







 
   
     
       
         Divine poems by Edward Waller Esq.
         Poems. Selections
         Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.
      
       
         
           1685
        
      
       Approx. 29 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 18 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images.
       
         Text Creation Partnership,
         Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :
         2003-03 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).
         A67332
         Wing W497
         ESTC R779
         12241288
         ocm 12241288
         56780
         
           
            This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of
             Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal
            . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
          
        
      
       
         Early English books online.
      
       
         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A67332)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 56780)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 904:2)
      
       
         
           
             Divine poems by Edward Waller Esq.
             Poems. Selections
             Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.
          
           35 p.
           
             Printed for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold by Jos. Knights and Fran. Saunders ...,
             In the Savoy [London] :
             1685.
          
           
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.
         Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors.
      
       
         EEBO-TCP is a partnership between the Universities of Michigan and Oxford and the publisher ProQuest to create accurately transcribed and encoded texts based on the image sets published by ProQuest via their Early English Books Online (EEBO) database (http://eebo.chadwyck.com). The general aim of EEBO-TCP is to encode one copy (usually the first edition) of every monographic English-language title published between 1473 and 1700 available in EEBO.
         EEBO-TCP aimed to produce large quantities of textual data within the usual project restraints of time and funding, and therefore chose to create diplomatic transcriptions (as opposed to critical editions) with light-touch, mainly structural encoding based on the Text Encoding Initiative (http://www.tei-c.org).
         The EEBO-TCP project was divided into two phases. The 25,363 texts created during Phase 1 of the project have been released into the public domain as of 1 January 2015. Anyone can now take and use these texts for their own purposes, but we respectfully request that due credit and attribution is given to their original source.
         Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.
         Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.
         Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.
         The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.
         Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).
         
          Keying and markup guidelines are available at the
           Text Creation Partnership web site
          .
        
      
       
         
         
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Christian poetry, English -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
     
        2002-11 TCP
        Assigned for keying and markup
      
        2002-11 Apex CoVantage
        Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images
      
        2003-01 Emma (Leeson) Huber
        Sampled and proofread
      
        2003-01 Emma (Leeson) Huber
        Text and markup reviewed and edited
      
        2003-02 pfs
        Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
      
    
  
   
     
       
         
         
         
           DIVINE
           POEMS
           .
           By
           EDMOND
           WALLER
           
             Esq
          
        
         
           LICENSED
           ,
           
             Octob.
             3.
             1685.
             
          
           
             Rob.
             Midgley
          
           .
        
         
           
             In
             the
             Savoy
          
           :
           Printed
           for
           
             Henry
             Herringman
          
           ;
           and
           are
           to
           be
           sold
           by
           
             Jos.
             Knight
          
           and
           
             Fran.
             Saunders
          
           ,
           at
           the
           Sign
           of
           the
           Anchor
           in
           the
           Lower
           Walk
           of
           the
           New-Exchange
           in
           the
           Strand
           .
           1685.
           
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           OF
           Divine
           Love.
           
        
         
           
             6.
             
             CANTO'S
             .
          
           
             1.
             
             ASserting
             the
             authority
             of
             the
             Scripture
             ,
             in
             which
             this
             Love
             is
             reveal'd
             .
          
           
             2.
             
             The
             preference
             and
             Love
             of
             God
             to
             man
             in
             the
             Creation
             .
          
           
             3.
             
             The
             same
             Love
             more
             amply
             declared
             in
             our
             redemption
             .
          
           
             4.
             
             How
             necessary
             this
             Love
             is
             to
             reform
             Mankind
             ,
             and
             how
             excellent
             in
             it self
             .
          
           
             5.
             
             Shewing
             how
             happy
             the
             World
             would
             be
             if
             this
             Love
             were
             universally
             embrac'd
             .
          
           
             6.
             
             Of
             preserving
             this
             Love
             in
             our
             memory
             ,
             and
             how
             useful
             the
             contemplation
             thereof
             is
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             CANTO
             I.
             
          
           
             
               THe
               Grecian
               Muse
               has
               all
               their
               Gods
               surviv'd
            
             
               Nor
               Jove
               at
               us
               ,
               nor
               Phoebus
               is
               arriv'd
               ;
            
             
               Frail
               Deities
               ,
               which
               first
               the
               Poets
               made
               ,
            
             
               And
               then
               invok'd
               ,
               to
               give
               their
               Fancies
               aid
               !
            
             
               Yet
               if
               they
               still
               divert
               us
               with
               their
               Rage
               ,
            
             
               What
               may
               be
               hop'd
               for
               in
               a
               better
               Age
               ?
            
             
               When
               not
               from
               Helicons
               Imagin'd
               Spring
               ,
            
             
               But
               sacred
               Writ
               ,
               we
               borrow
               what
               we
               Sing
               :
            
             
               This
               with
               the
               fabrick
               of
               the
               World
               begun
               ,
            
             
               Elder
               than
               Light
               ,
               and
               shall
               out-last
               the
               Sun.
               
            
          
           
             
               Before
               this
               Oracle
               (
               like
               Dagon
               )
               all
            
             
               The
               false
               pretenders
               ,
               
                 Delphos
                 ,
                 Hammon
              
               ,
               fall
               ;
            
             
               Long
               since
               despis'd
               ,
               and
               silent
               they
               afford
            
             
               Honour
               and
               Triumph
               ,
               to
               th'
               Eternal
               Word
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               As
               late
               Philosophy
               our
               Globe
               has
               grac'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               rowling
               Earth
               among
               the
               Plannets
               plac'd
               ,
            
             
               So
               has
               this
               Book
               intitl'd
               us
               to
               Heav'n
               ,
            
             
               And
               rules
               to
               guide
               us
               to
               that
               Mansion
               giv'n
               :
            
             
               Tells
               the
               conditions
               ,
               how
               our
               Peace
               was
               made
               ,
            
             
               And
               is
               our
               Pledge
               for
               the
               great
               Authors
               aid
               ;
            
             
               His
               Power
               in
               nature's
               ampler
               Book
               we
               find
               ,
            
             
               But
               the
               less
               Volume
               does
               express
               his
               mind
               ;
            
          
           
             
               This
               Light
               unknown
               ,
               bold
               Epicurus
               taught
               ,
            
             
               That
               his
               blest
               Gods
               vouchsafe
               us
               not
               a
               thought
               ,
            
             
               But
               unconcern'd
               ,
               let
               all
               below
               them
               slide
               ,
            
             
               As
               fortune
               do's
               ,
               or
               humane
               wisdom
               ,
               guide
               .
            
          
           
             
               Religion
               thus
               remov'd
               ,
               the
               sacred
               Yoke
               ,
            
             
               And
               band
               of
               all
               Society
               is
               broke
               :
            
             
               What
               use
               of
               Oaths
               ,
               of
               Promise
               ,
               or
               of
               Test
               ,
            
             
               Where
               men
               reguard
               no
               God
               but
               Interest
               ?
            
