VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS,

Paraphrased.

C

REATOR Spirit, by whose aid

The World's Foundations first were laid,
Come visit ev'ry pious Mind ;
Come pour thy Joys on human Kind;
From Sin and Sorrow set us free,
And make thy Temples worthy Thee.

O Source of uncreated Light,
The Father's promis'd Paraclete !
Thrice Holy Fount, thrice Holy Fire,
Our Hearts with Heav'nly Love inspire ;
Come, and thy Sacred Unction bring
To Sanctify us, while we fing.

Plenteous of Grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sev’nfold Energy !
Thou strength of his Almighty Hand,
Whose Pow'r does Heav'n and Earth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our Defence,
Who do'st the Gift of Tongues dispense,
And crown'st thy Gift with Eloquence !

Refine and purge our Earthly Parts ;
But, Oh, inflame and fire our Hearts!
Our Frailties help, our Vice controu!
Submit the Senses to the Soul ;
And when Rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold 'em down.

Chace from our Minds th' infernal Foe,
And Peace, the fruit of Love, bestow ;.

}

KS

And;

And, left our Feet Thou'd step astray,
Protect, and guide us in the way.

Make us Eternal Truths receive,
And practise all that we believe :
Give us thy self, that we may

see The Father, and the Son, by thee.

Immortal Honour, endless Fame,
Attend th’ Almighty Father's Name:
The Saviour Son be glorify'd,
Who for loft Man's Redemption dy'd :
And equal Adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee.

EPISTLES.

TO THE

DUTCHESS of YORK, On her Return from SCOTLAND in

the Year 1682.

QHEN factious Rage to cruel Exile drove

The Queen of Beauty, and the Court of W

Love,

The Muses droop'd, with their forsaken:
BER Arts,
And the fad Cupids broke their useless Darts :
Our fruitful Plains to Wilds and Desarts turn'd,
Like Eden's face, when banishid Man it mourn'd..
Love was no more, when Loyalty was gone,
The great Supporter of his awful Throne.
Love cou'd no longer after Beauty stay,
But wander'd Northward to the Verge of Day,
As if the Sun and He had lost their

way.
But now th’ illustrious Nymph, return'd again,
Brings ev'ry Grace triumphant in her train.
The wond'ring Nereids, tho' they rais'd no Storm,
Foreslow'd her Passage, to behold her Form :

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