight, I feem'd to go,
But was I abfent when you fancy'd fo?
Down to my garden, all my planted vale,
Where nuts their ground in underwood conceal;
Where blown pomegranates, there I went to fee
What knitting bloffoms white the bearing tree:
View the green buds, recall the wandering fhoots,
Smell my gay flowerets, taste my flavour'd fruits;
Raife the curl'd vine, refresh the spicy beds,
And joy for every grace my garden fheds.

The Saviour here, and here the church arise,
And am I thus refpected, thus fhe cries!
I mount for heaven, tranfported on the winds,
My flying chariot's drawn by willing minds.

As, rapt with comfort, thus the maid withdrew,
The waiting daughters wonder'd where she flew ;
And O! return, they cry, for thee we burn,
O maid of Salem; Salem's felf return.
And what's in Salem's maid we covet fo?
Hear, all ye nations-'tis your blifs below;
That glorious vifion, by the patriarch feen,
When fky-born beauties march'd the fcented green;
There the met faints and meeting angels came,
Two lamps of God, Mahanaim was the name.
Again the maid reviews her facred ground;
Solemn fhe fits, the damfels fing around.
O, prince's daughter! how with fhining show,
Thy golden fhoes prepare thy feet below!
How firm thy joints! what temple-work can be,
With all its gems and art, preferr'd to thee?
In thee, to feed thy lover's faithful race,
Still flow the riches of abounding grace;
Pure, large, refreshing, as the waters fall
From the carv'd navels of the cistern-wall.
In thee the lover finds his race divine,
You teem with numbers, they with virtues shine;
So wheat with lilies, if their heaps unite,
The wheat's unnumber'd, and the lilies white;
Like tender roes, thy breafts appear above,
Two types of innocence, and twins of love.
Like ivory turrets seems thy neck to rear,
O, facred emblem, upright, firm, and fair!
As Hefhbon-pools, which, with a filver state,
Diffuse their waters at their city-gate,
For ever fo thy virgin-eyes remain,
So clear within, and fo without ferene.
As through fweet fir the royal turret fhows,
Whence Lebanon furveys a realm of foes;
So through thy lovely curls appear thy face,
To watch thy foes, and guard thy faithful race.
The richest colours flowery Carmel wears,
Red fillets, crofs'd with purple, braid thy hairs;
Yet, not more strictly these thy locks restrain,
Than thou thy king, with ftrong affection's chain;
When from this palace he enjoys thy fight,
O love, O beauty, form'd for all delight!
Strait is thy goodly ftature, firm, and high,
As palms afpiring in the brighter sky;

Thy breafts the cluster (if thofe breafts we view,
As late for beauty, now for profit too)
Woo'd to thine arms, thofe arms that oft extend,
In the kind pofture of a waiting friend;
Each mind of Salem cries, I'll mount the tree,
Hold the broad branches, and depend on thee.
O, more than grapes, thy fruit delights the maids,
Thy pleafing breath excels the citron fhades:
Thy mouth exceeds rich wine, the words that go
From those sweet lips with more refreshment
flow,

Their powerful graces flumbering fouls awake,
And cause the dead, that hear thy voice, to fpeak.
This anthem fung, the glorious spouse arofe,
Yet thus instructs the daughters ere she goes.
If aught, my damfels, in the spouse ye find
Deferving praises, think the lover kind;
To my belov'd these marriage-robes I owe,
I'm his defire, and he would have it so.

Scarce fpake the spouse, but fee the lover near! Her humble temper brought the presence here; Then, rais'd by grace, and ftrongly warm'd by Jove,

