Page:1808 Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne.pdf/29



infant muse, Jehovah! would aspire To swell the adoration of the lyre: Source of all good, oh! teach my voice to sing, Thee, from whom nature's genuine beauties spring; Thee, of truth, omnipotent and wise, Who saidst to Chaos, "let the earth arise." Oh! author of the rich luxuriant year, Love, truth, and mercy, in thy works appear: Within their orbs the planets dost thou keep, And even hast limited the mighty deep. Oh! could I number thy inspiring ways, And wake the voice of animated praise! Ah, no! the theme shall swell a cherub's note; To thee celestial hymns of rapture float. 'Tis not for me, in lowly strains to sing Thee, of mercy,—heav'n's immortal king. Yet to that happiness I'd fain aspire; Oh! fill my heart with elevated fire: With angel-songs an artless voice shall blend, The grateful offering shall to thee ascend. Yes! thou wilt breathe a spirit o'er my lyre, And "fill my beating heart with sacred fire!" And when to thee my youth, my life, I've giv'n, Raise me, to join Eliza, blest in heav’n.