Page:Memoir and poems of Phillis Wheatley, a native African and a slave.djvu/132

126 The march in Heaven begun,

And splendor filled the skies,

When Wisdom bade the morning Sun

With joy from chaos rise.

The angels heard the tune

Throughout creation ring;

They seized their golden harps as soon

And touched on every string.

When time and space were young,

And music rolled along—

The morning stars together sung,

And Heaven was drown'd in song.

Ye towering eagles soar,

And fan Creation's blaze,

And ye terrific lions roar,

To your Creator's praise.

Responsive thunders roll,

Loud acclamations sound,

And show your Maker's vast control

O'er all the worlds around.

Stupendous mountains smoke,

And lift your summits high,

To him who all your terrors woke,

Dark'ning the sapphire sky.

Now let my muse descend,

To view the march below—