What should we do but sing His praise
That led us through the watery maze
Unto an isle so
And yet far kinder than our own?
Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks,
That lift the
deep upon their backs,
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms and prelates rage:
us this eternal Spring
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care
On daily visits
through the air:
He hangs in shades the orange bright
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in
the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows:
He makes the figs our mouths to meet
throws the melons at our feet;
But apples plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice.
cedars chosen by His hand
From Lebanon He stores the land;
And makes the hollow seas that roar
the ambergris on shore.
He case (of which we rather boast)
The Gospels pearl upon our coast;
these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound His name.
O, let our voice His praise exalt
arrive at Heavens vault,
Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay!
Thus sung they in the English boat
A holy and a cheerful note:
And all the way, to guide their
With falling oars they kept the time.
ENOUGH; and leave the rest to Fame!
Tis to commend her, but to name.
living, she declined,
When dead, to offer were unkind:
Nor can the truest wit, or friend,
To sayshe lived a virgin chaste
In this age loose and all unlaced;
Nor was, when vice is so
Of virtue or ashamed or proud;
That her soul was on Heaven so bent,
No minute but it came and
That, ready her last debt to pay,
She summd her life up every day;
Modest as morn, as mid-day
Gentle as evening, cool as night:
Tis true; but all too weakly said.
Twas more significant, shes
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