’Twill heighten even the joys of Heaven, to know
That in my verse the saints hymn God below.
Bishop Ken.
The song of Zion is a tasteless thing,
Unless when rising on a joyful wing,
The soul can mix with the celestial bands,
And give the strain the compass it demands.
Cowper.
How shall the harp of poesy regain
That old victorious tone of prophet-years—