Not the songs that nobly tell,
How Troy was sacked, and Rome began,
Not the numbers that reveal
The wars of Heaven to falling man;
Can boast that true celestial fire,
That equal strength and ease,
Or with such various charms conspire,
To move, to teach, to please.
Those complaints how sadly sweet,
White weeping seraphim repeat;
Those prayers how happily preferred,
Which God himself inspired and heard.
Ye partial wits no longer boast
Of Pindar’s fire in David’s lost!
Who to the Hebrew harp must yield,
As Jove by great Jehovah is excelled.