And teach us equally the scales to hold
Between the two extremes of hot and cold;
That pious heat may moderately prevail,
And we be warmed, but not be scorched by zeal.
Business might shorten, not disturb, her prayer;
Heaven had the best, if not the greatest, share.
An active life long orisons forbids;

Yet still she prayed, for still she prayed by deeds.
Her every day was Sabbath; only free

From hours of prayer, for hours of charity.
Such as the Jews from servile toil released,
Where works of mercy were a part of rest;
Such as blest angels exercise above,

Varied with sacred hymns and acts of love :
Such Sabbaths as that one she now enjoys,
E'en that perpetual one which she employs
(For such vicissitudes in heaven there are)
In praise alternate and alternate prayer.
All this she practised here; that when she sprung
Amidst the choirs, at the first sight she sung:
Sung, and was sung herself in angels' lays;
For, praising her, they did her Maker praise.
All offices of heaven so well she knew,
Before she came, that nothing there was new:
And she was so familiarly received,

As one returning, not as one arrived.

They but perfume the temple and expire:

So was she soon exhaled, and vanished hence;

A short sweet odour, of a vast expense.

She vanished, we can scarcely say she died,

For but a 66 now " did heaven and earth divide :

She passed serenely with a single breath;

This moment perfect health, the next was death.

One sigh did her eternal bliss assure;

So little penance needs, when souls are almost pure.

As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue;

Or, one dream passed, we slide into a new;

So close they follow, such wild order keep,

We think ourselves awake, and are asleep :

So softly death succeeded life in her :

She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.

A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY 1687.

FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began :

When Nature underneath a heap

Of jarring atoms lay,

And could not heave her head,

The tuneful voice was heard from high,

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,

In order to their stations leap,

And music's power obey.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began :

From harmony to harmony

Through all the compass of the notes it ran,

The diapason closing full in man.

What passion cannot music raise and quell?

When Jubal struck the chorded shell,

His list'ning brethren stood around,

And, wond'ring, on their faces fell,

To worship that celestial sound.

Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell,

That spoke so sweetly and so well.

What passion cannot music raise and quell?

The trumpet's loud clangor

Excites us to arms,

With shrill notes of anger

And mortal alarms.

The double double double beat

Of the thundering drum,

Cries 66 Hark! the foes come;

Charge, charge! 'tis too late to retreat."

The soft complaining flute

In dying notes discovers

The woes of hopeless lovers,

Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute.

Sharp violins proclaim

Their jealous pangs and desperation,

Their frantic indignation,

Depth of pains, and height of passion,
For the fair disdainful dame.

But oh! what art can teach,
What human voice can reach

The sacred organ's praise ?
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To join the choirs above.

Orpheus could lead the savage race,
And trees uprooted left their place,
Sequacious of the lyre;

But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher;
When to her organ, vocal breath was given;
An Angel heard, and straight appeared,
Mistaking earth for heaven.

Grand Chorus.

As from the power of sacred lays,
The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the blessed above;

So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And music shall untune the sky.

JOSEPH ADDISON.

Born 1672. Died 1719.

THE BLESSINGS OF LIBERTY. O LIBERTY, thou goddess heavenly bright, Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, And smiling Plenty leads thy wanton train; Eased of her load, Subjection grows more light, And Poverty looks cheerful in thy sight;

Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay;
Giv'st Beauty to the Sun, and pleasure to the day.
Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores;
How has she oft exhausted all her stores,
How oft in fields of death thy presence sought,
Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought!
On foreign mountains may the Sun refine
The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine,
With citron groves adorn a distant soil,
And the fat olive swell with floods of oil :
We envy not the warmer clime, that lies

In ten degrees of more indulgent skies,

Nor at the coarseness of our heav'n repine,

Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine :

'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle

And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile.

Others with tow' ring piles may please the sight

And in their proud aspiring domes delight:
A nicer touch to the stretched canvas give,
Or teach their animated rocks to live :
'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
And hold in balance each contending state,
To threaten bold presumptuous Kings with war,
And answer her afflicted neighbours' prayer.
The Dane and Swede roused up by fierce alarms,
Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms:
Soon as her fleets appear their terrors cease,
And all the northern world lies hushed in peace.

PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII.
THE Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd's care;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye;
My noon-day walks he shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant;
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary wandering steps he leads;
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.

Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,

My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
For Thou, O Lord, art with me still;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.

Though in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my wants beguile :
The barren wilderness shall smile,

With sudden greens, and herbage crowned,
And streams shall murmur all around.

AN ODE.

THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,

And spangled heavens, a shining frame,

Their great Original proclaim.

The unwearied sun, from day to day,

Does his Creator's power display,

And publishes to every land

The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail

The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth

Repeats the story of her birth.

Whilst all the stars that round her burn,

And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though in solemn silence all
Move round this dark terrestrial ball,
What though no real voice nor sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found;
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice ;
For ever singing, as they shine,

66 The Hand that made us is divine."