No fecond languor lets her lord remove;
She flies to meet him, zeal fupplies the wings,
And thus her hafte to work his will the fings;
Come, my beloved, to the fields repair,
Come, where another spot demands our care;
There in the village we'll to reft recline,
Mean as it is, I try to make it thine.
When the first rays their cheering crimifon fhed,
We'll rife betimes to fee the vineyard spread;
See vines luxuriant verdur'd leaves difplay,
Supporting tendrils curling all the way.
See young unpurpled grapes in clusters grow,
And smell pomegranate-bloffoms as they blow:
There will I give my loves, employ my care,
And, as my labours thrive, approve nie there:
Scarce have we pafs'd my gate, the fcent we meet,
My covering jafmines now diffuse their sweet;
My fpicy flowerets, mingled as they fly,
With doubling odours crowd a balmy sky.
Now all the fruits, which crown the season, view,
These nearer fruits are old, and thofe are new;
And these, and all of every loaded tree,
My love, I gather, and referve for thee.
If then thy fpoufe's labour please thee well,
Oh like my brethren, with thy fifter dwell;
No blameless maid, whofe fond careffes meet
An infant-brother in the public street,
Clings to its lips with lefs referve than I
Would hang on thine, where'er I found thee nigh:
No fhame would make me from thy fide remove,
No danger make me not confels thy love.
Strait to my mother's house, thine Ifrael fhe
(And thou my monarch wouldft arrive with me);
'Tis there I'd lead thee, where I mean to stay,
Till thou, by her, instruct my foul to pray;
There fhalt thou prove my virtues, drink my
wine,

And feel my joy, to find me wholly thine.
Oh while my foul were fick, through fond defire,
Thine hands fhould hold me left my life expire;
As round a child the parents' arms are plac'd,
This holds the head, and that enfolds the waist.

So caft thy cares on me, the lover cry'd,
Lean to my bofom, lean, my lovely bride;
And now, ye daughters of the realm of blifs,
Let nothing difcompofe a love like this;
But guard her reft from cach approach of ill;
I caus'd her languor, guard her while the will.

Here pause the lines, but foon the lines renew,
Once more the pair celeftial come to view;
Ah feek them once, my ravifh'd fancy, more,
And then thy fongs of Solomon are o'er :
By yon green bank purfue their orb of light,
The fun fhines out, but fhines not half fo bright.
See Salem's maids, in white, attend the King,
They greet the spouses-hark, to what they fing.
Who, from the defert, where the wandering
clouds

High Sinai pierces, comes involv'd with crowds? 'Tis fhc, the fpoufe. Oh favour'd o'er the rest ' Who walks reclin'd by fuch a lover's breast.

The fpoufe, rej icing, heard the kind falute, And thus addrefs'd him-all the reft were mute. Beneath the law, our goodly parent tree, I went, my much-belov'd, in fearch of thee; For thee, like one in pangs of travail, ftrove; Hence, none may wonder if I gain thy love. As feals their pictures to the wax impart, So let my picture ftamp thy gentle heart; As fix'd the fignets on our hands remain, So fix me thine, and ne'er to part again :

For love is ftrong as death; whene'er they ftrike;
Alike imperious, vainly check'd alike;

Both dread to lofe, Love, mix'd with jealous dread!
As foon the marble tomb refigns the dead.
Its fatal arrows fiery-pointed fall,
The fire intenfe, and thine the most of all;
To flack the points no chilling floods are found,
Nay, fhould afflictions roll like floods around,
Were wealth of nations offer'd, all would prove
Too fmall a danger, or a price for love.
If then with love this world of worth agree,
With foft regard our little fifter fee;
How far unapt, as yet, like maids that own
No breafts at all, or breasts but hardly grown;
Her part of profelyte is fcarce a part,
Too much a Gentile at her erring heart;
Her day draws nearer; what have we to do,
Left fhe be afk'd, and prove unworthy too?
Defpair not fpoufe, he cries; we'll find the

Large towery buildings, where fecurely refts
A thousand thoufand of my lover's guests;
The vaft increase affords his heart delight,
And I find favour in his heavenly fight.
The lover here, to make her rapture last,
Thus adds affurance to the promise past.

