Now let us ſing a loftier ſtrain,
Now let us earth and earthly things diſdain,
Now let our ſouls to Heaven repair,
Direct their moſt aſpiring flight,
To fields of uncreated light,
And dare to draw empyreal air.
’Tis done, O place divinely bright!
O Sons of God divinely fair!
O ſight! unutterable light!
O unconceivable delight!
O joy which only Gods can bear?
Heark how their bliſsful notes they raiſe,
And ſing the Great Creator’s praiſe!
How in extatic ſong they cry,
Lo we the glorious ſons of light,
So great, ſo beautiful, ſo bright,
Lo we the brighteſt of created things,
Who are all flame, all force, all ſpirit, and all eye,
Are yet but vile, and nothing in thy ſight!
Before thy feet O mighty King of kings,
O Maker of this bounteous all!
Thus lowly reverent we fall.
After a life expoſed to viciſſitudes, habituated to many diſappointments, and embroiled in unſucceſsful quarrels, Mr. Dennis died on the 6th of January 1733, in the 77th year of his age. We have obſerved that he outlived the reverſion of his place, after which he fell into great diſtreſs, and as he had all his life been making enemies, by the ungovernable fury of his temper, he found few perſons diſpoſed to relieve him. When he was near the cloſe of his days, a play was acted for his benefit. This favour was procured him by the joint intereſt of Mr. Thomſon, Mr. Martin, Mr. Mallet, and Mr. Pope. The play was given by the company then acting at the little Theatre in the Hay-market, under the direction of Mr.
