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L. Sing,
Laura, sing, whilst silent are the sphears,
And all
the eyes of Heaven are turn'd to ears.
V. Touch
thy dead wood, and make each living tree
Unchain its
feet, take arms, and follow thee.
CHORUS.
L.
Sing. V. Touch. 0 Touch. L. 0 Sing.
BOTH. It is the
souls, souls sole offering.
V. Touch the divinity
of thy chords, and make
Each heart string tremble,
and each sinew shake.
L. Whilst with your voyce
you rarifie the air,
None but an host of angels hover
here.
CHORUS. SING, TOUCH, &c.
V. Touch
thy soft lute, and in each gentle thread
The lyon and
the panther captive lead.
L. Sing, and in heav'n
inthrone deposed love,
Whilst angels dance, and
fiends in order move.
DOUBLE CHORUS.
What
sacred charm may this then be
In harmonie,
That
thus can make the angels wild,
The devils mild,
And teach low hell to heav'n to swell,
And the high
heav'n to stoop to hell?
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