Bring all your lutes and harps of Heaven and Earth; Whate'er co-operates to the common mirth:

Vessels of vocal joys,

Or you, more noble architects of intellectual noise, 75 Cymbals of Heaven, or human spheres,

Solicitors of souls or ears;

And when you are come, with all

That you can bring or we can call:
O may you fix

For ever here, and mix

Yourselves into the long

And everlasting series of a deathless song;

Mix all your many worlds above,

And loose them into one of love.

Cheer thee my heart!

For thou too hast thy part

And place in the great throng

Of this unbounded all-embracing song.

Powers of my soul, be proud!
And speak loud

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To all the dear-bought Nations this redeeming Name,
And in the wealth of one rich word, proclaim
New similes to Nature. May it be no wrong,
Blest Heavens, to you and your superior song,
That we, dark sons of dust and sorrow,
A while dare borrow

The name of your delights, and our desires,
And fit it to so far inferior lyres..
Our murmurs have their music too,

Ye mighty Orbs, as well as you;

Nor yields the noblest nest

Of warbling Seraphim to the ears of Love,
A choicer lesson than the joyful breast
Of a poor panting turtle-dove.

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And we, low worms, have leave to do

The same bright business (ye Third Heavens) with you. Gentle spirits, do not complain!

Come, lovely Name! Appear from forth the bright Regions of peaceful light;

Look from Thine Own illustrious home,

Fair King of names, and come:

Leave all Thy native glories in their gorgeous nest,

And give Thy Self a while the gracious Guest

Of humble souls, that seek to find

The hidden sweets

Which man's heart meets

When Thou art Master of the mind.
Come lovely Name; Life of our hope!
Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope!
Unlock Thy cabinet of Day,
Dearest Sweet, and come away.

Lo, how the thirsty lands

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Gasp for Thy golden showers! with long-stretch's hands.

Lo, how the labouring Earth

That hopes to be

All Heaven by Thee,

Leaps at Thy birth!

The attending World, to wait Thy rise,

First turn'd to eyes;

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And then, not knowing what to do,

Turn'd them to tears, and spent them too.

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Come royal Name; and pay the expense
Of all this precious patience;

O come away

And kill the death of this delay!

O see so many worlds of barren years

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Melted and measured out in seas of tears:

O see the weary lids of wakeful Hope (Love's eastern windows) all wide ope With curtains drawn,

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To catch the day-break of Thy dawn.
O dawn at last, long-look'd for Day!
Take Thine own wings and come away.
Lo, where aloft it comes! It comes, among
The conduct of adoring spirits, that throng
Like diligent bees, and swarm about it.

O they are wise,

And know what sweets are suck'd from out it:

It is the hive,

By which they thrive,

Where all their hoard of honey lies.

Lo, where it comes, upon the snowy Dove's
Soft back; and brings a bosom big with loves;
Welcome to our dark world, Thou womb of Day!
Unfold thy fair conceptions, and display
The birth of our bright joys, O Thou compacted
Body of blessings: Spirit of souls extracted!
O dissipate Thy spicy powers,

(Cloud of condensèd sweets) and break upon us

In balmy showers!

O fill our senses, and take from us

All force of so profane a fallacy,

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To think ought sweet but that which smells of Thee!

Fair, flowery Name, in none but Thee

And Thy nectareal fragrancy,

Hourly there meets

An universal synod of all sweets;

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By whom it is definèd thus,
That no perfume

For ever shall presume

To pass for odoriferous,

But such alone whose sacred pedigree

Can prove itself some kin (sweet Name!) to Thee. Sweet Name, in Thy each syllable

A thousand Blest Arabias dwell;

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Home, and lodge them in his heart.

O that it were as it was wont to be!

When Thy old friends of fire, all full of Thee,

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Fought against frowns with smiles; gave glorious chase
To persecutions; and against the face

Of Death and fiercest dangers, durst with brave
And sober pace, march on to meet A GRAVE.
On their bold breasts, about the world they bore

Thee,

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And to the teeth of Hell stood up to teach Thee,
In centre of their inmost souls, they wore Thee; 200
Where racks and torments strived, in vain, to reach
Thee.

Little, alas thought they

Who tore the fair breasts of Thy friends,
Their fury but made way

For Thee, and served them in Thy glorious ends. 205 What did their weapons but with wider pores Enlarge Thy flaming-breasted lovers,

More freely to transpire

That impatient fire,

The heart that hides Thee hardly covers?
What did their weapons but set wide the doors
For Thee? fair, purple doors, of Love's devising;'
The ruby windows which enrich'd the East
Of Thy so oft-repeated rising!

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Each wound of theirs was Thy new morning,
And re-enthroned Thee in Thy rosy nest,

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With blush of Thine Own blood Thy day adorning :

It was the wit of Love o'erflowed the bounds

Of Wrath, and made Thee way through all those

wounds.

Welcome, dear, all-adorèd Name!

For sure there is no knee

That knows not Thee:

Or, if there be such sons of shame,

Alas! what will they do

When stubborn rocks shall bow

And hills hang down their heaven-saluting heads

To seek for humble beds

Of dust, where in the bashful shades of Night
Next to their own low Nothing, they may lie,

And couch before the dazzling light of Thy dread

majesty.

They that by Love's mild dictate now

Will not adore Thee,

Shall then, with just confusion bow

And break before Thee.

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