, Mount, my Soul on high,
Cut thro' the spacious Sky;
Scale the great Mountainous heaps that be,
Betwixt the upper World, and thee.
Stop not, till thou the utmost Region know,
Leave all the Glittering Worlds below:
Then take thy Noble flight,
Into the sacred Magazine of Light,
View the bright, the Empyrean Throne
Of the great, the Almighty ONE.
All the Miriades of shining Hosts survey,
With the seraphick blazing Throng;
Celebrating their Eternal Day,
With an Eternal Song.
In vain my dazled Soul would gaze around,
(The beatifick Glorys so confound)
It must be quite disrob'd, e'er tread this Holy Ground.