Nature that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia’s seat, the Airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was don, And that her raign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heav’n and Earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight A Globe of circular light, That with long beams the shame-fac’t night array’d, The helmèd Cherubim And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaid, Harping in loud and solemn quire, With unexpressive notes to Heav’ns new-born Heir. Such musick (as ’tis said) Before was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator Great His constellations set, And the well-ballanc’t world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltring waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out ye Crystall sphears, Once bless our human ears, (If ye have power to touch our senses so) And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; And let the Base of Heav’ns deep Organ blow And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to th’Angelike symphony. For if such holy Song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, And speckl’d vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould, And Hell it self will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Yea Truth, and Justice then Will down return to men, Th’enameld Arras of the Rain-bow wearing, And Mercy set between, Thron’d in Celestiall sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing, And Heav’n as at som festivall, Will open wide the Gates of her high Palace Hall. But wisest Fate sayes no, This must not yet be so, The Babe lies yet in smiling Infancy, That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss; So both himself and us to glorifie: Yet first to those ychain’d in sleep, The wakefull trump of doom must thunder through the deep, With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang While the red fire, and smouldring clouds out brake: The agèd Earth agast With terrour of that blast, Shall from the surface to the center shake; When at the worlds last session, The dreadfull Judge in middle Air shall spread his throne. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day Th’old Dragon under ground In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway, And wrath to see his Kingdom fail, Swindges the scaly Horrour of his foulded tail.