Classic Poem

Sweet Muse, descend and bless the shade,
And bless the evening grove;
Business, and noise, and day are fled,
And every care, but love.

But hence, ye wanton young and fair,
Mine is a purer flame;
No Phyllis shall infect the air,
With her unhallowed name.

Jesus has all my Powers possessed,
My hopes, my fears, my joys:
He, the dear Sovereign of my breast,
Shall still command my voice.

Some of the fairest choirs above
Shall flock around my song,
With joy to hear the name they love
Sound from a mortal tongue.

His charms shall make my numbers flow,
And hold the falling floods,
While silence sits on every bough,
And bends the list'ning woods.

I'll carve our passion on the bark,
And every wounded tree
Shall drop and bear some mystic mark
That Jesus died for me.

The swains shall wonder when they read,
Inscrib'd on all the grove,
That Heaven itself came down, and bled
To win a mortal's love.