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ON THE MORNING.
THIS is the month, and this the happy morn,
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
Forsook the courts of everlasting day,
Hath took no print of the approaching light, 20 And all the spangled hosts keep watch in squadrons bright?
25 Have thou the honour first thy lord to greet,
Aud joiy thy voice unto the angel quire,
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;
With her great Master so to sympathise;
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow;
The saintly vejl of maiden white to throw;
She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;
The idle spear and shield were high up hung;
The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ;
His reign of peace upon the earth began:
Whisp’ring new joys to the mild ocean,
Bending one way their precious influence ;
And will not take their flight,
Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence ;
75 Until their Lord himself bespake, and bịd them go.
VII. And, thongh the shady gloom Had given day her room,
"The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame,
80 As his inferior flame
The new-enlighten'd world no more should need;
85 Or e'er the point of dawa,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;
90 Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.
95 Divinely warbled voice Answering the stringed noise,
As all their sonls in blissful rapture took: The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heav'nly close. 100
Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling,
And that her reign had here its last falfilling;
At last surrounds their sight
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd Harping in lond and solemn quire,
115 With unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born Heir.
But when of old the sons of morning sung,
120 His constellation set,
And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung;
125 Once bless onr human ears,
(If ye have pow'r to tosh our senses so :)