             
               What
               endless
               War
               would
               Jealous
               Nations
               tear
               ,
            
             
               If
               none
               above
               ,
               did
               witness
               what
               they
               swear
               ?
            
             
             
               Sad
               fate
               of
               unbelievers
               ,
               (
               and
               yet
               just
               ,
               )
            
             
               Among
               themselves
               to
               find
               so
               little
               trust
               !
            
             
               Were
               Scripture
               silent
               nature
               would
               proclaim
               ,
            
             
               Without
               a
               God
               ,
               our
               falshood
               and
               our
               shame
               ,
            
             
               To
               know
               our
               thoughts
               ,
               the
               Object
               of
               his
               Eyes
               ,
            
             
               Is
               the
               first
               step
               ,
               t'wards
               being
               good
               ,
               or
               wise
               ;
            
             
               For
               thô
               with
               Judgment
               we
               on
               things
               reflect
               ,
            
             
               Our
               Will
               determines
               ,
               not
               our
               Intellect
               ;
            
             
               Slaves
               to
               their
               Passion
               ,
               Reason
               men
               imploy
               ,
            
             
               Only
               to
               compass
               what
               they
               would
               enjoy
               ;
            
             
               His
               fear
               ,
               to
               guard
               us
               from
               our selves
               ,
               we
               need
               ,
            
             
               And
               sacred
               Writ
               ,
               our
               Reason
               do's
               exceed
               ;
            
          
           
             
               For
               thô
               Heaven
               shows
               the
               Glory
               of
               the
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               something
               shines
               more
               Glorious
               in
               his
               Word
               ,
            
             
               His
               mercy
               this
               (
               which
               all
               his
               work
               excells
               )
            
             
               His
               tender
               kindness
               ,
               and
               compassion
               tells
               ,
            
             
               While
               we
               inform'd
               by
               that
               Celestial
               Book
               ,
            
             
               Into
               the
               Bowels
               of
               our
               Maker
               look
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Love
               there
               reveal'd
               ,
               which
               never
               shall
               have
               end
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               had
               beginning
               ,
               shall
               our
               Song
               commend
               ,
            
             
               Describe
               it self
               and
               warm
               us
               with
               that
               flame
               ,
            
             
               Which
               first
               from
               Heav'n
               ,
               to
               make
               us
               Happy
               ,
               came
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             CANTO
             II.
             
          
           
             
               THe
               fear
               of
               Hell
               ,
               or
               ayming
               to
               be
               Blest
               ,
            
             
               Savours
               too
               much
               of
               private
               Interest
               ;
            
             
               This
               mov'd
               not
               Moses
               ,
               nor
               the
               Zealous
               Paul
               ,
            
             
               Who
               for
               their
               Friends
               abandon'd
               Soul
               and
               all
               ;
            
             
               A
               greater
               yet
               ,
               from
               Heav'n
               to
               Hell
               descends
               ,
            
             
               To
               save
               and
               make
               his
               Enemies
               his
               Friends
               :
            
             
               What
               line
               of
               Praise
               can
               fathom
               such
               a
               Love
               ,
            
             
               Which
               reacht
               the
               lowest
               bottom
               from
               above
               ?
            
             
               The
               Royal
               Prophet
               ,
               that
               extended
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               From
               heav'n
               to
               earth
               ,
               measur'd
               but
               half
               that
               space
               ;
            
             
               The
               Law
               was
               regnant
               ,
               and
               confin'd
               his
               thought
               ,
            
             
               Hell
               was
               not
               conquer'd
               ,
               when
               that
               Poet
               wrote
               ;
            
             
             
               Heav'n
               was
               scarce
               heard
               of
               ,
               until
               he
               came
               down
            
             
               To
               make
               the
               Region
               ,
               where
               love
               triumphs
               ,
               known
               ;
            
          
           
             
               That
               early
               Love
               of
               Creatures
               yet
               unmade
               ,
            
             
               To
               frame
               the
               World
               th'
               Almighty
               did
               perswade
               ;
            
          
           
             
               For
               Love
               it
               was
               ,
               that
               first
               Created
               Light
               ,
            
             
               Mov'd
               on
               the
               Waters
               ,
               chac'd
               away
               the
               Night
            
             
               From
               the
               rude
               Chaos
               ,
               and
               bestow'd
               new
               Grace
            
             
               On
               things
               dispos'd
               of
               ,
               to
               their
               proper
               place
               ;
            
             
               Some
               to
               rest
               here
               ,
               and
               some
               to
               shine
               above
               ,
            
             
               Earth
               ,
               Sea
               ,
               and
               Heav'n
               ,
               were
               all
               th'
               Effects
               of
               Love.
            
             
               And
               Love
               would
               be
               return'd
               ;
               but
               there
               was
               none
            
             
               That
               to
               themselves
               ,
               or
               others
               yet
               were
               known
               ;
            
             
               The
               World
               a
               Palace
               was
               ,
               without
               a
               Guest
               ,
            
             
               Till
               one
               appears
               ,
               that
               must
               excel
               the
               rest
               :
            
             
               One
               like
               the
               Author
               ,
               whose
               Capacious
               mind
               ,
            
             
               Might
               by
               the
               Glorious
               Work
               ,
               the
               Maker
               find
               ,
            
             
               Might
               measure
               Heaven
               ,
               and
               give
               each
               Star
               a
               name
               ,
            
             
               With
               Art
               and
               Courage
               the
               rough
               Ocean
               tame
               ;
            
             
             
               Over
               the
               Globe
               ,
               with
               swelling
               Sails
               might
               go
               ,
            
             
               And
               that
               't
               is
               round
               ,
               by
               his
               experience
               know
               ,
            
             
               Make
               strongest
               Beasts
               obedient
               to
               his
               Will
               ,
            
             
               And
               serve
               his
               use
               ,
               the
               fertile
               Earth
               to
               Till
               .
            
          
           
             
               When
               by
               his
               Word
               ,
               God
               had
               accomplisht
               all
               ,
            
             
               Man
               to
               Create
               ,
               he
               did
               a
               Council
               call
               ;
            
             
               Imploy'd
               his
               Hand
               ,
               to
               give
               the
               Dust
               he
               took
            
             
               A
               graceful
               Figure
               ,
               and
               Majestick
               Look
               ;
            
             
               With
               his
               own
               breath
               ,
               convey'd
               into
               his
               breast
            
             
               Life
               and
               a
               Soul
               ,
               fit
               to
               command
               the
               rest
               ,
            
             
               Worthy
               alone
               to
               Celebrate
               his
               Name
            
             
               For
               such
               a
               gift
               ,
               and
               tell
               from
               whence
               it
               came
               ;
            
             
               Birds
               sing
               his
               Praises
               ,
               in
               a
               wilder
               note
               ,
            
             
               But
               not
               with
               lasting
               numbers
               ,
               and
               with
               thought
               :
            
             
               Mans
               great
               Prerogative
               ;
               but
               above
               all
            
             
               His
               grace
               abounds
               ,
               in
               his
               new
               favorites
               fall
               .
            
