Sun, Moon, and Stars, praise ye the LORD. FAIREST of all the lights above, Thou fun, whofe beams adorn the spheres, And with unweary'd fwiftnefs move, To form the circles of our years; Praife the Creator of the skies, That drefs'd thine orb in golden rays; Thou reigning beauty of the night, Arife, and to that Sovereign Power Ye twinkling stars, who gild the skies Proclaim the glories of your Lord, Thou 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, He has an angel's face. Jefus, Jefus, then, purge my crimes 'Tis guilt creates my fears, away, '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, A SINCERE PRAISE. LMIGHTY Maker, God! Thy glories how diffus'd abroad Through the creation's frame! Nature Nature in every drefs Her humble homage pays, And finds a thousand ways t' express Thine undiffembled praise. In native white and red The rofe and lily stand, And, free from pride, their beauties spread, To fhew thy skilful hand. The lark mounts up the sky, 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 bufy 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. The very fongs I frame Are faithlefs to thy cause, And fteal the honours of thy name To build their own applause. Create Create my foul anew, Elfe all my worship 's vain; This wretched heart will ne'er be true, Until 'tis form'd again. Defcend, celeftial 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, TRUE LEARNING. 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, Without a veil, without a fhade, All beauty, and all light, as in herself the is. Our fenfes cheat us with, the preffing crowds Of painted shapes they thruft upon the mind: Our fenfes caft a thousand clouds On unenlighten'd fouls, and leave them doubly blind. I hate |