A fpacious vineyard in Baal-Hamon vale,
The vintage fet, by Solomon, to fale,
His keepers took; and every keeper paid
A thousand purfes for the gains he made.
And I've a vintage too; his vintage bleeds
A large increase, but my return exceeds.
Let Solomon receive his keeper's pay,
He gains his thousand, their two hundred they;
Mine is mine own, 'tis in my prefence ftill,
And hall increase the more, the more the will.
My love, my vineyard, oh the future shoots
Which fill my garden-r ws with facred fruits!
I faw the liftening maids attend thy voice,
And in their listening faw their eyes rejoice;
A due fuccefs thy words of comfort met,
Now turn to me-'tis I would hear thee yet.
Say, dove, and spotless, for I must away,
Say. spouse, and fifter, all you wish to say.
He fpake; the place was bright with lambent fire,
(But what is brightnefs, if the Chrift retire?
Gold-bordering purple mark'd his road in air,
And kneeling all, the fpoufe addrefs'd the prayer:
Defire of nations. if thou must be gone,
Accept our wishes, all compris'd in one;
We wait thine advent! Oli, we long to fee
I and my fifter both as one in thee.
Then leave thy heaven, and come and dwell below;
Why faid I leave ?-'tis heaven where'er you go.
Hafte, my belov'd, thy promife hafte to crown,
The form thou'lt honour waits thy coming down;
Nor let fuch fwiftnefs in the roes be shown
To fave themselves, as thine to fave thine own.
Hafte, like the nimblest harts that lightly bound
Before the stretches of the fwifteft hound;
With reaching feet devour a level way,
Acrofs their backs their branching antlers lay,
In the cool dews their bending body ply,
And brush the fpicy mountains as they fly.

JONAH.

Thus fung the king--Some angel reach a bough

From Eden's tree to crown the wifeft brow.
And now thou faireft garden ever made,
Broad bank of fpices, bloffom'd walks of fhade,
O Lebanon where much I love to dwell,
Since I must leave thee, Lebanon, farewell!

Swift from my foul the fair idea flies,
A wilder fight the changing fcene fupplies;
Wide feas come ralling to my future page,
And ftorms ftand ready, when I call, to rage.
Then go where Joppa crowns the winding shore,
The prophet Jonah juft arrives before;
He fees a fhip unmooring, foft the gales,
He pays, and enters, and the veffel fails.

Ah, wouldst thou fly thy God? rafh man, forbear. What land to dillant but thy God is there?

Weak reafon, ceafe thy voice.-They run the deep,

And the tir'd prophet lays his limbs to fleep.
Here God fpeaks louder, fends a ftorm to fea,
The clouds remove to give the vengeance way;
Strong blafts come whistling, by degrees they roar,
And fhove big furges tumbling on to shore;
The veffel bounds, then rolls, and every blast
Works hard to tear her by the groaning mast;
The failors, doubling all their fhouts and cares,
Furl the white canvas, and caft forth the wares;
Each feek the god their native regions own,
In vain they feek them, for those gods were

none.

Yet Jonah flept the while, who folely knew,
In all that number, where to find the true.
To whom the pilot: Sleeper, rife and pray,
Our gods are deaf; may thine do more than
they!

Bu thus the reft: Perhaps we waft a foe
To heaven itself, and that's our caufe of woe;
Let's feek by lots, if heaven be pleas'd to tell;
And what they fought by lots, on Jonah fell:
Then, whence he came, and who, and what, and
why

Thus rag'd the tempeft, all confus'dly cry;
Each prefs'd in hafte to get his question heard,
When Jonah ftops them with a grave regard.

An Hebrew man, you fee, who God revere, He made this world, and makes this world his care; [head,

His the whirl'd sky, thefe waves that lift their
And his yon land, on which you long to tread
He charg'd me late, to Nineveh repair,
And to their face denounce his fentence there :
Go, faid the vifion, prophet, preach to all.
Yet forty days, and Nineveh fhall fall.
But well I knew him gracious to forgive,
And much my zeal abhorr'd the bad should live;
And if they turn, they live; then what were I
But fome falfe prophet, when they fail to die?
Or what, I fancied, had the Gentiles too
With Hebrew prophets, and their God, to do?
Drawn by the wilful thoughts, my foil I run,
I fled his prefence, and the work's undone.

The ftorm increases as the prophet speaks,
O'er the toft fhip a foaming billow breaks;
She rifes pendant on the lifted waves,

And thence defcries a thousand watery graves;
Then, downward rushing, watery mountains hide
Her hulk beneath, in deaths on every
fide.
O, cry the failors all, thy fact was ill,
Yet, if a prophet, fpeak thy mafter's will;
What part is ours with thee? can aught remain.
To bring the bleffings of a calm again?