          
           
             
               If
               he
               Create
               ,
               it
               is
               a
               World
               he
               makes
               ;
            
             
               If
               he
               be
               ang'ry
               ,
               the
               Creation
               shakes
               ;
            
             
             
               From
               his
               just
               wrath
               our
               guilty
               Parents
               fled
               ,
            
             
               He
               curst
               the
               Earth
               ,
               but
               bruis'd
               the
               Serpents
               head
               .
            
             
               Amidst
               the
               storm
               ,
               his
               bounty
               did
               exceed
               ,
            
             
               In
               the
               rich
               promise
               of
               the
               Virgins
               seed
               ;
            
             
               Thô
               Justice
               death
               ,
               a
               satisfaction
               craves
               ,
            
             
               Love
               finds
               a
               way
               to
               pluck
               us
               from
               our
               Graves
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             CANTO
             III.
             
          
           
             
               NOt
               willing
               Terror
               should
               his
               Image
               move
               ,
            
             
               He
               gives
               a
               pattern
               of
               Eternal
               Love
               ;
            
             
               His
               Son
               descends
               ,
               to
               treat
               a
               Peace
               with
               those
               ,
            
             
               Which
               were
               ,
               and
               must
               have
               ever
               been
               his
               foes
               ;
            
             
               Poor
               he
               became
               ,
               and
               left
               his
               Glorious
               seat
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               us
               humble
               ,
               and
               to
               make
               us
               great
               ;
            
             
               His
               business
               here
               was
               happiness
               to
               give
            
             
               To
               those
               ,
               whose
               malice
               could
               not
               let
               him
               live
               ;
            
          
           
             
               Legions
               of
               Angels
               ,
               which
               he
               might
               have
               us'd
               ,
            
             
               For
               us
               resolv'd
               to
               perish
               ,
               he
               refus'd
               ;
            
             
             
               While
               they
               stood
               ready
               to
               prevent
               his
               loss
               ,
            
             
               Love
               took
               him
               up
               ,
               and
               nayl'd
               him
               to
               the
               Cross.
            
             
               Immortal
               Love
               ,
               which
               in
               his
               Bowels
               reign'd
               ,
            
             
               That
               we
               might
               be
               ,
               by
               such
               a
               Love
               constrain'd
            
             
               To
               make
               return
               of
               Love
               ;
               upon
               this
               Pole
            
             
               Our
               Duty
               does
               ,
               and
               our
               Religion
               rowle
               .
            
             
               To
               Love
               is
               to
               believe
               ,
               to
               hope
               ,
               to
               know
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               an
               Essay
               ,
               a
               taste
               of
               Heav'n
               below
               .
            
          
           
             
               He
               to
               proud
               Potentates
               would
               not
               be
               known
               ,
            
             
               Of
               those
               that
               lov'd
               him
               ,
               he
               was
               hid
               from
               none
               ;
            
             
               Till
               love
               appear
               ,
               we
               live
               in
               anxious
               doubt
               ,
            
             
               But
               smoak
               will
               vanish
               ,
               when
               that
               flame
               breaks
               out
               .
            
             
               This
               is
               the
               fire
               ,
               that
               would
               consume
               our
               dross
               ,
            
             
               Refine
               ,
               and
               make
               us
               richer
               by
               the
               loss
               .
            
          
           
             
               Could
               we
               forbear
               dispute
               ,
               and
               practice
               Love
               ,
            
             
               We
               should
               agree
               ,
               as
               Angels
               do
               above
               ;
            
             
               Where
               Love
               presides
               ;
               not
               Vice
               alone
               does
               find
            
             
               No
               entrance
               there
               ,
               but
               Vertues
               stay
               behind
               :
            
             
             
               Both
               Faith
               and
               Hope
               ,
               and
               all
               the
               meaner
               train
            
             
               Of
               moral
               vertues
               ,
               at
               the
               door
               remain
               ;
            
             
               Love
               only
               enters
               ,
               as
               a
               native
               there
               ,
            
             
               For
               born
               in
               Heav'n
               ,
               it
               do's
               but
               sojourn
               here
               .
            
          
           
             
               He
               that
               alone
               ,
               would
               wise
               and
               mighty
               be
               ,
            
             
               Commands
               that
               others
               Love
               ,
               as
               well
               as
               he
               :
            
             
               Love
               as
               he
               Lov'd
               ,
               how
               can
               we
               soare
               so
               high
               ?
            
             
               He
               can
               add
               wings
               ,
               when
               he
               commands
               to
               fly
               :
            
             
               Nor
               should
               we
               be
               with
               this
               command
               dismay'd
               ,
            
             
               He
               that
               example
               gives
               ,
               will
               give
               his
               aid
               ;
            
             
               For
               he
               took
               flesh
               ,
               that
               where
               his
               Precepts
               fail
               ,
            
             
               His
               practice
               as
               a
               pattern
               may
               prevail
               ;
            
             
               His
               love
               at
               once
               ,
               and
               Dread
               instructs
               our
               thought
               ,
            
             
               As
               man
               he
               suffer'd
               ,
               and
               as
               God
               he
               taught
               ;
            
             
               Will
               for
               the
               deed
               he
               takes
               ,
               we
               may
               with
               ease
            
             
               Obedient
               be
               ,
               for
               if
               we
               Love
               ,
               we
               please
               ;
            
             
               Weak
               thô
               we
               are
               ,
               to
               Love
               is
               no
               hard
               task
               ,
            
             
               And
               Love
               for
               Love
               ,
               is
               all
               that
               Heav'n
               do's
               ask
               :
            
             
             
               Love
               ,
               that
               would
               all
               men
               just
               and
               temperate
               make
               ,
            
             
               Kind
               to
               themselves
               ,
               and
               others
               ,
               for
               his
               sake
               ,
            
          
           
             
               T
               is
               with
               our
               minds
               ,
               as
               with
               a
               fertile
               ground
               ;
            
             
               Wanting
               this
               Love
               ,
               they
               must
               with
               Weeds
               abound
               ;
            
             
               Unruly
               Passions
               ,
               whose
               effects
               are
               worse
               ,
            
             
               Than
               Thorns
               and
               Thistles
               springing
               from
               the
               curse
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             CANTO
             IV.
             
