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Sun, Moon, and Stars, praife ye the LORD.
AIREST of all the lights above,
Thou fun, whose beams adorn the spheres, And with unweary'd fwiftnefs move,
To form the circles of our years;
Praife the Creator of the fkies,
That drefs'd thine orb in golden rays;
Thou reigning beauty of the night,
Whofe gentle beams and borrow'd light
Arife, and to that Sovereign Power
Ye twinkling ftars, who gild the skies
Proclaim the glories of your Lord,
Thou heaven of heavens, fupremely bright,
Fair palace of the court divine,
Where, with inimitable light,
The Godhead condefcends to fhine;
Praife thou thy great Inhabitant,
O God of Glory, God of Love,
THE WELCOME MESSENGER.
LORD, when we fee a faint of thine
With longing eyes, and looks divine,
How we could ev'n contend to lay
Our limbs upon that bed!
We ask thine envoy to convey
Our fouls are rifing on the wing,
To venture in his place;
For when grim death has lost his fting,
Jefus, then, purge my crimes away,
'Tis guilt creates my fears,
'Tis guilt gives death its fierce array,
Oh! if my threatening fins were gone,
I could invite the angel on,
Away these interpofing days,
But kind, and foft, and fweet.
I'd leap at once my feventy years,
And lofe my breath, and all my cares,
Joyful I'd lay this body down,
ALMIGHTY Maker, God!
How wondrous is thy name!
Thy glories how diffus'd abroad
Through the creation's frame!
Her humble homage pays,
And finds a thousand ways t' exprefs
Thine undiffembled praise.
In native white and red
And, free from pride, their beauties fpread,
To fhew thy skilful hand.
The lark mounts up the sky,
With unambitious fong,
And bears her Maker's praise on high
Upon her artless tongue.
My foul would rife and fing
To her Creator too,
Fain would my tongue adore my King,
And pay the worship due.
But pride, that busy fin,
Spoils all that I perform;
Curs'd pride, that creeps fecurely in,
And fwells a haughty worm.
Thy glories I abate,
Or praise thee with defign; Some of the favours I forget, Or think the merit mine.
very fongs I frame
Are faithlefs to thy cause,
And fteal the honours of thy name
To build their own applause.
Create my foul anew,
Elfe all my worship's vain;
This wretched heart will ne'er be true,
Until 'tis form'd again.
Defcend, celcftial fire,
And feize me from above; Melt me in flames of pure defire, A facrifice to love.
Let joy and worship spend
The remnant of my days,
And to my God, my foul, afcend,
In fweet perfumes of praife.
Partly imitated from a French Sonnet of Mr. Poiret.
HAPPY the feet that shining Truth has led
With her own hand to tread the path the pleafe,
To fee her native luftre round her spread,
All beauty, and all light, as in herself the is.
Our fenfes cheat us with, the preffing crowds
On unenlighten'd fouls, and leave them doubly blind.