And shall not praise be thine? not human praise?
While heaven’s high host on hallelujahs live?
O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe
My soul in praise to Him, who gave my soul,
And all her infinite of prospect fair, 380
Cut through the shades of hell great Love! by thee
O most adorable! most unadored!
Where shall that praise begin, which ne’er should end?
Where’er I turn, what claim on all applause!
How is night’s sable mantle labour’d o’er,