          
           
             
               TO
               Glory
               man
               ,
               or
               misery
               is
               born
               ,
            
             
               Of
               his
               proud
               foe
               the
               Envy
               or
               the
               scorn
               ;
            
             
               Wretched
               he
               is
               ,
               or
               happy
               in
               extreme
               ,
            
             
               Base
               in
               himself
               ,
               but
               great
               in
               Heav'ns
               esteem
               ;
            
             
               With
               Love
               ,
               of
               all
               created
               things
               ,
               the
               best
               ,
            
             
               Without
               it
               more
               pernitious
               than
               the
               rest
               ;
            
          
           
             
               For
               greedy
               Wolves
               unguarded
               Sheep
               devour
            
             
               But
               while
               their
               hunger
               lasts
               ,
               and
               then
               give
               or'e
               ;
            
             
               Man
               's
               boundless
               Avarice
               his
               want
               exceeds
               ,
            
             
               And
               on
               his
               Neighbours
               ,
               round
               about
               him
               ,
               feeds
               ;
            
          
           
             
             
               His
               Pride
               ,
               and
               vain
               Ambition
               are
               so
               vast
               ,
            
             
               That
               Deluge-like
               ,
               they
               lay
               whole
               Nations
               wast
               ;
            
             
               Debauches
               and
               Excess
               ,
               thô
               with
               less
               noise
               ,
            
             
               As
               great
               a
               portion
               of
               Mankind
               destroys
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Beasts
               and
               Monsters
               ,
               Hercules
               opprest
               ,
            
             
               Might
               in
               that
               Age
               ,
               some
               Provinces
               infest
               ;
            
             
               These
               more
               destructive
               Monsters
               ,
               are
               the
               bane
            
             
               Of
               ev'ry
               Age
               and
               in
               all
               Nations
               reign
               ;
            
             
               But
               soon
               would
               vanish
               ,
               if
               the
               World
               were
               blest
            
             
               With
               Sacred
               Love
               ,
               by
               which
               they
               are
               represt
               :
            
          
           
             
               Impendent
               death
               ,
               and
               guilt
               that
               threatens
               Hell
               ,
            
             
               Are
               dreadful
               guests
               ,
               which
               here
               with
               mortals
               dwel
               ,
            
             
               And
               a
               vext
               Conscience
               mingling
               with
               their
               Joy
            
             
               Thoughts
               of
               despair
               ,
               do's
               their
               whole
               life
               annoy
               :
            
             
               But
               Love
               appearing
               ,
               all
               those
               Terrours
               fly
               ,
            
             
               We
               live
               contented
               ,
               and
               contended
               dye
               ;
            
             
               They
               in
               whose
               brest
               ,
               this
               sacred
               Love
               has
               place
               ,
            
             
               Death
               as
               a
               passage
               to
               their
               Joy
               embrace
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Clouds
               and
               thick
               vapours
               which
               obscure
               the
               day
            
             
               The
               Suns
               Victorious
               beams
               may
               chase
               away
               ;
            
             
               Those
               which
               our
               life
               corrupt
               ,
               and
               darken
               ,
               Love
            
             
               The
               Nobler
               Star
               ,
               must
               from
               the
               Soul
               remove
               ;
            
             
               Spots
               are
               observ'd
               in
               that
               which
               bounds
               the
               year
               ,
            
             
               This
               brighter
               Sun
               moves
               in
               a
               boundless
               Sphear
               ;
            
             
               Of
               Heav'n
               the
               Joy
               ,
               the
               Glory
               ,
               and
               the
               Light
               ,
            
             
               Shines
               among
               Angels
               ,
               and
               admits
               no
               night
               :
            
          
        
         
           
             CANTO
             V.
             
          
           
             
               THis
               Iron
               Age
               ,
               so
               fraudulent
               and
               bold
               ,
            
             
               Toucht
               with
               this
               Love
               ,
               would
               be
               an
               Age
               of
               Gold
               ,
            
             
               Not
               as
               they
               fain'd
               ,
               that
               Oaks
               should
               hony
               drop
               ,
            
             
               Or
               land
               neglected
               bear
               an
               unsown
               Crop
               :
            
          
           
             
               Love
               would
               make
               all
               things
               easy
               ,
               safe
               ,
               and
               cheap
               ,
            
             
               None
               for
               himself
               ,
               would
               either
               sow
               ,
               or
               reap
               :
            
             
               Our
               ready
               help
               ,
               and
               Mutual
               Love
               would
               yeild
            
             
               A
               nobler
               Harvest
               ,
               than
               the
               richest
               Field
               ;
            
          
           
             
             
               Famine
               and
               Dearth
               ,
               confin'd
               to
               certain
               parts
               ,
            
             
               Extended
               are
               ,
               by
               barrenness
               of
               hearts
               ;
            
             
               Some
               pine
               for
               want
               ,
               where
               others
               surfeit
               now
               ,
            
             
               But
               then
               we
               should
               the
               use
               of
               plenty
               know
               ;
            
             
               Love
               would
               betwixt
               the
               rich
               and
               needy
               stand
               ,
            
             
               And
               spread
               Heav'ns
               bounty
               with
               an
               equal
               hand
               ;
            
             
               At
               once
               the
               givers
               ,
               and
               receivers
               bless
               ,
            
             
               Encrease
               their
               Joy
               ,
               and
               make
               their
               sufferings
               less
               .
            
             
               Who
               for
               himself
               no
               miracle
               would
               make
               ,
            
             
               Dispens'd
               with
               nature
               ,
               for
               the
               peoples
               sake
               ;
            
             
               He
               that
               long
               fasting
               would
               no
               wonder
               show
               ,
            
             
               Made
               Loaves
               and
               Fishes
               ,
               as
               they
               eat
               them
               ,
               grow
               ;
            
             
               Of
               all
               his
               Power
               ,
               which
               boundless
               was
               above
               ,
            
             
               Here
               he
               us'd
               none
               ,
               but
               to
               express
               his
               Love
               ;
            
             
               And
               such
               a
               Love
               would
               make
               our
               Joy
               exceed
               ,
            
             
               Not
               when
               our
               own
               ,
               but
               other
               mouths
               ,
               we
               feed
               .
            
          
           
             
               Laws
               would
               be
               useless
               which
               rude
               nature
               awe
               ,
            
             
               Love
               changing
               nature
               ,
               would
               prevent
               the
               Law
               ;
            
             
             
               Tygers
               ,
               and
               Lyons
               ,
               into
               Dens
               we
               thrust
               ,
            
             
               But
               milder
               Creatures
               with
               their
               freedom
               trust
               .
            
