Classic Poem

Written by Tho. Shadwell, Esq ; and Compos'd by Mr. King.

O Sacred Harmony, prepare our Lays,
While on Cecilia's Day, we sing your Praise,
From Earth to Heav'n our warbling Voices raise!

II.

Join all ye glorious Instruments around,
The yielding Air with your Vibrations wound,
And fill Heav'n's Conclave with the mighty Sound.

III.

You did at first the warring Atoms join,
Made Qualities most opposite combine,
While Discords did with pleasing Concords twine.

IV.

The Universe you fram'd, you still sustain;
Without you what in Tune does now remain
Wou'd jangle into Chaos once again.

V.

It does your most transcendent Glory prove,
That, to compleat immortal Joys above,
There must be Harmony to crown their Love.

VI.

Dirges with Sorrow still inspire
The doleful and lamenting Quire,
With swelling Hearts and flowing Eyes,
They solemnize their Obsequies;
For Grief they frequent Discords chuse,
Long Bindings and Chromaticks use.
Organs and Viols sadly Groan
To the Voice's dismal Tone.

VII.

If Love's gentle Passions we
Express, there must be Harmony;
We touch the soft and tender Flute,
The sprinkling and melodious Lute,
When we describe the tickling Smart
Which does invade a Love-sick Heart:
Sweet Nymphs in pretty Murmurs plain,
All chill and panting with the pleasing Pain,
Which can be eas'd by nothing but the Swain.

VIII.

If Poets, in a lofty Epic Strain,
Some ancient-noble History recite,
How Heroes love, and puissant Conquerors fight,
Or how on cruel Fortune they complain:
Or if Muse the Fate of Empires sings,
The Change of Crowns, the Rise and Fall of Kings:

CHORUS

'Tis sacred Musick does impart
Life and Vigour to the Art;
It makes the dumb-Poetic Pictures breath,
Victor's and Poet's Names it saves from Death.

IX.

How does the thund'ring Martial Song
Provoke the Military Throng!
The Haut-boys and the warlike Fife,
With Clamors of the Deafning Drum,
Make Peasants bravely hazard Life,
And quicken those whom Fears benum!
The Clangor of the Trumpet's Sound
Fills all the dusty Place around
And does from neighb'ring Hills rebound:
Io triumph when we sing,
We make the trembling Valleys ring.

Grand CHORUS,

All Instruments and Voices fit the Quire,
While we enchanting Harmony admire.
What mighty Wonders by our Art are taught,
What Miracles by sacred Numbers wrought
On Earth: In Heav'n, no Joys are perfect found,
'Till by Celestial Harmony they're crown'd.