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Sent down the meek-eyed Peace,

       She crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding

       Down through the turning sphere

       His ready harbinger,

       With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;

       And waving wide her myrtle wand,

       She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

       No war, or battle's sound

       Was heard the world around:

       The idle spear and shield were high up hung;

       The hookéd Chariot stood

       Unstain'd with hostile blood;

       The trumpet spake not to the arméd throng;

       And kings sat still with awful eye,

       As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

       But peaceful was the night

       Wherin the Prince of Light

       His reign of peace upon the earth began:

       The winds, with wonder whist,

       Smoothly the waters kist

       Whispering new joys to the mild oceán—

       Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

       While birds of calm sit brooding on the charméd wave.

       The stars with deep amaze

       Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze,

       Bending one way their precious influence;

       And will not take their flight

       For all the morning light,

       Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence;

       But in their glimmering orbs did glow,

       Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go.

       And though the shady gloom

       Had given day her room,

       The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,

       And hid his head for shame,

       As his inferior flame

       The new-enlightn'd world no more should need:

       He saw a greater Sun appear

       Then his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear.

       The shepherds on the lawn

       Or ere the point of dawn

       Sate simply chatting in a rustic row;

       Full little thought they then

       That the mighty Pan

       Was kindly come to live with them below;

       Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep

       Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.

       When such music sweet

       Their hearts and ears did greet

       As never was by mortal finger strook—

       Divinely-warbled voice

       Answering the stringéd noise,

       As all their souls in blissful rapture took:

       The air, such pleasure loth to lose,

       With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.

       Nature that heard such sound

       Beneath the hollow round

       Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling,

       Now was almost won

       To think her part was done,

       And that her reign had here its last fulfilling;

       She knew such harmony alone

       Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union.

       At last surrounds their sight

       A globe of circular light

       That with long beams the shamefaced night array'd;

       The helméd Cherubim

       And sworded Seraphim,

       Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd,

       Harping in loud and solemn quire

       With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir.

       Such music (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-balanced world on hinges hung;

       And cast the dark foundations deep,

       And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.

       Ring out, ye crystal spheres!

       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 bass of heaven's deep organ blow;

       And with your ninefold harmony

       Make up full concert to the angelic symphony.

       For if such holy Song

       Enwrap our fancy long,

       Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold;

       And speckled vanity

       Will sicken soon and die,

       And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould;

       And Hell itself will pass away,

       And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

       Yea, Truth and Justice then

       Will down return to men,

       Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,

       Mercy will sit between

       Throned in celestial sheen,

       With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;

       And Heaven, as at some festival,

       Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

       But wisest Fate says No;

       This must not yet be so;

       The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy

       That on the bitter cross

       Must redeem our loss;

       So both Himself and us to glorify:

       Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep

       The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep;

       With such a horrid clang

       As on mount Sinai rang

       While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:

       The aged Earth agast

       With terrour of that blast

       Shall from the surface to the centre shake,

       When at the worlds last sessión,

       The dreadful 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

       The old Dragon, under ground

       In straiter limits bound,

       Not half so far casts his usurpéd sway;

       And, wroth to see his Kingdom fail,

       Swinges the scaly horrour of his folded tail.

       The oracles are dumb;

      

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