Classic Poem

I.

So David , to the God , who touch'd his lyre ,
The God , who did, at once inspire
The poet's numbers, and the prophet's fire,
Taught the wing'd anthems , to aspire!
The thoughts of men, in god-like sounds, he sung,
And voic'd devotion, for an angel's tongue.
At once, with pow'rful words , and skilful air ,
The priestly king (who knew the weight of pray'r)
To his high purpose , match'd his care .
To deathless concords, tun'd his mortal lays,
And, with a sound, like heav'n's , gave heav'n its praise .

II.

Where has thy soul , O musick! slept, since then?
Or, thro' what lengths of deep creation, led,
Has heav'n indulg'd th' all-daring pow'r, to tread?
On other globes, to other forms of men,
Hast thou been sent, their maker's name to spread?
Or, o'er some dying orb , in tuneful dread,
Proclaiming judgment , wak'd th' unwilling dead?
Or, have new worlds, from wand'ring comets , rais'd,
Heard , and leap'd forth, and, into being , blaz'd.

III.

Say, sacred origin of song!
Where hast thou hid thyself so long?
Thou soul of H ANDEL , thro' what shining way,
Lost to our earth, since David 's long-past day,
Did'st thou, for all this length of ages, stray!
What wond'ring angels hast thou breath'd among,
By none of all th' immortal choir, out-sung.

IV.

But, 'tis enough; since thou art here, again ;
Where thou hast wander'd, gives no pain:
We hear , we feel — thou art return'd once more,
With musick, mightier than before:
As if, in ev'ry orb,
From every note of gods , which thou wert shown.
Thy spirit did th' harmonious pow'r absorb,
And make the moving airs of heav'n, thy own .

V.

Ah! give thy passport to the nation's pray'r;
Ne'er did religion's languid fire
Burn fainter — never more require
The aid of such a fam'd enliv'ner's care.
Thy pow'r can force the stubborn heart, to feel ,
And rouse the luke-warm doubter into zeal .

VI.

Teach us to pray, as David pray'd, before;
Lift our thanksgiving to th' Almighty's throne,
In numbers, like his own,
Teach us yet more;
Teach us, undying charmer! to compose
Our inbred storms, and 'scape impending woes,
Lull our wanton hearts to ease ;
Teach happiness to please ;
And, since thy notes can ne'er, in vain, implore,
Bid 'em be-calm un-resting faction o'er:
Inspire content, and peace, in each proud breast;
Bid the unwilling land be blest:
If aught, we wish for , seems too long to stay,
Bid us believe, that heav'n best knows its day:
Bid us securely reap the good, we may ,
Nor tools to other's haughty hopes , throw our own peace away.