A glimpse of joy for the happy restoring of the Kings most Excellent Majesty or, The devoir's of a nameless poet. To the generall's excellence, and to all the noble sparks of Great Brittain's heroarchy, that have hopes to survive their countrey's sufferings. 1660 Approx. 5 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A86031 Wing G852 Thomason 669.f.25[53] ESTC R212469 99871079 99871079 163858

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A86031) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 163858) Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 247:669f25[53]) A glimpse of joy for the happy restoring of the Kings most Excellent Majesty or, The devoir's of a nameless poet. To the generall's excellence, and to all the noble sparks of Great Brittain's heroarchy, that have hopes to survive their countrey's sufferings. 1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. (port.) Printed for John Andrews, at the White Lion near Pye-Corner, London : [1660] Date of publication from Wing. Verse - "What Glimpse is that I see? A Rising SUN,". Annotation on Thomason copy: "June 30 1660". Reproduction of the original in the British Library.

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 eng Charles -- II, -- King of England, 1630-1685 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. 2007-09 Assigned for keying and markup 2007-09 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-10 Sampled and proofread 2007-10 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A Glimpſe of Joy for the happy Reſtoring of the Kings moſt Excellent Majeſty: OR, The Devoir's of a nameleſs Poet. To the Generall's Excellence, and to all the Noble Sparks of Great Brittain's Heroarchy, that have hopes to ſurvive their Countreys Sufferings.

portrait of Charles II

WHat Glimpſe is that I ſee? A Riſing SUN, Let us with joy like Hyperboreans run To tops of higheſt Mounts, that thence we may Ken the firſt dawning of our welcome Day: Let every Eccho cry, a King, a King, To welcome in the Flower of our Spring; Our Hopes are high, let's not be dampt with Fears, When in it he that's King of Kings appears: This change is ſo like his, that all can tell Who will not own it, muſt turn Infidel. This Work of Wonder makes our Land to ring, He that was born, is now created King. Let's not complain of Winter, and cold Weather, If now two grateful Summers come together; On Sions Mount let Sacred Glory dwell, And Plume its Rayes in ſpight of Rome and Hell. Let from the Fathers Aromatick Urne, Like a reſurging Phenix, CHARLES return. Peers ſtand for Ciphers now, alas! but when That Figure ſtands before, they'l ſtand for Men, And Statue it no longer; Skelitons Will ſtand for Hundreds, Thouſands, Millions. Churches awake, rouze up, what had you rather A Stepdame have, then your own nurſing Father? Countreys awake, and do not give a Voice To ſuch as will not make a King their choice. Lawyers awake, for I have heard a Cry, That ſince you loſt the Spring, your Streams are dry. Souldiers awake, and hazard not a Limb, Except you militate for Chriſt and Him: All's out of joynt, and each Profeſſion dead; For what's a Man or State without a Head? Poets awake, for when he's Crown'd, his Rayes Will turn to Gold your Coronets of Bayes. Awake dull Souls; Brittains Maecena's come! Shall any of Parnaſſus Sons be dumb? But ſtay, Our GOD is jealous and moſt High, And hates the Sin of Anthropolatry; Then let's not Idolize him, leſt he prove A Gift beſtow'd in anger, not in love: He is not ſo much ours yet, but we may (If ſtill unthankful) ſin him quite away. Let us adore that heavenly hand that gave Iſaack our Nations bleſſing from the Grave: He was the harmleſs Dove ſent from our Ark, And ever ſince hath hover'd in the dark. O let us pray (ſince Flouds begin to ceaſe) That he may bring our Olive-branch of Peace. Let Wiſdom, Mercy, and each Princely Grace Shine in his Heart, with Splendour in his Face; Let him deſcend like Moſes from the Mount, As ſent from Heav'n upon our Prayers account: Oh may he in his Government inherit Eliſha-like his Leaders double Spirit. Give ſuch Phyſicians Lord as may abate The Paroxiſmes of our Church and State. Let's run as far to meet him as there's Land, And when the ſwelling Ocean bids us ſtand, Let's wait upon the Shore in Trained Bands, Which may in numbers equalize the Sands: Let's wiſh all hearts of Stone that would undo us Were turn'd to Load-ſtones to attract him to us. The Sovereign of the Sea's let now be man'd To fetch us home the Sovereign of our Land; And ſince he hath been Exil'd for our Sin, Our Pray'rs ſhall be the Winde to bring him in: And if the Ocean be at Ebbe and low, Our Tears of Joy ſhall ſwell it to a Flow: Let heart be joyn'd in heart, and hand in hand, Till Charles le Boon be Crowned Charles le Grand. Act but with Art and Heart this Loyal Game, You ſhall not want a Trump to ſound your Fame.

London, Printed for John Andrews, at the White Lion near Pye-Corner.