III.
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he richest realm of all the earthIs counted still a heathen land:Lo, I, like Joshua, now go forthTo give it into Israel’s hand.I will not hearken blame or praise;For so should I dishonour doTo that sweet Power by which these LaysAlone are lovely, good, and true;Nor credence to the world’s cries give,Which ever preach and still preventPure passion’s high prerogativeTo make, not follow, precedent.From love’s abysmal ether rareIf I to men have here made knownNew truths, they, like new stars, were thereBefore, though not yet written down.Moving but as the feelings move,I run, or loiter with delight,Or pause to mark where gentle LovePersuades the soul from height to height.Yet, know ye, though my words are gayAs David’s dance, which Michal scorn’d.If kindly you receive the Lay,You shall be sweetly help’d and warn’d.
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