Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/360

222 THE POEMS OF ANNE �Be now, thy foes, thy footstool made, Exalted high, on God's right hand, A Preist for ever may'st thou stand, Thy dear Redeeming blood, to plead, Th' imperfect Sacrafice, to aid, Which is, by wretched man convey'd And never must be scann'd. ���HALLELUJAH �Seraphick sound! Eternal Praise! �Upon whose wings, my Soul I raise, �Till Heaven is reach'd by heavenly Layes. �Our Hallelujah's hence, that fly, Repose not, till they meet on high With those, the Church tryumphant cry. �This Sacred Musick, in my ear, I cry, transported, God is here, Such tastes of Glory, doe appear. �Before the dread Jehovah's seat, Glad Cherubims, this praise repeat, Whilst miriads, worship att his feet. �Mongst whom, my searching Faith can see A voyce, and Lyre, bestow' d shall be, And Hallelujah's sung by mee. �My soul, which hungars here, for Grace, Attending Spirits, there, shall place, To see th' Eternal, face to face. �This hope makes all afflictions light, Directs my heart, and actions right, My cloud by day, my fire by night. ��� �