Some nation yet shut in

With hills of ice

May be let out to scourge his sin,
Till they shall equal him in vice.

And then they likewise shall
Their ruin have;

For as yourselves your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.

Thus those celestial fires,
Though seeming mute,

The fallacy of our desires

And all the pride of life confute.

For they have watch'd since first
The world had birth:

And found sin in itself accurst,
And nothing permanent on Earth.

Dryden.

[B. 1631.-D. 1700.]

HYMN TO THE HOLY GHOST.

CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid

The world's foundations first were laid,

Come visit ev'ry pious mind,

Come pour thy joys on human kind,

D

From sin and sorrow set us free,

And make Thy temples worthy Thee.
O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heav'nly love inspire:
Come, and Thy sacred unction bring
To sanctify us while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in Thy seven-fold energy!

Thou strength of his Almighty hand

Whose power does Heaven and Earth command, Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,

And crown Thy gift with eloquence !

Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,

Then lay Thy hand, and hold them down.
Chase from our minds th' infernal foe,

And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect, and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe :
Give us Thyself, that we may see
The Father, and the Son, by Thee.
Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend th' Almighty Father's name :

The Saviour Son be glorified,

Who for lost man's redemption died;
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to Thee.

Pope.

[B. 1688.-D. 1744.]

THE MESSIAH-A SACRED ECLOGUE.

YE nymphs of Solyma! begin the song:
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong.
The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades,
The dreams of Pyndus, and th' Aonian maids,
Delight no more-O Thou, my voice inspire
Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire!
Rapt into future times the bard begun
A virgin shall conceive, a virgin bear a Son!
From Jesse's root behold a Branch arise,
Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies:
Th' ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descend the mystic dove,
Ye heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly show'r!
The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail :
Returning Justice lifts aloft her scale;