At last surrounds their sight

A Globe of circular light,

That with long beams the shame-fac❜t night array'd, The helmed Cherubim

And sworded Seraphim,

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid,
Harping in loud and solemn quire,

With unexpressive notes to Heav'ns new-born Heir.
Such Musick (as 'tis said)

Before was never made,

But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator Great

His constellations set,

And the well-ballanc't world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep,

And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep.

Ring out ye Crystall sphears,

Once bless our human ears,

(If ye have power to touch our senses so) And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time;

And let the Base of Heav'ns deep Organ blow, And with your ninefold harmony

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Make up full consort to th'Angelike symphony.

For if such holy Song

Enwrap our fancy long,

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, And speckl❜d vanity

Will sicken soon and die,

And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould,

And Hell it self will pass away,

And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

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Yea Truth, and Justice then

Will down return to men,

Th'enameld Arras of the Rainbow wearing,

And Mercy set between,

Thron'd in Celestiall sheen,

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing,

And Heav'n as at som festivall,

Will open wide the Gates of her high Palace Hall.

But wisest Fate sayes no,

This must not yet be So,

The Babe lies yet in smiling Infancy, That on the bitter cross

Must redeem our loss;

So both himself and us to glorifie:

Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep,

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The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the deep,

With such a horrid clang

As on mount Sinai rang

While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake :

The aged Earth agast

With terrour of that blast,

Shall from the surface to the center shake;

When at the worlds last session,

The dreadfull Judge in middle Air shall spread his throne.

And then at last our bliss

Full and perfect is,

But now begins; for from this happy day

Th'old Dragon under ground

In straiter limits bound,

Not half so far casts his usurped sway,

And wrath to see his Kingdom fail,

Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail.

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The Oracles are dumm,

No voice or hideous humm

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,

With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell,

Inspires the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell.

The lonely mountains o're,

And the resounding shore,

A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale

Edg'd with poplar pale,

The parting Genius is with sighing sent,

With flowre-inwov'n tresses torn

The Nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

In consecrated Earth,

And on the holy Hearth,

The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight plaint,

In Urns, and Altars round,

A drear, and dying sound

Affrights the Flamins at their service quaint;

And the chill Marble seems to sweat,

While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

Peor, and Baalim,

Forsake their Temples dim,

With that twise-batter'd god of Palestine,

And mooned Ashtaroth,

Heav'ns Queen and Mother both,

Now sits not girt with Tapers holy shine,

The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,

In vain the Tyrian Maids their wounded Thamuz mourn.

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And sullen Moloch fled,

Hath left in shadows dred,

His burning Idol all of blackest hue, In vain with Cymbals ring,

They call the grisly king,

In dismall dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast,

Isis and Orus, and the Dog Anubis hast.

Nor is Osiris seen

In Memphian Grove, or Green,

Trampling the unshowr'd Grasse with lowings loud:

Nor can he be at rest

Within his sacred chest,

Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud,

In vain with Timbrel'd Anthems dark

The sable-stoled Sorcerers bear his worshipt Ark.

He feels from Juda's Land

The dredded Infants hand,

The of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; rayes Nor all the gods beside,

Longer dare abide,

Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine :

Our Babe to shew his Godhead true,

Can in his swadling bands controul the damned crew.

So when the Sun in bed,

Curtain'd with cloudy red,

Pillows his chin upon an Orient wave,

The flocking shadows pale,

Troop to th'infernall jail,

Each fetter'd Ghost slips to his severall grave,

And the yellow-skirted Fayes,

Fly after the Night-steeds, leaving their Moon-lov'd maze.

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But see the Virgin blest,

Hath laid her Babe to rest.

Time is our tedious Song should here have ending, Heav'ns youngest teemed Star,

Hath fixt her polisht Car,

Her sleeping Lord with Handmaid Lamp attending : And all about the Courtly Stable,

Bright-harnest Angels sit in order serviceable.

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HA

Aving been tenant long to a rich Lord,
Not thriving, I resolved to be bold,
And make a suit unto him, to afford

A new small-rented lease, and cancell th' old.

In heaven at his manour I him sought:

They told me there, that he was lately gone
About some land, which he had dearly bought

Long since on earth, to take possession.

I straight return'd, and knowing his great birth,
Sought him accordingly in great resorts;
In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts:

At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth

ΙΟ

Of theeves and murderers: there I him espied,
Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, & died.
George Herbert.