             
               Divels
               are
               Chain'd
               ,
               and
               tremble
               ;
               but
               the
               spouse
            
             
               No
               force
               but
               Love
               ,
               nor
               bond
               ,
               but
               bounty
               ,
               knows
               :
            
             
               Men
               ,
               whom
               we
               now
               ,
               so
               fierce
               and
               daing'rous
               see
               ,
            
             
               Would
               Guardian
               Angels
               to
               each
               other
               be
               :
            
             
               Such
               wonders
               can
               this
               mighty
               Love
               perform
               ,
            
             
               Vultures
               to
               Doves
               ,
               Wolves
               into
               Lambs
               transform
               .
            
          
           
             
               Love
               ,
               what
               Isaiah
               prophecy'd
               ,
               can
               do
               ,
            
             
               Exalt
               the
               Valleys
               ,
               lay
               the
               Mountains
               low
               ;
            
             
               Humble
               the
               Lofty
               ,
               the
               dejected
               raise
               ,
            
             
               Smooth
               ,
               and
               make
               strait
               ,
               our
               rough
               and
               crooked
               ways
               .
            
          
           
             
               Love
               ,
               strong
               as
               death
               ,
               and
               like
               it
               ,
               levels
               all
               ,
            
             
               With
               that
               possest
               ,
               the
               great
               in
               Title
               fall
               ;
            
             
               Themselves
               esteem
               ,
               but
               equal
               to
               the
               least
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               Heav'n
               with
               that
               high
               Character
               has
               blest
               .
            
          
           
             
               This
               Love
               ,
               the
               Center
               of
               our
               union
               ,
               can
            
             
               Alone
               bestow
               compleat
               repose
               on
               man
               ;
            
             
             
               Tame
               his
               wild
               Appetite
               ,
               make
               inward
               peace
               ,
            
             
               And
               forrein
               strife
               among
               the
               Nations
               ,
               cease
               ;
            
          
           
             
               No
               Martial
               Trumpet
               should
               disturb
               our
               rest
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               Princes
               arm
               ,
               thô
               to
               subdue
               the
               East
               ;
            
             
               Where
               for
               the
               Tomb
               ,
               so
               many
               Hero's
               ,
               taught
            
             
               By
               those
               that
               guided
               their
               Devotion
               ,
               faught
               ;
            
          
           
             
               Thrice
               Happy
               we
               ,
               could
               we
               like
               Ardor
               have
            
             
               To
               gain
               his
               Love
               ,
               as
               they
               to
               win
               his
               Grave
               !
            
             
               Love
               as
               he
               Lov'd
               ,
               a
               Love
               so
               unconfin'd
            
             
               With
               arms
               extended
               would
               embrace
               Mankind
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Self
               Love
               would
               cease
               ,
               or
               be
               dilated
               ,
               when
            
             
               We
               should
               behold
               ,
               as
               many
               selfs
               ,
               as
               men
               ,
            
             
               All
               of
               one
               family
               ;
               in
               blood
               ally'd
               ,
            
             
               His
               precious
               blood
               ,
               that
               for
               our
               ransome
               dy'd
               :
            
          
        
         
           
             CANTO
             VI.
             
          
           
             
               THô
               the
               Creation
               ,
               so
               divinely
               taught
               ,
            
             
               Prints
               such
               a
               lively
               Image
               in
               our
               thought
               ,
            
             
             
               That
               the
               first
               spark
               ,
               of
               new
               Created
               light
            
             
               From
               Chaos
               struck
               ,
               affects
               our
               present
               sight
               :
            
          
           
             
               Yet
               the
               first
               Christians
               did
               Esteem
               more
               blest
            
             
               The
               day
               of
               rising
               ,
               than
               the
               day
               of
               rest
               ;
            
             
               That
               ev'ry
               week
               ,
               might
               new
               occasion
               give
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               his
               Triumph
               in
               their
               memory
               live
               .
            
          
           
             
               Then
               let
               our
               Muse
               compose
               a
               Sacred
               Charm
            
             
               To
               keep
               his
               blood
               ,
               among
               us
               ,
               ever
               warm
               ;
            
             
               And
               Singing
               ,
               as
               the
               Blessed
               do
               above
               ,
            
             
               With
               our
               last
               breath
               ,
               dilate
               this
               flame
               of
               Love.
               
            
          
           
             
               But
               on
               so
               vast
               a
               subject
               ,
               who
               can
               find
            
             
               Words
               that
               may
               reach
               th'
               Ideas
               of
               his
               mind
               ?
            
             
               Our
               Language
               fails
               ,
               or
               if
               it
               could
               supply
               ,
            
             
               What
               Mortal
               Thought
               can
               raise
               it self
               so
               high
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Despairing
               here
               ,
               we
               might
               abandon
               Art
               ,
            
             
               And
               only
               hope
               to
               have
               it
               in
               our
               heart
               ;
            
             
               But
               though
               we
               find
               this
               Sacred
               Task
               too
               hard
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               the
               Design
               ,
               th'
               endeavour
               brings
               Reward
               ;
            
             
             
               The
               Contemplation
               does
               suspend
               our
               Woe
               ,
            
             
               And
               makes
               a
               Truce
               with
               all
               the
               Ills
               we
               know
               .
            
          
           
             
               As
               
               Saul's
               afflicted
               Spirit
               ,
               from
               the
               sound
            
             
               Of
               
               David's
               Harp
               ,
               a
               present
               Solace
               found
               ;
            
             
               So
               on
               this
               Theame
               while
               we
               our
               Muse
               engage
               ,
            
             
               〈◊〉
               Wounds
               are
               felt
               ,
               of
               Fortune
               ,
               or
               of
               Age
               :
            
             
               〈◊〉
               ●…e
               Love
               to
               Meditate
               is
               Peace
               ,
            
             
               〈◊〉
               makes
               all
               care
               of
               meaner
               things
               to
               cease
               .
            
          
           
             
               Amaz'd
               at
               once
               and
               comforted
               to
               find
            
             
               A
               boundless
               Pow'r
               so
               infinitely
               kind
               ;
            
             
               The
               Soul
               contending
               to
               that
               light
               to
               fly
            
             
               From
               ●…er
               dark
               Cell
               ,
               we
               practice
               how
               to
               dye
               ;
            
             
               Imploying
               thus
               the
               Poets
               winged
               Art
               ,
            
             
               To
               reach
               this
               Love
               ,
               and
               grave
               it
               in
               our
               heart
               .
            
          
           
             
               Joy
               so
               compleat
               ,
               so
               solid
               and
               severe
               ,
            
             
               Would
               leave
               no
               place
               for
               meaner
               Pleasures
               there
               ;
            
             
               Pale
               they
               would
               look
               ,
               as
               Stars
               that
               must
               be
               gone
               ,
            
             
               When
               from
               the
               East
               the
               Rising
               Sun
               comes
               on
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Floriferis
               ut
               Apes
               in
               saltibus
               omnia
               libant
               ,
            
             
               Sic
               nos
               Scripturae
               depascimur
               aurea
               dicta
               ;
            
             
               Aurea
               perpetuâ
               semper
               dignissima
               vitâ
               .
            
