Classic Poem

BY FRANCIS DAVISON.

Come, Urania, heavenly Muse,
And infuse
Sacred flame to my invention:
Sing so loud, that angels may
Hear thy lay,
Lending to thy note attention.

Oh! my soul, bear thou a part;
And my heart,
With glad leaps, beat thou the measure!
Powers of soul and body meet,
To make sweet,
Sweet and full this music's pleasure!

But to whom, Muse, shall we sing?
To the King?
Or Prince Charles, our hope and glory?
To any great Maecenas' fame?
Or some Dame,
Proud of beauty transitory?

No, Muse; to Jehovah now,
We do vow
Hymns of praise, psalms of thanksgiving;
By whose only grace and power,
At this hour,
I do breathe among the living!

Hymns, which in the Hebrew tongue,
First were sung,
By Israel's sweet and royal singer;
Whose rich harp the heavenly quire
Did desire
To hear touched with his sweet finger:

To which th' orbs celestial,
Joining all,
Made all parts so fully sounding,
As no thought, 'till earth we leave,
Can conceive
Aught with pleasure so abounding.

Sacred triple Majesty,
One in Three!
Grant, oh grant me this desire.
When my soul, of body frail
Leaves the jail,
Let it sing in this blest quire!