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TAKEN ouT OF A GREEK on E, writt EN BY MR. MASTERS, OF NEW-CoI.LEGE, IN oxfor D.
ENOUGH, my Muse! of earthly things, And inspirations but of wind; Take up thy lute, and to it bind Loud and everlasting strings; And on them play, and to them sing, The happy mournful stories, The lamentable glories, Of the great crucified King. Mountainous heap of wonders! which dost rise Till earth thou joinest with the skies! Too large at bottom, and at top too high, To be half seen by mortal eye How shall I grasp this boundless thing What shall I play what shall I sing? I'll sing the mighty riddle of mysterious love, Which neither wretched men below, nor blessed spirits above, With all their comments can explain; How all the whole world's life to die did not disdain!
I'llsing the searchless depths of the compassion Divine,
How the eternal Father did bestow His own eternal Son as ransom for his foe, I'll sing aloud, that all the world may hear The triumph of the buried Conqueror. How hell was by its prisoner captive led, And the great slayer, Death, slain by the dead.
Methinks I hear of murdered men the voice, Mixt with the murderers' confused noise, Sound from the top of Calvary; My greedy eyes fly up the hill, and see Who’t is hangs there the midmost of the three; Oh, how unlike the others He Look, how he bends his gentle head with blessings from the tree His gracious hands, ne'er stretch'd but to do good, Are nail'd to the infamous wood; And sinful man does fondly bind The *: * he extends to embrace all humanIIlOl. .
Unhappy man! canst thou stand by and see
Dost thou not see thy Prince in purple clad all o'er, Not purple brought from the Sidonian shore,
But made at home with richer gore ?
Dost thou not see the roses which adorn
Look on his hands, look on his feet, look on his side '
Open, oh! open wide the fountains of thine eyes,
WE allow'd you beauty, and we did submit
Woman, as if the body were their whole,
"T were shame and pity', Orinda, if in thee
* Mrs. Catharine Philips.
A spirit so rich, so noble, and so high,
Thou dost my wonder, wouldst my envy, raise, If to be prais'd I lov'd more than to praise: Where'er I see an excellence, I must admire to see thy well-knit sense, Thy numbers gentle, and thy fancies high; Those as thy forehead smooth, these sparkling as thine eye. "T is solid, and 'tis manly all, Or rather’t is angelical;