             
               Nam
               Divinus
               Amor
               ,
               cum
               caepit
               vociferari
               ,
            
             
               Diffugiunt
               Animi
               Terrores
               :
               —
               —
               Lucr.
               
            
          
           
             
               Exul
               eram
               ,
               requiesque
               mihi
               ,
               non
               Fama
               petita
               est
               ,
            
             
               Mens
               intenta
               suis
               ne
               foret
               usque
               malis
               .
            
             
               Namque
               ubi
               mota
               calent
               Sacrâmea
               Pectora
               Musâ
               ,
            
             
               Altior
               humano
               Spiritus
               ille
               malo
               est
               .
            
             
               
                 De
                 Trist.
                 
              
            
          
        
      
       
         
         
         
           OF
           Divine
           Poesie
           .
        
         
           
             Two
             Canto's
          
           ,
           Occasioned
           upon
           sight
           of
           the
           53d
           Chapter
           of
           Isaiah
           turn'd
           into
           Verse
           by
           Mrs.
           VVharton
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             I.
             
          
           
             
               POets
               we
               prize
               ,
               when
               in
               their
               verse
               we
               find
            
             
               Some
               great
               employment
               of
               a
               worthy
               mind
               .
            
             
               Angels
               have
               been
               inquisitive
               to
               know
            
             
               The
               secret
               ,
               which
               this
               Oracle
               does
               show
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               What
               was
               to
               come
               Isaiah
               did
               declare
               ,
            
             
               Which
               she
               describes
               ,
               as
               if
               she
               had
               been
               there
               ;
            
             
               Had
               seen
               the
               Wounds
               ,
               which
               to
               the
               readers
               view
               ,
            
             
               She
               draws
               so
               lively
               ,
               that
               they
               Bleed
               anew
               .
            
          
           
             
               As
               Ivy
               thrives
               ,
               which
               on
               the
               Oak
               takes
               hold
               ,
            
             
               So
               with
               the
               Prophets
               may
               her
               lines
               grow
               old
               ,
            
             
               If
               they
               should
               dye
               ,
               who
               can
               the
               World
               forgive
               ?
            
             
               Such
               Pious
               Lines
               !
               When
               wanton
               Sapho's
               live
               .
            
             
               Who
               with
               his
               Breath
               his
               Image
               did
               inspire
               ,
            
             
               Expects
               it
               should
               foment
               a
               Nobler
               fire
               :
            
             
               Not
               Love
               which
               Brutes
               as
               well
               as
               Men
               may
               know
               ,
            
             
               But
               Love
               like
               his
               ,
               to
               whom
               that
               Breath
               we
               owe.
               
            
          
           
             
               Verse
               so
               design'd
               ,
               on
               that
               high
               Subject
               wrote
               ,
            
             
               Is
               the
               Perfection
               of
               an
               ardent
               thought
               :
            
             
               The
               Smoak
               which
               we
               from
               burning
               Incense
               raise
               ,
            
             
               When
               we
               compleat
               the
               Sacrifice
               of
               Praise
               .
            
          
           
             
               In
               boundless
               verse
               the
               Fancy
               soars
               too
               high
               ,
            
             
               For
               any
               Object
               ,
               but
               the
               Deity
               .
            
             
             
               What
               Mortal
               can
               with
               Heav'n
               pretend
               to
               share
            
             
               In
               the
               Superlatives
               of
               Wise
               and
               Fair
               ?
            
             
               A
               meaner
               Subject
               when
               with
               these
               we
               grace
               ,
            
             
               A
               Giants
               habit
               on
               a
               Dwarf
               ,
               we
               place
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sacred
               should
               be
               the
               product
               of
               our
               Muse
               ,
            
             
               Like
               that
               sweet
               Oyl
               ,
               above
               all
               private
               use
               :
            
             
               On
               pain
               of
               Death
               forbidden
               to
               be
               made
               ,
            
             
               But
               when
               it
               should
               be
               on
               the
               Altar
               laid
               .
            
             
               Verse
               shows
               a
               rich
               inestimable
               Vein
               ,
            
             
               When
               drop't
               from
               Heav'n
               ,
               't
               is
               thither
               sent
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               Of
               Bounty
               't
               is
               that
               he
               admits
               our
               Praise
               ,
            
             
               Which
               does
               not
               him
               ,
               but
               us
               that
               yield
               it
               raise
               .
            
             
               For
               as
               that
               Angel
               up
               to
               Heav'n
               did
               rise
               ,
            
             
               Born
               on
               the
               Flame
               of
               
               Manoah's
               Sacrifice
               .
            
             
               So
               wing'd
               with
               Praise
               ,
               we
               penetrate
               the
               Sky
               ,
            
             
               Teach
               Clouds
               and
               Stars
               to
               praise
               him
               as
               we
               fly
               :
            
             
               The
               whole
               Creation
               ,
               by
               our
               fall
               made
               groan
               ,
            
             
               His
               Praise
               to
               Eccho
               ,
               and
               suspend
               their
               Moan
               .
            
             
             
               For
               that
               he
               reigns
               ,
               all
               Creatures
               should
               rejoyce
               ,
            
             
               And
               we
               with
               Songs
               supply
               their
               want
               of
               voyce
               ,
            
          
           
             
               The
               Church
               Triumphant
               ,
               and
               the
               Church
               below
            
             
               In
               Songs
               of
               Praise
               a
               present
               Union
               show
               :
            
             
               Their
               Joys
               are
               full
               ,
               our
               expectation
               long
               ;
            
             
               In
               Life
               we
               differ
               ,
               but
               we
               joyn
               in
               Song
               .
            
             
               Angels
               ,
               and
               we
               ,
               assisted
               by
               this
               Art
               ,
            
             
               May
               Sing
               together
               ,
               thô
               we
               dwell
               apart
               .
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               we
               reach
               Heav'n
               ,
               while
               vainer
               Poems
               must
            
             
               No
               higher
               rise
               ,
               than
               Winds
               may
               lift
               the
               Dust.
            
             
               From
               that
               they
               spring
               ;
               this
               from
               his
               breath
               that
               gave
            
             
               To
               the
               first
               Dust
               ,
               th'
               Immortal
               Soul
               we
               have
               ,
            
             
               His
               Praise
               well
               sung
               ,
               our
               great
               endeavour
               here
               ,
            
             
               Shakes
               off
               the
               Dust
               ,
               and
               makes
               that
               breath
               appear
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             CANTO
             II.
             
