See the bright Squadrons of the Sky,
Downward on Wings of Joy and Hast they fly,
Meet their returning Sovereign and attend him high.
A shining Carr the Conqueror fills
Form'd of a Golden Cloud;
Slowly the Pomp rolls up the Azure Hills,
Old  foams and yells aloud,
And gnaws th' Eternal Brass that binds him to the Wheels.
The opening Gates of Bliss receive their King,
The Father-God Smiles on his Son,
Pays him the Honours he has won,
The lofty Thrones adore, and little Cherubs Sing.
Behold him on his Native Throne,
Glory sits fast upon his Head;
Dress't in new Light and Beamy Robes
His Hand rolls on the Seasons and the shining Globes,
And sways the living Worlds and Regions of the Dead.