Mather Byles Poems

Ah! Cease, vain Muse, forbear thy hardy Lays,
Nor urge the Thunder on thy guilty Bays,
How durst thou thus debase the Saviour's Blood,
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I.
Thy dreadful Pow'r, Almighty GOD,
Thy Works to speak conspire;
This Earth declares thy Fame abroad,
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While Death his awful Triumphs spreads around,
And crowded Nations fill the vaulted Ground;
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'To Thee the tuneful Anthem soars,
To Thee, our Father's God, and ours;
This Wilderness we chose our Seat:
To Rights secur'd by Equal Laws
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To you, dear Youth, whom all the Muses own,
And great Apollo speaks his darling Son,
To you the Muse directs her grateful Lays,
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Descend, immortal Muse, inspire my Song,
Let mournful Numbers gently flow along:
And thou, my Lyre, in solemn Notes complain,
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I.
Awake my Heart, awake my Tongue,
Sound each melodious String;
In num'rous Verse and lofty Song,
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I.
Oft has thy Name employ'd my Muse,
Thou Lord of all above:
Oft has my Song to thee arose,
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I.
Great GOD, how frail a Thing is Man!
How swift his Minutes pass!
His Age contracts within a Span;
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I.
Who on the Earth, or in the Skies,
Thy Beauties can declare?
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