There the dear Man my Saviour sits, The God, how bright he shines! And scatters infinite delights On all the happy minds. Seraphs with elevated strains Circle the throne around, And move and charm the starry plains With an immortal sound. Jesus, the Lord, their harps employs, Hark! how beyond the narrow bounds How on the Father's breast he lay, The darling of his soul, Infinite years before the day Or heavens began to roll. And now they sink the lofty tune, O sacred beauties of the Man! His flesh all pure, without a stain, Then, how he look'd, and how he smil❜d, At his command the blind awake, He shed a thousand blessings round Thus while with unambitious strife In the full choir a broken string Seraph and saint, with drooping wings, Then all at once to living strains They summon every chord, Break up the tomb, and burst his chains, And show their rising Lord. Around the flaming army throngs To guard him to the skies, With loud Hosannas on their tongues, And triumph in their eyes. In awful state the conquering God Now let me rise, and join their song, My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue, I would begin the music here, Oh, for some heavenly notes to bear There, ye that love my Saviour, sit, There I would fain have place Amongst your thrones, or at your feet, So I might see his face. I am confin'd to earth no more. FIRE, AIR, EARTH, AND SEA, P RAISE YE THE LORD. EARTH, thou great footstool of our God Our house, our parent, and our nurse; Dress'd with strong and gay machines, That hangs unpillar'd in an empty space : Fire, thou swift herald of his face, Levels a palace with the sand, Blending the lofty spires in ruin with the base : Bright arrows that his sounding quivers bear Lightnings, adore the sovereign arm that flings kings. Thou vital element, the air, Whose boundless magazines of breath Our fainting flame of life repair, [death : And save the bubble man from the cold arms of And ye, whose vital moisture yields Life's purple stream a fresh supply; Sweet waters, wandering through the flowery fields, Confess the Power whose all-sufficient name Now the rude air, with noisy force, And sweep the sailor's hopes away, Vain hopes, to reach their kindred on the shores! Lo, the wild seas and surging waves, Gape hideous in a thousand graves: Be still, ye floods, and know your bounds of sand, Ye storms, adore your Master's hand; The winds are in his fist, the waves at his command. From the eternal emptiness His fruitful word by secret springs 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 still they dance, and still obey The orders they receiv'd the great Creation-day. |