Joseph Addison

When all Thy mercies,
O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view,

The Spacious Firmament on high,
With all the blue Ethereal Sky,
And spangled Heav'ns, a Shining Frame,
Their great Original proclaim:

How long, great poet, shall thy sacred
Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise
Can neither injuries of time, or age,
Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage

Our lives, discoloured with our present woes,
May still grow white and shine with happier hours
So the pure limped stream, when foul with
Of rushing torrents and descending rains,

When rising from the bed of death,
O’erwhelmed with guilt and fear,
I see my Maker face to face,
O how shall I appear

While haughty Gallia's dames, that preadO'er their pale cheeks, an artful red,
Beheld this beauteous stranger
In native charms, divinely fair;
Confusion in their  looks they show'd;

While crowds of princes your deserts proclaim,
Proud in their number to enrol your name;
While emperors to you commit their cause,
And Anna's praises crown the vast applause;