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Darkness and wild Confusion foon retire,
Before thy clear illuminating Fire:
To gentle Thoughts thou doit our Bosoms move,
And breath't the soft melodious Soul of Love.
O thou who mad'It the new Creation bloom,
With active Life and quick’ning Virtue, come ;
Come, like the filent Fall of Ev'ning Dews,
Whose Moitture all the flow'ry Field renews,
Breathe on me, like the sweet refreshing
That fans with rosy Wings the verdant Dale,
Smooth as the gliding Mufick, that controuls
Each human Care, and steals upon our Souls ;
In triumph, with the heavenly Train, descend,
Of Loves and Graces, which on thee attend.
In filent Shades, by some clear Fountain's Fall,
Thou oft haft answer'd to a Mortal's Call;
Oft in some artless Cave, or humble Cell,
Thou with the Sons of Men halt deign'd to dwell,
And left behind the high Celeftial Seats,
To visit Mortals in their low Retreats ;
When holy Vows thy kind Descent invite,
Thou hear'it the gentle Whispers with Delight;
While Nature tir'd, her Midnight Sabbath keeps
And ev'ry Thought, but pure Devotion, fleeps.
The smiling Stars roll on, the dazling Moon
In Pomp advances to her filent Noon;
While the sweet Voice, soft as the Midnight Air,
Dispels the Gloom, and ev'ry earthly Care ;
Unfolding boundless Prospects of Delight,
Before the piercing intellectual Sight.
Beneath the sacred Mourt, by thee inspir'd,
The Hebrews' glorious Leader fat retir'd ;
The new-made World, and Eden's blooming Pride,
In various Scenes, before him lay descry d.
O princely Swain ! how didft thou then despise
Th' Egyprian Court, how worthless in thy Eyes !
What were the Grandeurs of a Royal Fate,
To che Distinctions of thy present State ?
While Paradise, in all its charming Views,
For thee, the great creating Voice renews.
For thee, again the Morning Stars rejoice;
Again for thee, they raise the tuneful Voice.
The Sons of God touch the melodious Lyre,
And all the wide Creation join the Chois.
Lead me, propitious Spir't, lead me far,
Where I no more the Voice of Man
hear : You charming Visions ! how you fire my Soul, And ev'ry Thought of earthly things controul ; Thro' what enchanting Paths, what fow'ry Ways, My Fancy led, with boundless Freedom frays; Reveal'd the Avenues of Pleasure lie, And
open wide the crystal Portals fly ; Immortal Beauty smiles, angelick Pow'rs, In soft Responses, sing from rofy Bow'rs.
I&torious Beauty, by what potent Charm,
Do'ft thou the Soul of all its Force disarm?
We blefs our Chains, abhor our Liberty,
And yield the uncontested Prize to thee :
Whether we rash or calm Designs pursue,
Thine is the glorious Motive ftill in view.
For thee we search the wide Creation round;
But thou art no where in Perfection found.
Some Blemish ftill remains on mortal Pride,
And crowding Years its airy Boafts deride.
Triumphant Beauty fits in Flavia's Eyes ;
But while we gaze the trembling Lustre dies :
Bellair, compleatly form’d with ev'ry Grace,
A faultless Shape, and an enchanting Face;
In all his Motions each becoming Air,
Greatness and native Elegance appear ;
Careless and free in Life's deluding Bloom,
While envious Death threatens a hafty Doom.
Some gentle Mistress full of Love and Truth,
Shall soon lament the dear unrival'd Youth.
Thou lovely, Aeeting, transitory thing,
From what immense Perfection doft thou spring ?"
To what compleat original return,
While we thy Tort Appearance vainly mourn
Howe'er our doating Thoughts miltake the
'To certain Bliss thine is a friendly Ray,
That points the Passage to unclouded Day.
Ye heav'nly Forms, in all your Pomp appear,
And thew us what immortal Beauties are,
What Life, what rory Bloom your Faces wear :
Put on each smiling Grace, each conq'ring Charm,
And all the Force of mortal Love difarm ;
For ftill our seslefs Thoughts take glorious Aims,
Howe'er seduc'd with these inferior Flames ;
The leading Passion, the supreme Desire,
To Things divine and infinite aspire.
