A SONG FOR New Years Day.
Licens'd according to Order.
I.
BE kind, Great God of Time, be kind, and from
The wealthy Treasury of Years to come,
Cull out the whitest Minutes, those that swell
With future Triumphs and Success,
With gay Delight and Happiness,
That laugh, and smile, and promise well.
Appear, ye happy Minutes, all appear,
That never disappoint the Hopes ye raise;
And in your several Ranks of Hours and Days,
Make up the gaudy Train of the approaching Year.
II.
See how the crowding Minutes press,
And with a pleasing Tumult strive
That happy Station to possess,
By which they may the rest survive.
For well they know, the coming Year
Is big with Scenes of lasting Glory,
With mighty Themes of future Story,
And all the Moments that appear,
Which in that round shall jointly be
Consign'd to deathless Fame and Immortality.
III.
Bless me, What wondrous Object I descry!
How bright a Prospect entertains my Eye!
The teeming Particles of Time,
At once their numerous Births disclose,
And to my willing View expose
Actions so Noble and Sublime:
As do resistless Charms impart,
And through my Sight, like Beauty, strike my Heart.
Each bears the Stamp of
Nassaw's Glorious Name:
Nassaw the Great, the Just as well as Brave,
Whose Guide is Honour, and Success his Slave;
Danger his Pastime, and his Herald Fame;
In whose bless'd Fate the ravish'd World may see,
Vertue and Fortune can sometimes agree:
Cautious in Council, Vigorous in Fight;
Secret as Darkness, Active as the Light.
IV.
What's this, ye Gods, I feel within?
What sacred Fury has my Soul possess'd?
'Tis sure the
Delphick God that entred in,
And losely Revels in my Breast.
Hence ye Prophane! No vulgar Ear,
The Musick Truths I tell must hear.
Hark! Hark! I hear the
British Lyons roar,
And with their Voices shake the
Gallick Shoar.
See how the
Seyne and
Loyre combine,
To make their Streams out-vie the Famous
Boyne:
Cressy, Poictiers and
Agen-Court no more
Shall be esteem'd in future Story,
The utmost Marks of
Albion's Glory.
Nassaw does fresh Recruits of Honour bring,
And
France must bend once more beneath an
English King.
V.
But when, ye Powers! when must his Labours cease?
Must he still Toil to set the World at ease?
When must he reap Love's quiet Joys,
The peaceful fruit of Prosperous Arms?
When indisturb'd by Martial Noise,
And frequent calls of shrill alarms,
O'er-pay himself for all his Pains, with bright
Maria's Charms?
Maria form'd by bounteous Heaven,
To cancel all the mighty Debts we owe;
The swelling Summs which hourly grow
And make the Balance ev'n.
Whilst he abroad does like the Sun display
His active Beams, and give to others day,
She like the modest Regent of the Night
Supplies his room, but not with borrow'd Light,
And fills the Throne with such successful Care,
That scarce we miss the Mighty
Nassaw there.
Gladly the World her influence obeys,
And sleeps secure beneath her watchful Rays.
The grand Chorus.
Ye Great Defenders of the Faith go on,
As you that Title justly make your own;
Whose sad Abuse the differing World before
Did either laugh at or deplore:
So Vindicate your other Titles too,
By Merit more than Quality your due;
Successfully your Glorious Arms advance,
And be in Deed, as well as Name, the King and Queen of
France.
LONDON, Printed for R. Baldwin, 1692.