          
           
             
               HE
               that
               did
               first
               this
               way
               of
               Writing
               grace
               ,
            
             
               Converst
               with
               the
               Almighty
               face
               to
               face
               .
            
             
               Wonders
               he
               did
               in
               sacred
               verse
               unfold
               ,
            
             
               When
               he
               had
               more
               than
               Eighty
               Winters
               told
               :
            
             
               The
               Writer
               feels
               no
               dire
               effects
               of
               Age
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               verse
               that
               flows
               from
               so
               Divine
               a
               rage
               .
            
          
           
             
               Eldest
               of
               Poets
               ,
               he
               beheld
               the
               Light
               ,
            
             
               When
               first
               it
               triumph'd
               'ore
               eternal
               Night
               .
            
             
               Chaos
               he
               saw
               ,
               and
               could
               distinctly
               tell
            
             
               How
               that
               confusion
               into
               Order
               fell
               .
            
             
               As
               if
               consulted
               with
               ,
               he
               has
               exprest
            
             
               The
               Work
               of
               the
               Creator
               and
               his
               rest
               .
            
             
               How
               the
               floud
               drown'd
               the
               first
               offending
               Race
               ,
            
             
               Which
               might
               the
               figure
               of
               our
               Globe
               deface
               .
            
             
             
               For
               new
               made
               Earth
               ,
               so
               even
               and
               so
               fair
               ,
            
             
               Less
               equal
               now
               ,
               uncertain
               makes
               the
               Air
               :
            
             
               Surpriz'd
               with
               heat
               ,
               and
               unexpected
               cold
            
             
               Early
               distempers
               make
               our
               Youth
               look
               old
               .
            
             
               Our
               Days
               so
               evil
               ,
               and
               so
               few
               ,
               may
               tell
            
             
               That
               on
               the
               ruines
               of
               that
               World
               we
               dwell
               .
            
          
           
             
               Strong
               as
               the
               Oaks
               that
               nourish't
               them
               ,
               and
               high
               ,
            
             
               That
               long-liv'd
               Race
               did
               on
               their
               force
               rely
               ,
            
             
               Neglecting
               Heav'n
               :
               but
               we
               of
               shorter
               date
               ,
            
             
               Should
               be
               more
               mindful
               of
               impendent
               fate
               .
            
             
               To
               Worms
               that
               crawle
               upon
               this
               Rubbish
               here
               ,
            
             
               This
               Span
               of
               Life
               may
               yet
               too
               long
               appear
               .
            
             
               Enough
               to
               humble
               ,
               and
               to
               make
               us
               great
               ,
            
             
               If
               it
               prepare
               us
               for
               a
               Nobler
               seat
               .
            
             
               Which
               well
               observing
               ,
               he
               in
               Numerous
               Lines
               ,
            
             
               Taught
               wretched
               man
               ,
               how
               fast
               his
               Life
               declines
               :
            
             
               In
               whom
               he
               dwelt
               ,
               before
               the
               World
               was
               made
               ,
            
             
               And
               may
               again
               retire
               ,
               when
               that
               shall
               fade
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               The
               lasting
               Iliads
               have
               not
               live'd
               so
               long
               ,
            
             
               As
               his
               and
               
               Deborah's
               triumphant
               Song
               .
            
             
               Delphos
               unknown
               ,
               no
               Muse
               could
               them
               inspire
               ,
            
             
               But
               that
               which
               governs
               the
               Coelestial
               Quire.
            
             
               Heav'n
               to
               the
               Pious
               did
               this
               art
               reveal
               ;
            
             
               And
               from
               their
               store
               succeeding
               Poets
               steal
               .
            
          
           
             
               
               Homer's
               Scamand●…r
               for
               the
               Trojans
               faught
               ,
            
             
               And
               swell'd
               so
               high
               ,
               by
               her
               old
               Kishon
               taught
               :
            
             
               His
               River
               scarce
               could
               fierce
               Achilles
               stay
               ;
            
             
               Hers
               more
               succesful
               ,
               swept
               her
               Foes
               away
               .
            
             
               The
               Hoast
               of
               Heav'n
               ,
               his
               Phaebus
               and
               his
               Mars
               ,
            
             
               He
               Arms
               ,
               instructed
               by
               her
               fighting
               Stars
               .
            
             
               She
               led
               them
               all
               against
               the
               common
               foe
               :
            
             
               But
               he
               misled
               by
               what
               he
               saw
               below
               ,
            
             
               The
               Powers
               above
               ,
               like
               wretched
               men
               ,
               divides
               ,
            
             
               And
               breaks
               their
               Union
               into
               different
               sides
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Noblest
               parts
               which
               in
               his
               
               Hero's
               shine
               ,
            
             
               May
               be
               but
               Copies
               of
               that
               Heroine
               .
            
             
             
               Homer
               himself
               ,
               and
               Agam●…mnon
               ,
               she
            
             
               The
               Writer
               could
               ,
               and
               the
               Commander
               ,
               be
               .
            
          
           
             
               Truth
               she
               relates
               ,
               in
               a
               sublimer
               strain
            
             
               Than
               all
               the
               Tales
               the
               boldest
               Greek
               could
               feign
               .
            
             
               For
               what
               she
               sung
               ,
               that
               Spirit
               did
               indite
               ,
            
             
               Which
               gave
               her
               courage
               ,
               and
               success
               in
               fight
               .
            
             
               A
               double
               Garland
               Crowns
               the
               Matchless
               Dame
               ;
            
             
               From
               Heav'n
               her
               Poem
               ,
               and
               her
               Conquest
               came
               .
            
          
           
             
               Thô
               of
               the
               Jews
               she
               merit
               most
               esteem
               :
            
             
               Yet
               here
               the
               Christian
               has
               the
               greater
               Theam
               .
            
             
               Her
               martial
               song
               describes
               how
               Sisera
               fell
               ,
            
             
               This
               sings
               our
               Triumph
               over
               Death
               and
               Hell.
               
            
          
           
             
               The
               rising
               Light
               employ'd
               the
               sacred
               breath
            
             
               Of
               the
               blest
               Virgin
               and
               Elizabeth
               ,
            
             
               In
               Songs
               of
               Joy
               ,
               the
               Angels
               sung
               his
               Birth
               :
            
             
               Here
               ,
               how
               he
               treated
               was
               upon
               the
               Earth
            
             
               Trembling
               we
               read
               ;
               th'affliction
               and
               the
               scorn
               ,
            
             
               Which
               for
               our
               Guilt
               ,
               so
               patiently
               was
               born
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Conception
               ,
               Birth
               ,
               and
               suffering
               ,
               all
               belong
            
             
               Tho
               various
               Parts
               ,
               to
               one
               Caelestial
               Song
               :
            
             
               And
               She
               ,
               well
               using
               so
               divine
               an
               art
               ,
            
             
               Has
               in
               this
               consort
               ,
               Sung
               the
               Tragick
               part
               .
            
