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Let Ocean roufe the peaceful Deep,
Loud bell'wing through his large Domain
Ye Surges, break your idle Sleep;

Ye Shores, reverberate the Strain.:

And fhall mute Animals that swim,

Nor thou, O Earth, his Worth declare?

O pay thy juft. Devoirs to him

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He made thy pond'rous Ball cohere.

Ye Dragons, tune your noifome Breath,
From dreadful Hiffings into Joy:
Ye fcaly Minifters of Death,

In Song your forky Tongues employ.

Let Beafts their favage Lowing give,

From him they draw their fpringing Food:" Let Wolves in Emulation ftrive,

With the dread Monfters of the Wood.

Let Mountains with their Cedars bow,
Ye proftrate Vallies, higher rife:
Let Oaks bend down in Rev'rence low,
Ye Shrubs mount upward to the Skies.

Ye fev'ral People of this Frame,
Howe'er diftinguifh'd or disjoin'd,
Confpire to celebrate his Name,

And laud the Maker of Mankind.

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To Him let Kings their Homage pay;
Their Pow'r, compar'd with his, is none:
Ye Monarchs, great in earthly Sway,
Bend low, as Subjects, at his Throne.

With the chafte Virgins tender Voice,
Appear, O Youth, in Bloom of Age;
In feebler Plaudits to rejoice,


Let Years and Infancy engage,


To praise th' Eternal, the Divine,
Far, far be impious Difcord hurl'd;
Let all his Works in Confort join,

And with the gen'ral Chorus fill the World.


The Words by Mr. ADDISON.


HEN rifing from the Bed of Death,
O'erwhelm'd with Guilt and Fear,

1 fee my Maker Face to Face,

O how fhall appear!


If yet, while Pardon may be found,
And Mercy may be fought,

My Heart with inward Horror fhrinks,
And trembles at the Thought.


When thou, O LORD, fhalt ftand difclos'd,

In Majefty fevere,

And fit in Judgment on my Soul,

O how fhall I appear!


But thou haft told the troubled Mind,

Who does her Sins lament,

The timely Tribute of her Tears,

Shall endless Woe prevent.



Then fee the Sorrow of my Heart,
E'er yet it be too late;

And hear my SAVIOUR's dying Groans,
To give thofe Sorrows weight:
Thofe Sorrows,

To give thofe Sorrows weight.

For never fhall my Soul despair
Her Pardon to procure,
Who knows thine only Son has dy'd,
To make her Pardon fure:
Her Pardon,

To make her Pardon fure.



I Leave Mortality, and Things below;

I have no Time in Compliments to waste,
Farewel to all ye in hafte,

For I am call'd to go;

A Whirlwind bears up my dull Feet,
Th' officious Clouds beneath them meet:

And lo! I mount, and lo!

How small the biggest Part of Earth's proud Title fhow!


Where fhall I find the noble British Land?
Lo, I at laft a Northern Speck espy,

Which in the Sea does lie,

And feems a Grain o'th' Sand!

For this, will any fin, or bleed ?
Of Civil Wars is this the Meed?

And is it this, alas, which we

(Oh Irony of Words!) do call Great Britany!


I pafs by th' arched Magazins, which hold
Th' eternal Stores of Froft, and Rain, and Snow;
Dry and fecure I go,

Nor fhake with Fear, or Cold:
Without Affright or Wonder,

I meet Clouds charg'd with Thunder;
And Lightnings in my Way,

Like harmless lambent Fires about my Temples play.


Now into'a gentle Sea of rolling Flame
I'm plung'd, and ftill mount higher there,
As Flames mount up through Air:
So perfect, yet so tame,

So great, fo pure, fo bright a Fire
Was that unfortunate Defire,

My faithful Breast did cover,

Then, when I was of late a wretched mortal Lover.


Through fev'ral Orbs, which one fair Planet bear,
Where I behold diftinctly as I pafs

The Hints of Galileo's Glafs,

I toucht at laft the fpangled Sphere. Here all th' extended Sky

Is but one Galaxy;

"Tis all fo bright and gay,

And the joint Eyes of Night make up a perfect Day.


Where am I now? Angels and GoD is here;
An unexhaufted Ocean of Delight

Swallows my Senfes quite,

And drowns all what, or how, or where.

Not Paul, who first did thither pafs,
And this great World's Columbus was,
The tyrannous Pleasure cou'd exprefs :

Oh 'tis too much for Man! but let it ne'er be lefs.

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The mighty Elijah mounted fo on high,
That fecond Man, who leapt the Ditch, where all
The rest of Mankind fall,

And went not downwards to the Sky,
With much of Pomp and Show

(As conqu'ring Kings in Triumph go) Did he to Heav'n approach;

And wondrous was his Way, and wondrous was his Coach.


"Twas gawdy all, and rich in ev'ry Part,
Of Effences, of Gems, and Spirit of Gold,
Was its fubftantial Mold;

Drawn forth by chymick Angel's Art.
Here with Moon-beams 'twas filver'd bright,
The double Gilt with the Sun's Light;
And myftick Shapes cut round in it,
Figures that did tranfcend a vulgar Angel's Wit.


The Horfes were of temper'd Lightning made,
Of all that in Heav'n's beauteous Paftures fed
The nobleft, fprightful'ft Breed;

And flaming Mains their Necks array'd.
They all were fhod with Diamond,
Not fuch as here are found,

But fuch light folid ones as fhine

On the transparent Rocks o'th' Heaven crystalline.


Thus mounted the great Prophet to the Skies.
Aftonisht Men, who oft had feen Stars fall,
Or that which fo they call,

Wondred from hence to fee one rife.
The foft Clouds melted him a Way,
The Snow and Frofts which in it lay

Awhile the facred Footsteps bore,

The Wheels and Horfes Hoofs hift as they past them o'er.

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