Then Jonah: Mine's the death will beft atone
(And God is pleas'd that I pronounce my own);
Arife, and cast me forth, the wind will ceafe,
The fea fubfiding wear the looks of peace,
And you fecurely fteer. For well I fee
Myfelf the criminal, the ftorm for me.

Yet pity moves for one that owns a blame, And awe refulting from a prophet's name; Love pleads, he kindly meant for them to die; Fear pleads against him, left they power defy:

If then to aid the flight abets the fin,
They think to land him where they took him in.
Perhaps, to quit the caufe, might end the woe,
And, God appealing, let the veffel go.
For this they fix their oars, and strike the main,
But God withstands them, and they strike in vain.
The ftorm increases more with want of light,
Low blackening clouds involve the ship in night;
Thick battering rains fly through the driving skies,
Loud thunder bellows, darted lightning flies;
A dreadful picture night-born horror drew,
And his, or their's, or both their fates, they view.
Then thus to God they cry: Almighty power,
Whom we ne'er knew till this defpairing hour,
From this devoted blood thy fervants free,
To us he's innocent, if fo to thee;
In all the past we fee thy wond'rous hand,
And that he perish, think it thy command.

This prayer perform'd, they caft the prophet

o'er ;

A furge receives him, and he mounts no more:
Then ftill's the thunder, cease the flames of blue,
The rains abated, and the winds withdrew;
The clouds ride off, and, as they march away,
Through every breaking fhoots a cheerful day;
The fea, which rag'd fo loud, accepts the prize,
A while it rolls, then all the tempeft dies;
By gradual finking, flat the furface grows,
And fafe the veffel with the failors goes.
The lion thus, that bounds the fences o'er,
And makes the mountain-echoes learn to roar,
If on the lawn a branching deer he rend,
Then falls his hunger, all his roarings end;
Murmuring a while, to reft his limbs he lays,
And the freed lawn enjoys its herd at ease.

Blefs'd with the fudden calm, the failors own That wretched Jonah worshipp'd right alone; Then make their vows, the victim fheep prepare, Bemoan the prophet, and the God revere.

Now, though you fear to lofe the power to

breathe,

Now, though you tremble, fancy, dive beneath;
What worlds of wonders in the deep are feen!
But this the greatest-Jonah lives within!
The man who fondly fled the Maker's view,
Strange as the crime, has found a dungeon too.
God fent a monfter of the frothing fea,
Fit, by the bulk, to gorge the living prey,
And lodge him ftill alive; this hulk receives
The falling prophet, as he dafh'd the waves.
There, newly wak'd from fancied death, he lies,
And oft again in apprehenfion dies:

While three long days and nights, depriv'd of

fleep,

Caft to the deep I fell, by thy command,
Caft in the midft, beyond the reach of land;
Then to the midft brought down, the feas abide
Beneath my feet, the feas on every side;

In ftorms the billow, and in calms the wave,
Are moving coverings to my wandering grave.
Forc'd by defpair, I cry'd, How to my coft
I fled thy prefence, Oh, for ever loft!

But hope revives my foul, and makes me fay,
Yet tow'rds thy temple fhall I turn and pray;
Or, if I know not here where Salem lies,
Thy temple's heaven, and faith has inward eyes.
Alas! the waters, which my whale furround,
Have through my forrowing foul a paffage found;
And now the dungeon moves, new depths I try,
New thoughts of danger all his paths fupply.
The laft of deeps affords the last of dread,
And wraps its funeral weeds around my head:
Now o'er the fand his rollings feem to go,
Where the big mountains root their bafe below;
And now to rocks and clefts their course they
take,

Earth's endless bars, too ftrong for me to break;
Yet, from th' abyfs, my God! thy grace divine
Hath call'd him upward, and my life is mine.
Still, as I tofs'd. I fcarce retain'd my breath,
My foul was fick within, and faint to death.
'Twas then I thought of thee, for pity pray'd,
And to thy temple flew the prayers I made.
The men, whom lying vanity enfnares,
For fake thy mercy, that which might be theirs.
But I will pay my God! my King receive
The folemn vows my full affection gave,
When in thy temple, for a psalm, I fing
Salvation only from my God, my king.
Thus ends the prophet; firft from Canaan fent,
To let the Gentiles know they must repent:
God hears, and speaks; the whale, at God's com-
mand,

