Classic Poem

I SING the Man who Judahs Scepter bore
In that right hand which held the Crook before;
Who from best Poet , best of Kings did grow,
The two chief gifts Heav'n could on Man bestow
Much dangers first, much toil did he sustain,
Whilst Saul and Hell crost his strong fate in vain
Nor did his Crown less painful work afford:
Less exercise his Patience , or his Sword ;
So long her Conqu'eror Fortunes spight pursu'd;
Till with unwearied Virtue he subdu'd
All homebred Malice, and all forreign boasts;
Their strength was Armies , his the Lord of Hosts .
 Thou who didst Davids royal stem adorn,
And gav'st him birth from whom thy self wast born .
Who didst in Triumph at Deaths Court appear,
And slew'st him with thy Nails , thy Cross and Spear ,
Whilst Hells black Tyrant trembled to behold
The glorious light he forfeited of old,
Who Heavens glad burthen now, and justest pride,
Sit'st high enthron'd next thy great Fathers side,
(Where hallowed Flames help to adorn that Head
Which once the blushing Thorns environed,
Till crimson drops of precious blood hung down
Like Rubies to enrich thine humble Crown .)
Ev'n Thou my breast with such blest rage inspire,
As mov'd the tuneful strings of Davids Lyre ,
Guid my bold steps with thine old trav'elling Flame ,
In these untrodden paths to Sacred Fame ;
Lo, with pure hands thy heav'enly Fire to take,
My well chang'd Muse I a chast Vestal make!
From earths vain joys and loves soft witchcraft free,
I consecrate my Magdalene to Thee!
Lo, this great work, a Temple to thy praise,
On polisht Pillars of strong Verse I raise!
A Temple , where if Thou vouchsafe to dwell,
It Solomons , and Herods shall excel.
Too long the Muses-Land have Heathen bin;
Their Gods too long were Dev'ils , and Vertues Sin ;
But Thou, Eternal Word , hast call'd forth Mc
Th' Apostle , to convert that World to Thee ;
T'unbind the charms that in slight Fables lie,
And teach that Truth is truest Poesie .