Classic Poem

 A BOVE the subtle foldings of the Sky,
Above the well-set Orbs soft Harmony ,
Above those petty Lamps that guild the Night ;
There is a place o'reflown with hallowed Light ;
Where Heaven , as if it left it self behind,
Is stretcht out far, nor its own bounds can find:
Here peaceful Flames swell up the sacred place,
Nor can the glory contain it self in th'endless space.
For there no twilight of the Suns dull ray
Glimmers upon the pure and native day.
No pale-fac'd Moon does in stoln beams appear,
Or with dim Taper scatters darkness there
On no smooth Sphear the restless seasons slide,
No circling Motion doth swift Tinte divide;
Nothing is there To come , and nothing Past ,
But an Eternal Now does always last.
There sits th' Almighty, First of all, and End ;
Whom nothing but Himself can comprehend.
Who with his Word commanded All to Be ,
And All obey'd him, for that Word was He .
Only he spoke, and every thing that Is
From out the womb of fertile Nothing ris.
Oh who shall tell, who shall describe thy throne,
Thou great Three One?
There Thou thy self do'st in full presence show,
Not absent from these meaner Worlds below;
No, if thou wert, the Elements League would cease,
And all thy Creatures break thy Natures peace.
The Sun would stop his course, or gallop back,
The Stars drop out, the Poles themselves would crack:
Earths strong foundations would be torn in twain,
And this vast work all ravel out again
To its first Nothing ; For his spirit contains
The well-knit Mass , from him each Creature gains
Being and Motion , which he still bestows;
From him th' effect of our weak Action flows.
Round him vast Armies of swift Angels stand,
Which seven triumphant Generals command,
They sing loud anthems of his endless praise,
And with fixt eyes drink in immortal rayes.