L. Sing, Laura, sing, whilst silent are the sphears,
 And all the eyes of Heaven are turn'd to ears.

V. Touch thy dead wood, and make each living tree
 Unchain its feet, take arms, and follow thee.

 CHORUS.
 L. Sing. V. Touch. 0 Touch. L. 0 Sing.
 BOTH. It is the souls, souls sole offering.

V. Touch the divinity of thy chords, and make
 Each heart string tremble, and each sinew shake.

L. Whilst with your voyce you rarifie the air,
 None but an host of angels hover here.

 CHORUS. SING, TOUCH, &c.

V. Touch thy soft lute, and in each gentle thread
 The lyon and the panther captive lead.

L. Sing, and in heav'n inthrone deposed love,
 Whilst angels dance, and fiends in order move.

 DOUBLE CHORUS.
 What sacred charm may this then be
 In harmonie,
 That thus can make the angels wild,
 The devils mild,
 And teach low hell to heav'n to swell,
 And the high heav'n to stoop to hell?