Sound forth celestial organs, let heaven's quite
Ravish the dancing orbs, make them mount higher
With nimble capers, and force Atlas tread
Upon his tip-toes,
Ere his silver head
Shall kiss his golden burden.
Thou, glad Isle,
That swimmst as deep in joys as seas, now smile;
Let not thy weight glories, this full tide
Of bliss, debase thee, but with a just pride
Swell, swell to such a height that thou may'st vie
With heaven itself for stately majesty.
Do not deceive me, eyes; do I not see
In this blest earth heaven's bright epitome,
Circled with pure refined glory?
Here I view a rising sun in this our sphere,
Whose blazing beams, maugre the blackest night
And mists of grief, dares force a joyful light.
The gold in which he flames does well presage
A precious season and a golden age.
Shine forth, ye flaming sparks of
Deity, ye perfect emblems of divinity;
Fix'd in your spheres of glory, shed from thence
The treasures of our lives, your influence:
For if you set, who may not justly fear
The world will be one ocean, one great tear?