Classic Poem

On His MAJESTY's Recovery .

[ Tune — The FAVORITE H YMN OF E VE .]

S OUND lute, the sweet concords of praise!
Enraptured I strike the bold string,
Loud paeans of gratitude raise,
For God has restor'd me my King!
Pale Faction in soiitude mourns!
Leave the tears of her Minions to flow;
The bright-sun of healing returns,
And gilds the horizon of woe.

See, the Monarch from languor arise!
He bends at the footstool of grace;
Fair gratitude beams from his eyes,
And devotion illumines his face!
See the Circle of Virtue attend,
With looks of complacence and love;
Their raptures like incense ascend —
And angels record them above.

What bosom, but throbs with delight,
When fancy presents to the mind
The P AIR whom such virtues unite, —
The blessing, and pride of mankind!
O! long may the God they adore
Grant life, un-impair'd by alloy!
When life is a blessing no more —
Transport them, to mansions of joy!

O, Lord of sweet mercy, to thee —
With fervent devotion I sing;
My spirit, exalted and free,
Exults in the praise of my King?
O, grant, that a subject's faint pray'r
May reach thy celestial abode!
Wing the theme thro' the regions of air,
And, give it access to my G OD .

To devotion H E temper'd the clay
Embellish'd and form'd by his hand, —
Soon the mind caught the heav'nly ray
And, instant, began to expand;
Devotion enraptured the tongue,
The passions confess'd its controul, —
And bless'd were the transports that sprung
All warm, and direct from the soul!

Now bless'd be the God we adore!
Who pours down his balm from above!
Who smites, in displeasure, no more —
But turns — with refreshment, and love:
The boon should our gratitude raise,
And urge, in full chorus, to sing, —
Till the forest, made vocal with praise,
Re-echo with — God save the King!