On Thursday last Week the Sons of the Clergy met at St. Paul’s Cathedral, where Mr. Handel’s Te Deum and Jubilate, and Two Anthems were performed by a great Number of Voices and Instruments, and the Rev. Dr. Stebbing preached an excellent Sermon suitable to the Occasion; after which, they proceeded in their usual Order to dine at Merchant-Taylor’s-Hall. At the Rehearsal, and on the Feast Day, at the Church and Hall, the Collections amounted to 945 l. 10 s. 3 d.
The following excellent Piece, written on this Occasion, will, we doubt not, be highly obliging to all our Readers of Taste and Judgment.
An ODE, on Occasion of Mr. HANDEL’s Great Te Deum,
at the Feast of the Sons of the Clergy, Feb. 1, 1732-3.
SO David, to the GOD, who touch’d his Lyre,
The God, who did, at once, inspire
The Poet’s Numbers, and the Prophet’s Fire,
Taught the wing’d Anthems to aspire!
The Thoughts of Men, in Godlike Sounds, he sung,
And voic’d Devotion, for an Angel’s Tongue.
At once, with pow’rful Words, and skilful Air,
The Priestly King, who knew the Weight of Prayer,
To his high Purpose, match’d his Care;
To deathless Concords, tun’d his mortal Lays,
And, with a Sound, like Heav’ns, gave Heav’n its Praise.
Where has thy Soul, O Musick! slept, since then?
Or, through what Lengths of deep Creation led;
Has Heav’n indulg’d th’ All-daring Pow’r to tread?
On other Globes, to other Forms of Men,
Hast thou been sent, their Maker’s Name to spread?
Or, o’er some dying Orb, in tuneful Dread,
Proclaiming Judgment, wak’d th’ unwilling Dead!
Or, have new Worlds, from wand’ring Comets, rais’d,
Heard, and leapt forth, and into Being blaz’d?
Say, sacred Origin of Song!
Where hast thou hid thyself so long?
Thou Soul of HANDEL! — through what shining Way,
Lost, to our Earth, since David’s long past Day,
Didst thou, for all this Length of Ages stray!
What wond’ring Angels hast thou breath’d among,
By none, of all th’ immortal Choirs, outsung?
But, ’tis enough — since thou art here again;
Where thou hast wander’d, gives no Pain:
We hear — we feel, thou art return’d, once more,
With Musick, mightier than before;
As if in ev’ry Orb,
From every Note, of God’s, which thou wert shown,
Thy Spirit did th’ Harmonious Pow’r absorb,
And made the moving Airs of Heav’n thy own!
Ah! give thy Passport, to the Nation’s Prayer,
Ne’er did Religion’s languid Fire,
Burn fainter — never more require
The Aid of such a fam’d Enliv’ner’s Care:
Thy Pow’r can force the stubborn Heart to feel,
And rouze the Lukewarm Doubter into Zeal.
Teach us to pray, as David pray’d before;
Lift our Thanksgivings to th’ Almighty’s Throne,
In Numbers, like his own:
Teach us yet more,
Teach us, undying Charmer, to compose
Our inbred Storms, and ’scape impending Woes:
Lull our wanton Hearts to Ease,
Teach Happiness to please;
And, since thy Notes can ne’er, in vain, implore!
Bid ’em becalm unresting Faction o’er:
Inspire Content, and Peace, in each proud Breast,
Bid th’ unwilling Land be blest.
If Aught we wish for seems too long to stay,
Bid us believe, that Heav’n best knows it’s Day:
Bid us, securely, reap the Good, we may,
Not, Tools to others haughty Hopes, throw our own Peace away.
 The Weekly Miscellany [Hooker], no. 9, Saturday 10 February 1733, .