Hark, 'Tis the Voice of Wisdom cries,
In ev'ry publick Place;
To you, O Sons of Men, I call,
Come, taste my heav'nly Grace.
Silver, and Gold, and precious Stones;
And all thou can'st desire,
Bear no Proportion to the Gifts
My Votaries acquire.
Ere Earth, and Seas, and Heav'ns wide Arch.
Their Being did receive,
I, with the Lord, his chief Delight,
From everlasting live.
The habitable Earth, with Joy,
Appeared in my Sight:
I then beheld the Sons of Men,
And in them took Delight.
Come then, ye Children, hear my Voice;
Be wise, and keep my Ways:
He's bless'd that hears, and at my Gates,
There daily watching, stays.
Who finds me, wins immortal Life,
And with the Lord finds Grace;
But he that sins, wrongs his own Soul;
Who hate me, Death embrace.
|First Line:||Hark, 'tis the Voice of Wisdom cries|