The muse, that soft and sickly wooes the ear Of love, or chanting loud in windy rhyme Of fabled hero, raves through gaudy tale Me thought, and phrase, severely sifting out The whole idea, grant-uttering as 'tis The essential truth-Time gone, the Righteous saved, The Wicked damned, and Providence approved. Hold my right hand, Almighty! and me teach To strike the lyre, but seldom struck, to notes Harmonious with the morning stars, and pure As those of sainted bards, and angels sung, Which wake the echoes of eternityThat fools may hear and tremble, and the wise Instructed listen, of ages yet to come. Long was the day, so long expected, past Of the eternal doom, that gave to each Of all the human race his due reward. The sun-earth's sun, and moon, and stars, had ceased To number seasons, days, and months, and years ; To mortal man: hope was forgotten, and fear And Time, with all its chance and change, and smiles, And frequent tears, and deeds of villany, Or righteousness—once talked of much, as things To be redeemed, had wandered in the dark Thus far the years had rolled, which none but God Doth number, when two sons, two youthful sons Of Paradise, in conversation sweet, (For thus the heavenly muse instructs me, wooed Thus viewing, one they saw, on hasty wing Directing towards heaven his course; and now, His flight ascending near the battlements And lofty hills on which they walked, approached. The plains of Paradise, whose tops, arrayed That nought but angel's foot, or saint's elect Around their suns revolving in the vast External space, or listen the harmonies That each to other in its motion sings. Within, no orb create of moon, or star, Or sun gives light; for God's own countenance, Beaming eternally, gives light to all; But farther than these sacred hills his will Forbids its flow-too bright for eyes beyond, This is the last ascent of Virtue; here All trial ends, and hope; here perfect joy, With perfect righteousness, which to these heights Alone can rise, begins, above all fall. And now on wing of holy ardour strong, Hail, brother! hail, thou son of happiness! Thou son beloved of God! welcome to heaven! To bliss that never fades! thy day is past Of trial, and of fear to fall. Well done, Thou good and faithful servant, enter now Into the joy eternal of thy Lord, |