And you, ye sons of Harmony below,
How little less than angels, when ye sing!
With Emulation's kindling warmth shall glow,
And from your mellow-modulating throats
The tribute of your grateful notes
In union of piety shall bring.
Shall Echo from her vocal cave
Repay each note the shepherd gave,
And shall not we our mistress praise,
And give her back the borrow'd lays?
But farther still our praises we pursue;
For ev'n Cecilia, mighty maid,
Confess'd she had superior aid —
She did — and other rites to greater Powers are due:
Higher swell the sound and higher:
Let the winged numbers climb:
To the heaven of heavens aspire,
Solemn, sacred, and sublime:
From heaven Music took its rise,
Return it to its native skies.