Eternal Excellence ! 'tis only thee
We search, thro' Nature's bright Variety:
Our eager Wifhes with impetuous Force,
To thee, unknown, direct their endless Course ;
'Tis thee we seek and love, for thee we pine,
The pow'rful Charm, the foft Attraction's thine.
To thee these Sighs, these tender Vows ascend ;
Th' unseen Divinity we ftill attend ;
Sick of these fading Toys, our Thoughts press on
To Joys untafted, Excellence unknown.
Thou, great Original of all that's fair!
Whose Glories no Similitude can bear ;
Before the darting Splendour of thy Eyes,
The Pride of all created Beauty dies.
The xxxviiith Chapter of Job Paraphrased.
N Thurder now our God his Silence broke,
Who, and what art thou fond presumptuous
Thał, by thy own weak Measures, mine wouldīt
Undaunted, as an equal Match for me,
Scand forth, and answer my Demands to thee:
And firft, let thy Original be trac'd,
And tell me then, what mighty thing thou waft,
When to the World, my potent Word gave Birth,
And fixt the Centre of the floating Earth?
Didit thou aflilt with one designing Thought,
Or my Ideas rectify in ought,
When from Confufion I this Order brought ?
When, like an Artill, I the line stretch'd out,
And mark'd its wide Circumference about,
Didst thou contribute, Job, the needful Aid,
When I the Deep and strong Foundations laid,
And with my Hand the rising Pillars Itay'd ?
When, from the perfect Model of my Mind,
The vaft and stately Fabrick was design'd,
So wond'rous, so compleat in ev'ry Part,
Adorn'd with such Variety of Art;
The Sons of Light the goodly Frame furvey,
As their own Seats magnificent and gay:
Around the shining Verge of Heav'n they croud,
And from the crystal Confines, thout aloud
For Joy ; the Morning Stars together fang,
And Heav'n all o'er with glad Preludiurns rang.
Were the tumultuous Floods by thee cont: oul'd,
When without Bounds the foaming Billows rollid?
Didit thou appoint them then their ouzy Bed,
And humid Clouds o'er all their Surface spread,
Affixing Limits to th' imperious Deep;
The Limits it perpetually ihall keep?
Tho mounting high the angry Surges roar,
And dash themselves with Rage against the Shore.
When didft thou summons up the ling’ring Day,
And hafte the lovely blushing Morn away?
Swift as my flaming Messengers above,
Its gaudy Wings to my Directions move.
Halt thou survey'd the Ocean's dark Abodes,
The fteep Descents, the Vaults and craggy Roads,
Thro' which, in hollow Murmurs, rush the ne
Or haft thou measur'd the prod gious Store
Of Waves, that in those ghastly Caverns roar ?
Or haft thou, Job, the fatal Valley trac'd,
And thro' the Realms of Death undaunted pass?d,
Where the pale King a rusly Sceptre wields,
And reigns a Tyrant o'er the dusky Fields ?
Dost thou the pure immortal Fountain know,
From whence those num'rous Streams of Glory
flow, Which feed those Lamps which lighten all
below? Or from what Caves the fullen Shadows rise, When, like a Deluge, Night involves the Skies? How does the Sun his Morning Beams display, Thro' golden Clouds, and spread the sudden Day, When, breaking from the East, all fresh and fair, He dances thro' the glitt'ring Fields of Air ? At his Approach all Nature looks more gay, Thro' ev'ry Grove refreshing Breezes play, And o'er the Streams, and o'er the Meadows
ftray, Doft thou the Clouds- amidst the Air sustain, And melt the floating Rivers down in Rain; When overcharg'd, they yielding in their Sphere, No longer now the watry Load can bear? On gloomy Wings the founding Tempest Aies, And heavy Thunders roll along the Skies ; Around the airy Vault fierce Lightnings play, And burn themselves, thro' folid Clouds, a Way.