Classic Poem

As now the restless, and unwearied Sun ,
In new Successions , his fair Course does run,
His Motion , shap'd like his resembling Sphere ,
Which figures the round World , and Circling Year .
So you, to whom alike our Eyes we raise,
Born, on the Heavens , and on You to gaze .
Your endless Race of Glorie , still pursue,
And guide our Course , and shine above us too.
Repeating your unwearied Travels , till
You, your bright Circle of great Actions fill.
And as the Sun unchang'd , does us behold
Grown with the Changes which he measures, old ;
His Glories fresh , as when he first did rise ,
And took his Station in the new-made Skies .
So you, to whom old Age unknown appears,
Seem yong , with the increase of many years .
As all th' Advances , which you make in Time ,
Were Steps , whereby you to Perfection climb;
And those past Years , by which you count us old ,
For us , you only numbred out , and told .
Thus Angels , fashion'd by a Hand Divine ,
Still ever yong , as their own Heavens , shine;
Born old as all the Elements , yet n'ere
No more then they , with crooked Age impair.
What is above , not subject is to Time ,
Eternal Youth , smiles in the Heav'nly Clime .

Like as some Hill , the antient Throne , and State ,
Whereon the World 's first humble Monarchs sate;
Beholds the black Clouds , in the Bottom seen,
Th' Imperial Height , still smiling , and serene .
So you, who by experienc't Travels climb,
To gain the Prospect , on the top of Time ,
Serener seem, the higher still you go,
And see more of the changing World below.
Thus when we thought our Sky , was calm , and clear ,
You saw our threatening Storms far off appear,
And those black Clouds , which after fell on all,
While you, from your calm Height , o're-look't our Fall .
Then stood you , like your Church upon a Hill ,
Firm as a Rock , and as conspicuous still.
Then, when your Country was with Arms oppress't,
And Peace was no where found, but in your Breast .
That sacred Quiet , which on you did wait,
Slep't not unactive in your humble State,
But waking kept, and did not idly rest,
Like Nights dark Quiet , a dull Calm at best.
So high, the Confessor his Cross did bear,
As that , has higher rais'd the Primate's Chair .
Your Suff'rings , shed as great a Lustre then,
And now adorns your more Triumphant Scene .

May kinder Suns , their whiter Times restore,
In lieu of those, they snatch't from you before,
And many smiling Years to come, employ
The Sacred Quire's more New , and Solemn Joy ;
Still exercis'd in Angels Songs , that so,
Our Church may long Triumphant be, below .