Heaves to the light, and cafts him forth to land.
With long fatigue, with unexpected ease,
Opprefs'd a while, he lies afide the feas;
His eyes, though glad, in ftrange aftorifh'd way
Stare at the golden front of cheerful day;
Then, flowly rais'd, he fees the wonder plain,
And what he pray'd, he wrote, to fing again.
The fong recorded brings his vow to mind;
He must be thankful, for the Lord was kind;
Strait to the work he fhunn'd he flies in haste
(That feems his vow, or fecms a part at leaf);
Preaching he comes, and thus denounc'd to all,
Yet forty days, and Nineveh fhall fall.
Fear feiz'd the Gentiles, Nineveh believes;
All faft with penitence, and God forgives.

Nor yet of ule the prophet's fuffering fails, Hell's deep black bofom more than fhews the whale's,

But fome refemblance brings a type to view,
The place was drak, the time proportion'd too.
A race,
the Saviour cries, a finful race,
Tempts for a fign the powers of heavenly grace,
And let them take the fign! as Jonah lay,
Three days and nights within the fifh of prey;
So fhall the Son of Man defcend below,
Earth's opening cntrails fhall retain him fo.

My foul, now feek the fong, and find me there
What heaven has fhewn thee to repel despair;
See, where from hell fhe breaks the crumbling
ground,

Her hairs ftand upright, and they ftare around;
Her horrid front deep-trenching wrinkles trace,
Lean fharpening looks deform her livid face;
Bent lie the brows, and at the bend below,
With fire and blood two wandering eye-balls
glow;

Fill'd are her arms with numerous aids to kill,
And God the fancies but the judge of ill.
Oh, fair-eye'd Hope! thou fee'ft the paffion nigh,
Daughter of promise, oh forbear to fly!
Affurance holds thee, fear would have thee go,
Clofe thy blue wings, and stand thy deadly foe;
The judge of ill is fill the Lord of Grace,
As fuch behold him in the prophet's cafe,
Caft to be drown'd, devour'd within the fea,
Sunk to the deep, and yet reftor'd to day.

Oh, love the Lord, my foul, whose parent care
So rules the world he punishes to spare.
If heavy grief my downcaft heart opprefs,
My body danger, or my ftate diftrefs,
With low fubmiffion in thy temper bow,
Like Jonah pray, like Jonah make thy vow;
With hopes of comfort kifs the chaftening rod,
And, fhunning mad despair, repofe in God;
Then, whatfoe'er the prophet's vow defign,
Repentance, thanks, and charity, be mine.

HEZEKIAH.

FROM the bleak beach, and broad expanse of fea,

To lofty Salem, thought, dire&t thy way;
Mount thy light chariot, move along the plains,
And end thy flight when Hezekiah reigns.

How fwiftly thought has pafs'd from land to

land,

And quite out-run time's meafuting-glass of fand!
Great Salem's walls appear, and I refort
To view the fate of Hezekiah's court.

Well may that king a pious verse inspire,
Who cleans'd the temple, who reviv'd the choir,
Pleas'd with the fervice David fix'd before,
That heavenly mufic might on earth adore.
Deep-rob'd in white, he made the Levites ftand
With cymbals, harps, and pfalteries in their hand;
He gave the priests their trumpets, prompt to
raife

The tuneful foul, by force of found, to praise.
A fkilful mafter for the fong he chofe,
The fongs were David's thefe, and Afaph's those
Then burns their offering, all around rejoice,
Each tunes his inftrument to join the voice;
The trumpets founded, and the fingers fung,
The people worshipp'd, and the temple rung.
Each, while the victim burns, prefents his heart,
Then the priest bleffes, and the people part.

Hail facred Mulic fince you know to draw
The foul to heaven, the fpirit to the law,
I come to prove thy force, thy warbling fring
May tune my foul to write what others fing.