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The Paffion of our Bleffed Saviour, Represented in a Pindarique Ode.

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SA

What Noble Subject wilt thou chufe;
Of what great Hero, of what mighty Thing,

Wilt thou in boundless Numbers Sing?
Sing the unfathom'd Depths of Love,
(For who the Wonders done by Love can tell,
By Love, which is it felf all Miracle?)
Here in vaft endlefs Circles may'st thou rove,
And like the Travelling Planet of the Day
In an Orb unbounded Stray.

Sing the great Miracle of Love Divine,
Great be thy Genius, fparkling every Line,
Love's greatest Mystery rehearse :
Greater then that,

Which on the teeming Chaos brooding fate,
And batch'd with kindly Heat, the Universe.
How God in Mercy chofe to Bleed, and Dye,
To rescue Man from Mifery:

Man, not his Creature only, but his Enemy.

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Lo, in Gethsemane, I fee him proftrate lye,
Prefs'd with the Weight of his great Agony.
The Common Sluces of the Eyes

To Vent his Mighty Paffion won't fuffice,
His tortured Body Weeps all-o're,
And out of every Pore

B

Buds

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