To Miranda

To Miranda. An Invitation to London, in September.

Come, my Miranda, come away,

The summer’s o’er, no longer stay;

The mists arise, the rains descend,

Come to the wishes of thy Friend.

The radiant sun in feeble rays,

A short-liv’d splendor now displays:

From the bleak north, the winds arise,

And bluster through the gloomy skies;

The fallen leaves bestrew the ground;

No more the sweet, the cheerful sound

Of woodlark’s soothing song I hear,

No more the flow’ry train appear,

But winter spreads his dreary sway;

Come, my Miranda, come away,

’Tis Friendship calls, she waits for thee,

And longs her absent Friend to see:

For thee the Muse has strung her lyre,

And glows with soft poetic fire,

(A sacred flame, that still shall rise,

For lo, ’twas kindled in the skies.)

To meet Miranda with a song,

For joy to friendship must belong.

Tho’ sad, the dull declining year,

Does in her wintry dress appear,

May you enjoy a mental Spring,

And hear the heav’nly Turtle sing;

Bright may the Sun of Righteousness,

Shine in his glorious beams of grace,

Dispelling every cloud away,

And fill your soul with Gospel-day;

While from on high, celestial dews,

And gentle show’rs their aid diffuse

To make the Fir, and Myrtle bloom,

And all the vintage breath presume;

That my Miranda may appear

In robes of summer all the year.

May rosy Health with chearful eye,

Sent from the Monarch of the sky,

Attend to crown your future days,

And all your happy life be praise;

Praise to the God of boundless love

Who keeps for you a seat above,

Whose gracious providential eye

Shall still your ev’ry want supply.

Till Jordan’s swelling streams are past,

And safely you arrive at last

In the bright world of heav’nly day,

Where sin and sorrow fled away,

I shall my dear Miranda meet;

Then, at our kind Redeemer’s feet,

We’ll cast our crowns, and love, and sing

Salvation to our God and King;

And in his temple, on that shore,

Be Pillars, to go out no more.

Text: Divine Poems and Essays, 1791, pp. 100-02.