Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/241

I'll bathe my tresses there, my prayers rehearse,
And glide in flames of love along thy verse.

"Ah! while I speak, I feel my bosom swell,
My raptures smother what I long to tell.
'Tis God! a present God! through cleaving air
I see the throne, and see the Jesus there
Plac'd on the right. He shows the wounds he bore,
(My fervours oft have won him thus before);
How pleas'd he looks! my words have reach'd his ear;
He bids the gates unbar; and calls me near."

She ceas'd. The cloud on which she seem'd to tread
Its curls unfolded, and around her spread;
Bright angels waft their wings to raise the cloud,
And sweep their ivory lutes, and sing aloud;
The scene moves off, while all its ambient sky
Is turned to wondrous music as they fly;
And soft the swelling sounds of music grow,
And faint their softness, till they fail below.

My downy sleep the warmth of Phœbus broke,
And while my thoughts were settling, thus I spoke.
"Thou beauteous vision! on the soul impressed,
When most my reason would appear to rest,
'Twas sure with pencils dipt in various lights
Some curious angel limn'd thy sacred sights;
From blazing suns his radiant gold he drew,