To Him that sits thereon, With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee; Where the bright seraphim in burning row Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow, And the cherubic host in thousand quires Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just spirits that wear victorious palms, Hymns devout and holy psalms Singing everlastingly : That we on Earth with undiscording voice Broke the fair music that all creatures made To their great Lord; whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good. O may we soon again renew that song, And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long To His celestial consort us unite, To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light! John Milton. TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER Charm me asleep, and melt me so, Away in easie slumbers. Ease my sick head, And make my bed, Thou Power that canst sever From me this ill, And quickly still, Though thou not kill, My fever. Thou sweetly canst convert the same From a consuming fire, Into a gentle-licking flame And give me such reposes, May think thereby 'Mongst roses. Fall on me like a silent dew, Or like those maiden show'rs, Melt, melt my paines, With thy soft straines, That having ease me given, With full delight, I leave this light, And take my flight For heaven. Robert Herrick. O MUSIC! SPHERE - DESCENDED MAID (From "The Passions") O Music! sphere-descended maid, Where is thy native simple heart, William Collins. ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's warlike son! Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne: His valiant peers were plac'd around; Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound (So should desert in arms be crown'd); The lovely Thais, by his side, Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride:- None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair! Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The song began from Jove Who left his blissful seats above And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. |