          
           
             
               As
               
               Hannah's
               seed
               was
               vow'd
               to
               sacred
               use
               ,
            
             
               So
               here
               this
               Lady
               consecrates
               her
               Muse.
            
             
               With
               like
               reward
               may
               Heav'n
               her
               bed
               adorn
               ,
            
             
               With
               fruit
               as
               fair
               as
               by
               her
               Muse
               is
               born
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             Of
             the
             Paraphrase
             on
             the
             Lords
             Prayer
             ,
          
           
             Written
             by
             Mrs.
             Wharton
             .
          
           
             
               SIlence
               ,
               you
               Winds
               ,
               listen
               Etherial
               Lights
               ,
            
             
               While
               our
               Urania
               sings
               what
               Heav'n
               indites
               ;
            
             
               The
               Numbers
               are
               the
               Nymphs
               ,
               but
               from
               above
            
             
               Descends
               the
               Pledge
               of
               that
               Eternal
               Love.
               
            
          
           
             
               Here
               wretched
               Mortals
               have
               not
               leave
               alone
               ,
            
             
               But
               are
               instructed
               to
               approach
               his
               Throne
               ;
            
             
               And
               how
               can
               he
               to
               miserable
               Men
            
             
               Deny
               Requests
               ,
               which
               his
               own
               Hand
               did
               Pen
               ?
            
          
           
             
               In
               the
               Evangelists
               we
               find
               the
               Prose
               ,
            
             
               Which
               Paraphras'd
               by
               her
               a
               Poem
               grows
               ;
            
             
               A
               devout
               Rapture
               ,
               so
               divine
               a
               Hymn
               ,
            
             
               It
               may
               become
               the
               highest
               Seraphim
               ;
            
             
               For
               they
               like
               her
               in
               that
               Coelestial
               Quire
               ,
            
             
               Sing
               only
               what
               the
               Spirit
               does
               inspire
               .
            
             
               Taught
               by
               our
               Lord
               and
               theirs
               ,
               with
               us
               they
               may
            
             
               For
               all
               ,
               but
               pardon
               for
               Offences
               ,
               pray
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             Some
             Reflections
             of
             his
             upon
             the
             several
             Petitions
             in
             the
             same
             Prayer
             .
          
           
             
               I.
               
            
             
               HIS
               sacred
               Name
               ,
               with
               reverence
               profound
               ,
            
             
               Should
               mention'd
               be
               ,
               and
               trembling
               at
               the
               sound
               ,
            
             
               It
               was
               Jehovah
               ,
               't
               is
               our
               Father
               now
               ,
            
             
               So
               low
               to
               us
               ,
               does
               Heav'n
               vouchsafe
               to
               bow
               ,
            
             
               Brethren
               to
               him
               that
               taught
               us
               how
               to
               pray
               ,
            
             
               And
               did
               so
               dearly
               for
               our
               Ransom
               pay
               .
            
          
           
             
               II.
               
            
             
               
                 His
                 Kingdom
                 come
              
               :
               For
               this
               we
               pray
               in
               vain
               ,
            
             
               Unless
               he
               does
               in
               our
               affections
               raign
               :
            
             
               Absurd
               it
               were
               to
               wish
               for
               such
               a
               King
               ,
            
             
               And
               not
               Obedience
               to
               his
               Scepter
               bring
               .
            
          
           
             
               III.
               
            
             
               
                 His
                 Will
                 be
                 done
              
               ;
               In
               fact
               't
               is
               always
               done
               ,
            
             
               But
               as
               in
               Heav'n
               ,
               it
               must
               be
               made
               our
               own
               :
            
             
             
               His
               Will
               should
               all
               our
               Inclinations
               sway
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               Nature
               and
               the
               Universe
               obey
               .
            
          
           
             
               IV.
               
            
             
               It
               is
               not
               what
               our
               Avarice
               hoards
               up
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               he
               that
               feeds
               us
               ,
               and
               that
               fills
               our
               Cup
               ,
            
             
               Like
               new-born
               Babes
               ,
               depending
               on
               the
               Breast
               ,
            
             
               From
               day
               to
               day
               we
               on
               his
               Bounty
               feast
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               should
               the
               Soul
               expect
               above
               a
               day
            
             
               To
               dwell
               in
               her
               frail
               Tenament
               of
               Clay
               :
            
             
               The
               setting
               Sun
               should
               seem
               to
               bound
               our
               Race
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               new
               day
               a
               gift
               of
               special
               Grace
               .
            
          
           
             
               V.
               
            
             
               
                 That
                 he
                 should
                 all
                 our
                 Trespasses
                 forgive
                 ,
              
            
             
               While
               we
               in
               hatred
               with
               our
               Neighbours
               live
               ;
            
             
               Though
               so
               to
               pray
               ,
               may
               seem
               an
               easie
               task
               ,
            
             
               We
               curse
               our selves
               when
               thus
               inclin'd
               we
               ask
               :
            
             
               This
               Prayer
               to
               use
               ,
               we
               ought
               with
               equal
               care
            
             
               Our
               Souls
               as
               to
               the
               Sacrament
               prepare
               :
            
             
               The
               Noblest
               Worship
               of
               the
               Power
               above
               ,
            
             
               Is
               to
               extol
               ,
               and
               imitate
               his
               Love
               :
            
             
             
               Not
               to
               forgive
               our
               Enemies
               alone
               ,
            
             
               But
               use
               our
               Bounty
               that
               they
               may
               be
               won
               .
            
          
           
             
               VI.
               
            
             
               
                 Guard
                 us
                 from
                 all
                 Temptations
                 of
                 the
                 Foe
                 ,
              
            
             
               And
               those
               we
               may
               in
               several
               stations
               know
               :
            
             
               The
               Rich
               and
               Poor
               in
               slippery
               places
               stand
               ,
            
             
               Give
               us
               enough
               ,
               but
               with
               a
               sparing
               Hand
               ;
            
             
               Not
               ill-perswading
               want
               ,
               nor
               wanton
               Wealth
               ,
            
             
               But
               what
               proportion'd
               is
               to
               Life
               and
               Health
               :
            
             
               For
               not
               the
               Dead
               ,
               but
               Living
               sing
               thy
               Praise
               ,
            
             
               Exalt
               thy
               Kingdom
               ,
               and
               thy
               Glory
               raise
               .
            
          
           
             
               —
               Favete
               Linguis
               —
            
             
               Virginibus
               Puerisque
               Canto
               ,
               Horat.
               
            
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
  

