| Citation |
NYWJ.737.004
24 Jan 1737:21 (167)
As sounding brass and tinkling cymbals ring,
When touch'd by hands harmonious lays to sing
Unskill'd.--So proves our song if we assay,
The sacred tribute of our thanks to pay:
In notes to sacred charity unknown;
They'r lost, they'r gone, worse than our own:
But when by her the tuneful choir is fir'd,
And ev'ry heart with heavenly love inspir'd;
The song is pleasing, angels croud around,
Their smiles declare, they'r ravish'd with the sound
. . . [18 more lines]
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