Come then, ye Worlds, with mingled Voices raise
A Song of mean, but not ungrateful Praise;
Tho' the dull Numbers rudely flow,
And our cold Hearts but faintly glow,
Our Raptures own a less Degree,
Yet Cherubs sing, and so shou'd we.
The Almighty hears, and gives us leave to call
On him the Judge, the Guide and sacred Lord of All.