There the dear Man my Saviour fits,

The God, how bright he fhines !
And scatters infinite delights
On all the happy minds.

Seraphs with elevated ftrains

Circle the throne around,

And move and charm the starry plains
With an immortal found.

Jefus the Lord their harps employs,
Jefus my love they fing,

Jefus the name of both our joys

Sounds fweet from every ftring.

Hark, how beyond the narrow bounds
Of time and space they run,
And fpeak in most majestic founds,

The godhead of the Son.

How on the Father's breast he lay,

The darling of his foul, Infinite years before the day

Or heavens began to roll.

And now they fink the lofty tone,
And gentler notes they play,
And bring th' Eternal Godhead down
To dwell in humble clay.

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,
What wondrous things he faid!
Sweet cherubs, ftay, dwell here a while,
And tell what Jefus did.

At his command the blind awake,
And feel the gladsome rays;
He bids the dumb attempt to speak,
They try their tongues in praise.
He shed a thousand bleffings round
Where'er he turn'd his eye;
He spoke, and at the fovereign found
The hellish legions fly.

Thus while with unambitious ftrife
Th' ethereal minstrels rove
Through all the labours of his life,
And wonders of his love,

In the full choir a broken ftring
Groans with a strange surprize;
The reft in filence mourn their king,
That bleeds, and loves, and dies.

Seraph and faint, with drooping wings,
Cease their harmonious breath;
No blooming trees, nor bubbling fprings,

While Jefus fleeps in death.

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,
And triumph in their eyes.

In awful state the conquering God
Afcends his fhining throne,
While tuneful angels found abroad
The victories he has won.

Now let me rife, and join their fong,
And be an angel too;

My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue,
Here's joyful work for you.

I would begin the mufic here,

And fo my foul should rife:

Oh! for fome heavenly notes to bear
My spirit to the skies!

There, ye that love my Saviour, fit,
There I would fain have place,
Amongst your thrones, or at your feet,
So I might fee his face.

I am confin'd to earth no more,
But mount in hafte above,
To blefs the God that I adore,
And fing the Man I love,

Fire, Air, Earth, and Sea, praise ye the LORD.

EARTH, thou great footstool of our God

Who reigns on high; thou fruitful source

Of all our raiment, life and food;

Our houfe, our parent, and our nurse;
Mighty ftage of mortal scenes,

Dreft with ftrong and gay machines,
Hung with golden lamps around
(And flowery carpets fpread the ground);
Thou bulky globe, prodigious mafs,
That hangs unpillar'd in an empty space!

While thy unweildy weight refts on the feeble air,
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 scatter 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:

7

And

And ye, whofe vital moisture yields

Life's purple stream a fresh supply;

Sweet Waters, wandering through the flowery fields, Or dropping from the sky;

Confefs the Power whofe all-fufficient name

Nor needs your aid to build, or to fupport our frame.

Now the rude air, with noify force,
Beats up and fwells the angry fea,

They join to make our lives a prey,
And fweep the failors hopes away,

Vain hopes, to reach their kindred on the fhores!
Lo, the wild feas and furging waves

Gape hideous in a thousand graves :

Be ftill, ye floods, and know your bounds of sand,
Ye ftorms, adore your Mafter's hand :

The winds are in his fift, the waves at his command.

From the eternal emptiness

His fruitful word by fecret fprings
Drew the whole harmony of things
That form this noble universe :

Old Nothing knew his powerful hand,
Scarce had he spoke his full command,

Fire, Air, and Earth, and Sea, heard the creating call,
And leap'd from empty nothing to this beauteous all;
And ftill they dance, and ftill obey

The orders they receiv'd the great creation-day.

THE