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Then thus proceeded: Be thy mufe thy zeal,

• Dare to be good, and all my joys reveal.

• While other pencils flatt'ring forms create,

And paint the gaudy plumes that deck the Great ;. • While other pens exalt the vain delight,

• Whose wasteful revel wakes the depth of night;

• Or others foftly fing in idle lines,

'How Damon courts, or Amaryllis fhines;

• More wifely thou select a theme divine,.
• Fame is their recompence, 'tis heav'n is thine.

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• Despise the raptures of difcorded fire,. • Where wine, or paffion, or applause inspire 'Low restless life, and ravings born of earth, • Whofe meaner subjects speak their humble birth, 'Like working feas, that when loud winters blow,,

Not made for rifing, only rage below.

Mine is a warm and yet a lambent heat,

• More lafting ftill, as more intenfely great, [breathe,,
• Produc'd where pray'r, and praise, and pleasure
• And ever mounting whence it shot beneath..

< Unpaint

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• Unpaint the love, that hov'ring over beds, From glitt'ring pinions guilty pleasure sheds ; • Reftore the colour to the golden mines

With which behind the feather'd idol fhines;

To flow'ring greens give back their native care,

< The rose and lilly, never his to wear ;

• To sweet Arabia send the balmy breath;

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Strip the fair flesh, and call the phantom, Death; His bow be fabled o'er, his fhafts the fame,

And fork and point them with eternal flame.

But urge thy pow'rs, thine utmoft voice advance, • Make the loud ftrings against thy fingers dance; 'Tis love that Angels praise, and men adore, • 'Tis love divine that afks it all and more. Fling back the gates of ever-blazing day, Pour floods of liquid light to gild the way; • And all in glory wrapt, thro' paths untrod • Pursue the great unfeen descent of God. • Hail the meek Virgin, bid the child appear, The child is GOD, and call him JESUS here.

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• He

• He comes, but where to rest? A manger's nigh, Make the great Being in a manger lie;

Fill the wide fky with Angels on the wing,

• Make thousands gaze, and make ten thousand sing;

• Let men afflict him, men he came to fave,

• And still afflict him till he reach the grave;

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Make him refign'd, his loads of forrow meet,

And me, like Mary, weep beneath his feet;

I'll bathe my treffes there, my pray'rs rehearse,

• And glide in flames of love along thy verse.

Ah! while I fpeak, I feel my bofom fwell, My raptures fmother what I long to tell.


'Tis GOD! a prefent GOD! Thro' cleaving air

I fee the throne, and fee the JESUS there

• Plac'd on the right. He fhews the wounds he bore,

(My fervours oft have won him thus before) [ear; How pleas'd he looks! my words have reach'd his He bids the gates unbar, and calls me near.'. She ceas'd. The cloud on which fhe feem'd to tread, It's curls unfolded, and around her spread;

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Bright Angels waft their wings to raise the cloud,
And sweep their ivory lutes, and fing aloud;
The scene moves off, while all its ambient sky
Is turn'd to wondrous mufic as they fly;
And foft the swelling founds of mufic grow,
And faint their softness, till they fail below.

My downy fleep the warmth of Phoebus broke,
And while my thoughts were fettling, thus I spoke.
Thou beauteous Vision! on the foul imprefs'd,
When moft my reafon would appear to rest,
'Twas fure with pencils dipt in various lights
Some curious Angel limn'd thy facred fights;
From blazing funs his radiant gold he drew,
White moons the filver gave, and air the blue.
I'll mount the roving winds expanded wing,
And seek the facred hill, and light to fing;
('Tis known in Jewry well) I'll make my lays
Obedient to thy fummons, found with praise..
But ftill I fear, unwarm'd with holy flame,
I take for truth the flatt'ries of a dream;


And barely wish the wondrous gift I boast,
And faintly practise what deferves it most.

Indulgent LORD! whofe gracious love displays
Joy in the light, and fills the dark with ease;
Be this, to bless my days, no dream of bliss;
Or be, to bless the nights, my dreams like this.



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S Bacchus ranging at his leisure


(Jolly Bacchus, king of pleasure !)

Charm'd the wide world with drink and dances,

And all his thousand airy fancies,

Alas! he quite forgot the while

His fav'rite vines in Lefbos ifle.

The God, returning ere they dy'd,

Ah! fee my jolly Fauns he cry'd,
The leaves but hardly born are red,
And the bare arms for pity spread :
The beasts afford a rich manure ;
Fly, my boys, to bring the cure;

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