Poetry

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I
Come sweet spirit, come!
Inspire my Hebraic harp
and help my hand to strum,
poignant psalms and praises sharp!
O angelic aid, come and inspire,
lend my song your wonder,
O Heaven’s glorious choir,
may it rend the darkness asunder,
and heal the broken heart,
bring life where there is death,
by heaven’s holy art.
Come, come swiftly O Muse,
fill my heart with burgeoning song,
hither be bound, most gen’rously infuse
with glory, which to hea’en doth belong,
these measly words of mine.
Help me fairly, with justice, to express
creation’s former shine,
the unbound beauty, not to repress,
but to thus relate as best as mortals can
such majesty of the Master’s piece,
His untold riches, graces given Man,
till all is told, ne’er shall cease,
my labouring tongue and hand
striving to adequately convey
the splend’rous beauty of God
and His most holy way.

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