Classic Poem

Arise thou Sacred Heap, and shew a Frame
Perfect at last, and Glorious as thy Name:
Space, and Torn Majesty, as yet are all
Thou hast: we view thy Cradle, as thy Fall.
 Our dwelling lyes half desert; The whole space
Unmeeted and unbounded, bears the face
Of the first Ages fields, and we, as they
That stand on hills, have prospect every way:
Like Theseus Sonne, curst by Mistake, the frame
Scattred and Torn, hath parts without a Name,
Which in a Landskip some mischance, not meant,
As dropping of the Spunge, would represent;
And (if no succour come) the Time's not far
When't will be thought no College, but a Quar.
Send then Amphion to these Thebes (O Fates)
W'have here as many Breaches, though not gates.
When any Stranger comes, 'tis shewn by us,
As once the face was of Antigonus ,
With an half-Visage onely: so that all
We boast is but a Kitchin, or an Hall.
Men thence admire, but help not, 't hath the luck
Of Heathen places that were Thunder-strook,
To be ador'd, not toucht; though the Mind and Will
Be in the Pale, the Purse is Pagan still:
Alas th'are Towr's that Thunder do provoke,
We ne'r had Height or Glory for a stroke;
Time, and King Henry too, did spare us; we
Stood in those dayes both Sythe, and Scepter-free;
Our Ruines then were licenc'd, and we were
Pass'd by untouch'd; that hand was open here.
Blesse we our Throne then! That which did avoid
The fury of those times, seems yet destroy'd:
So this breath'd on by no full Influence
Hath hung e'r since unminded in suspence,
As doubtfull whether't should Escheated be
To Ruine, or Redeem'd to Majesty.
But great Intents stop seconds, and we owe
To Larger Wants, that Bounty is so slow.
A Lordship here, like Curtius might be cast
Into one Hole, and yet not seen at last.
Two sacred Things were thought (by judging souls)
Beyond the Kingdomes Pow'r, Christchurch and Pauls ,
Till, by a Light from Heaven shewn, the one
Did gain his second Renovation,
And some good Star ere long, we do not fear,
Will Guide the Wise to Offer some gifts here.
But Ruines yet stand Ruines, as if none
Durst be so good, as first to cast a Stone .
Alas we ask not Prodigres: Wee'd boast
Had we but what is at one Horse-Race lost;
Nor is our House, (as Nature in the fall
Is thought by some) void and bereft of all
But what's new giv'n : Unto our selves we owe
That Sculs are not our Churches Pavement now;
That that's made yet good way; that to his Cup
And Table Christ may come, and not ride up;
That no one stumbling fears a worse event,
Nor when he bows falls lower than he meant;
That now our Windows may for Doctrine pass,
And we (as Paul ) see Mysteries in a Glass ;
That something elsewhere is perform'd, whereby
'Tis seen we can adorn, though not supply.
 But if to all Great Buildings (as to Troy )
A God must needs be sent, and we enjoy
No help but Miracle; if so it stand
Decreed by Heav'n, that the same gracious Hand
That perfected our Statutes , must be sent
To finish Christ-Church too, we are Content;
Knowing that he who in the Mount did give
Those Laws, by which his People were to live,
If they had needed then, as now we do,
Would have bestow'd the Stone for Tables too.