Perhaps neither of these characters in perfection shall ever be seen on earth, till the seventh angel has sounded his awful trumpet; till the victory be complete over the beast and his image, when the natives of Heaven shall join in consort with prophets and saints, and sing to their golden harps, 'salvation, honour, and glory to him that sits upon the throne, and to the Lamb for ever.' May 14, 1709. HORE LYRICÆ. BOOK I. SACRED TO DEVOTION AND PIETY. WORSHIPPING WITH FEAR: WHO dares attempt the' Eternal Name, With notes of mortal sound? Dangers and glories guard the theme, And spread despair around. Destruction waits to' obey his frown, Celestial King! our spirits lie When shall we see the Great Unknown, And in thy presence stand? Reveal the splendors of thy throne, But shield us with thy hand. In thee what endless wonders meet! Angels are lost in sweet surprise, And humble awe runs through the skies, When mercy joins with majesty To spread their beams abroad, Not all their fairest minds on high Are shadows of a GOD. Thy works the strongest seraph sings And labours hard on all his strings, Created powers, how weak they be ! So much akin to nothing we, ASKING LEAVE TO SING. YET, mighty GOD, indulge my tongue, Whilst the young notes and ventrous song If thou my daring flight forbid, Her slender reed, inspir'd by thee, She mocks the trumpet's loud alarms But when she tastes her Saviour's love, And feels the rapture strong, Scarce the divinest harp above GOD'S DOMINION AND DECREES. KEEP silence, all created things, And wait your Maker's nod: The Muse stands trembling while she sings The honours of her Gon. Life, death, and hell, and worlds unknown, He sits on no precarious throne, Nor borrows leave to be. + |