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.