A Song

Love, thou art best of Human Joys,

Our chiefest Happiness below;

All other Pleasures are but Toys,

Musick without Thee is but Noise,

And Beauty but an empty show.

Heav’n , who knew best what Man wou’d move,

And raise his Thoughts above the Brute;

Said, Let him Be, and Let him Love;

That must alone his Soul improve,

Howe’er Philosophers dispute.