12 REDEMPTION.
The meaning, not their blissful words, I tell, For how shall finite infinite portray, Or e'er their joys ineffable conceive? The Father heard well pleas' d, pleas'd, heard the Son, Pleased, the Paraclete, whose inspiration Fills heav'nly souls with harmony divine, At once the source and end of sacred muse. Th' ethereal vault re-echoed their glad song, Gladlier the heavens grew, ambrosial odors Wide dispensing round, whilst flaming ardors, Virtues, fill'd with bliss, shouted loud acclaim. Not that so loud, nor so replete with joy, Which hail'd the conqu'ring Godson, back return'd From rout of rebel angels, dire o'erthrown ; Nor that, greeting the great Creator's works, When, on creation's morn, the vast abysm Resplendent shone with hosts of new made worlds. Short interval, with sacred mirth fill'd up, And sweet accentual song, now ended, Beaming with smiles the great Redeemer spake : " Blest sons, joy mutual inspires your breasts And mine; mankind, mercy and grace, who seeks, Shall find; despairing, he long waits the gift; Best so, lest it too easily conferr'd, Despising he reject. Some will reject, And die, and thus salvation proffer'd them, Them not avail. But now the day begins; The new creation dawns ; the promised Seed, Ere long shall crush the wily serpent's head. Intact the second Eve shall be, and free From every stain of body, soul, and mind. Beneath her sacred foot the serpent dies,
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