Lo; those, those Ioyfull-tydings, we doe live
Divulg'd, in every Village, to perceive;
And, that, the sounds of Gladnesse, eccho may,
Through all our goodly Temples, ev'ry day.
This was (Oh God) thy doing; unto thee,
Ascrib'd, for ever, let all Prayses bee.
Prolong this Mercie, and, vouchsafe the fruit,
May to thy Labour, on this Vine-yard, suit:
Lest, for our fruitlesnesse, thy Light of grace,
Thou, from our Golden candlesticke, displace.