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Article 3^0^m» ← Page 2 of 2 Article A SONG, in commendation of music. Page 1 of 1
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3^0^M»
• VII . The sun ' s bright orb thy gloiy fills , The mighty moon reflects the same , And all the starry globes diffuse With their own light their Maker ' s name
vrrr . But , ah ! how soon ray light islost , Hopeless to reach the bounds of space ; Yet where that f ^ Remoter regions lean trace .
¦ IX - Till got within the verge of stars , The more I won O XJod , is with the sons of inen !
A Song, In Commendation Of Music.
A SONG , I ^ CO
. r . When whispering strains do softly steal With creeping passion through the heart , Ancl when at every touch we fe ^ l Our pulses beat , and bear apart . When threads can make
BY WILLIAM STRODE , 1644 .
A , heart-string quake , Philosophy Can scarce deny The soul consists of harmony . n .
0 , lull me , lull me , charming air , My senses rocked with wonder sweet ! Like snow or wool thy fallings are—Soft like a spirit are thy feet . Grief who need fear
That hath an ear ? Down let him lie , And slumbering die , And change his soul for harmony *
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
3^0^M»
• VII . The sun ' s bright orb thy gloiy fills , The mighty moon reflects the same , And all the starry globes diffuse With their own light their Maker ' s name
vrrr . But , ah ! how soon ray light islost , Hopeless to reach the bounds of space ; Yet where that f ^ Remoter regions lean trace .
¦ IX - Till got within the verge of stars , The more I won O XJod , is with the sons of inen !
A Song, In Commendation Of Music.
A SONG , I ^ CO
. r . When whispering strains do softly steal With creeping passion through the heart , Ancl when at every touch we fe ^ l Our pulses beat , and bear apart . When threads can make
BY WILLIAM STRODE , 1644 .
A , heart-string quake , Philosophy Can scarce deny The soul consists of harmony . n .
0 , lull me , lull me , charming air , My senses rocked with wonder sweet ! Like snow or wool thy fallings are—Soft like a spirit are thy feet . Grief who need fear
That hath an ear ? Down let him lie , And slumbering die , And change his soul for harmony *