Rais’d from the vulgar press my mind aspires,
Wing’d with high thoughts, unto his praise to climb,
From deep eternity who called forth time;
That essence which not mov’d makes each thing move,
Uncreate beauty, all creating love:
But by so great an object, radiant light,
My heart appall’d, enfeebled rests my sight,
Thick clouds benight my labouring engine,
And at my high attempts my wits repine.
If thou in me this sacred rapture wrought,