An ODE ON St. Cecilias Day. Performed on the 23d of November, 1696.  Set to Music by Mr. Nicola Matteis. 

ASsist, assist! You mighty Sons of Art,  
In pleasing Notes your wondrous Skill impart;  
Let Music in its gayest dress appear,  
To crown this day the Queen of all the Year:  
And may the celebrated Day,  
Those Honours which it takes repay,  
Thus let them grace each others Name,  
And gratefully bestow a mutual Fame.  
Let every Voice conspire to raise  
Theirs, and bright Cecilia's Praise;  
Let the glad Winds diffuse around  
The Sympathising Sound;  
Whilst from the Strings the sprightly Notes start forth,  
And  themselves in Air from whence they first took Birth.   

And thou, blessed Saint, from Heaven our Breast inspire,  
(Where thou reign'st Mistress of the Choir)  
Where you your sacred Art improve  
To sing your Maker's Power and Love.  
With eager Joy indulge his Praise;  
In various Sounds his various Wonders trace.  
Some Moment's from your Triumphs spare,  
A while your joyful Notes forbear,  
A while your pleasing Task forego,  
To cast a Look on us thy Sons below.  
Attend, Attend our Harmony,  
And listen to our Songs, as Angels did to thee.   

What mighty Joys from Music flow!  
Music the greatest good we Mortals know,  
By which we taste of Heaven below.  
In vain our Passions hotly move,  
It checks their Heat, and melts them into Love.  
In vain, we labour to indulge our Grief,  
The sprightly Violin affords a kind Relief.   

From Music s Power the World began,  
It still enslaves, the World's great Master, Man.   

‛ Why should we then it's vast Antiquity disgrace,  
‛ Call Jubal Author of our Race?  
HE nobler Lineage we should claim:  
‛ From Heaven alone the Godlike Offspring came.   

‛ Ere Chaos first this beauteous frame disclosed,  
‛ And Nature struggled with the Load,  
‛ The Particles confus d and heavy lay.  
‛ Nor thro' the gloomy Mass could force their feeble way.  
‛ But when the Voice descending from above  
‛ Commanded the dull Lump to move,  
‛ The Lump, though almost dead,  
‛ Rear d up its cheerful Head;  
' Th' armonious Voice inspired a new born Soul,  
Enlivened by its Sound the nimble Atoms roll.   

Tho the fierce Hero calls to Arms,  
And warlike Heat his restless Mind alarms,  
The Flutes soft Voice will soon control  
The raging Passions of his Soul:  
Lulled to a calm and gentle Peace  
The threatening Storm will cease:  
‛ The pleasing Voice inspires  
‛ Languishing thoughts and kind desires,  
‛ Whilst baffled from his Breast the angry God retires.   

The trembling Slave, though pale with Fears,  
When the loud Trumpet's Voice he hears  
Feels a strange Fire his Soul invade,  
Collects his newborn Courage to his Aid.  
The warlike Notes impart  
Strength to his Limbs, and Boldness to his Heart.  
‛ Dauntless to fight he goes,  
‛ Stalks thro' the Field, and swells to meet his Foes.   

Grand Chorus.  
Then let all join: Your Souls and Voices raise!  
'Tis Harmony alone that Harmony can praise.  
May, like your Joys, your Lays be full and great,  
Our Heavenly Art with Heavenly Notes to treat.  
Till wondering Angels jealous grow,  
And find another Heaven below.   
FINIS.