 To S.M., a young African painter, on seeing his works, by Phyllis Wheatley, read for LibriVox.org by Brian Dirks. To show the laboring bosom's deep intent, and thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, and breathing figures learned from thee to live, How did those prospects give my soul delight, a new creation rushing on my sight, still wondrous youth, each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view, still may the painters and the poets fire, to aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies, elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes, Thrice happy when exalted to survey that splendid city, crowned with endless day, Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring, celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene, thy moments glide along, and may the muse inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, may peace with balmy wings your soul invest, But when these shades of time are chased away, and darkness ends, an everlasting day, On what seraphic pinions shall we move, and view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall thy tongue in heavenly murmurs flow, and there my muse with heavenly transport glow, No more to tell of Damon's tender sighs, or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes, For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, and pure language on the ethereal plain. Cease gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night, now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To S.M. A Young African Painter On Seeing His Works By Phyllis Wheatley Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachuk To show the laboring bosom's deep intent and thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, and breathing figures learned from thee to live. How did those prospects give my soul delight, a new creation rushing on my sight? Still wondrous youth, each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view. Still may the painters and the poets fire to aid thy pencil, and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies, Elate thy soul, and raise thy wishful eyes. Thrice happy, when exalted to survey, That splendid city, crowned with endless day, Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene, thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends in everlasting day, On what seraphic penions shall we move, And view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall thy tongue in heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transport glow, No more to tell of Daemon's tender sighs, Or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes, For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And purer language on the ethereal plain. Cease, gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night, Now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To SMA, young African painter, On seeing his works by Phyllis Whitley, Read for LibriVox.org by Cornel Nemesh in Reno, Nevada. To show the laboring bosoms deep intent, And thoughts in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breeding figures learned from thee to live, How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still wondrous youth, each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view, Still may the painters and the poets fire To ay thy pencil and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies, Elay thy soul and the rays thy wishful eyes, Thrice happy when exalted to survey That splendid city crowned with endless day, Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends in everlasting day, On what seraphic pinions shall we move, And view the landscapes in the realms above, There shall thy tongue in heavenly murmurs flow, And dare my muse with heavenly transport glow. No more to tell of daemon's tender sighs, Or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes. For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And pure language on the ethereal plain, Seize, gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To SM, a young African painter, On seeing his works, by Phyllis Wheatley, Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist, To show the laboring bosoms deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learnt from thee to live, How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still wondrous youth, each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view, Still may the painters and the poets fire To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies, Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes, Thrice happy when exalted to survey That splendid city crowned with endless day, Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene thy moments glide along, And may the muses inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends in everlasting day, On what seraphic pinions shall we move, And view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall thy tongue in heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muses with heavenly transport glow, No more to tell of Damon's tender sighs, Or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes, For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And purer language on the ethereal plain, Cease gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night Now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. 2. S. M. A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works by Phyllis Wheatley Read for Librevox.org by Greg Giordano, Newport Ritchie, Florida To show the laboring bosoms deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learnt from thee to live. How did those prospects give my soul delight? A new creation rushing on my sight. Still wondrous youth each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view, Still may the painters and the poets fire, To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies, Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes. Thrace happy when exalted to survey, That splendid city crowned with endless day, Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms an endless spring. Calm and serene thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest, When these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends an everlasting day. On what seraphic pinions shall we move, And view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall thy tongue and heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transports glow. No more to tell of daemons tender sighs, Or rising radiance of a roar as eyes. For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And pure language on the ethereal plain. Cease, gentle muse, the solemn bloom of night, Now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To SM, a young African painter, On seeing his works, by Phyllis Wheatley. Read for LibriVox.org by Graham Scott, Cheltenham, England. To show the laboring bosom's deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learnt from thee to live, How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still wondrous youth, each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view. Still may the painters and the poets fire, To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire. May the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies, Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes. Thrice happy when exalted to survey That splendid city crowned with endless day, Whose twice-six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with barmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends in everlasting day, On what seraphic pinions shall we move, And view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall thy tongue in heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transport glow. No more to tell of daemon's tender sighs, Or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes, For nobler themes demand a nobler strain And purer language on the ethereal plain. Cease, gentle muse, The solemn gloom of night now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To SM, a young African painter, On seeing his works, by Phyllis Wheatley. Read for LibriVox.org by Ian King. To show the laboring bosom's deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint. When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learnt from thee to live. How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still, wondrous youth, Each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view. Still may the painters and the poets fire To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire. And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes. Thrice happy when exalted to survey that splendid city, Crowned with endless day, Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene, thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with barmy wings your soul invest. But when the shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends in everlasting day, On what seraphic pinions shall we move And view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall thy tongue in heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transport glow, No more to tell of daemon's tender sighs Or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes. Four nobler themes demand a nobler strain And peer a language on the ethereal plain. Cease, gentle muse, The solemn gloom of night now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To S. M., a young African painter on scene his works by Phyllis Wheatley, read philebrovox.org by Josh Kibbe. To show the laboring bosoms deep in tint, And thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learned from thee to live, How did those prospects give my soul delight? A new creation rushing on my sight. Still, wondrous youth, each noble path pursue On deathless glories fix thine ardent view. Still, may the painters and the poets fire To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire. And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes. Thrice happy when exalted to survey That splendid city crowned with the endless day, Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring. Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring, Common to serene thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends in everlasting day, On what seraphic opinion shall we move And view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall thy tongue In heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transport glow. No more to tell of daemon's tender size Or rising radiance of aurora's eyes, For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And pure language on the real plain. Cease, gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night Now seals the fair creation from my sight. To S.M., a young African painter, On seeing his works. By Phyllis Wheatley, read for LibriVox, by Kevin S. To show the laboring bosoms deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learnt from thee to live. How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still wondrous youth, each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine art and view. Still may the painters and the poets fire To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. Eye to the blissful wonders of the skies, Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes, Thrice happy when exalted to survey that splendid city crowned with endless day, Whose twice-six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends an everlasting day, On what seraphic pinion shall we move, And view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall thy tongue in heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transport glow. No more to tell of Damon's tender sighs, Or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes. For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And pure language on thy ethereal plain. Cease, gentle muse, The solemn gloom of night now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To S.M., a young African painter, On seeing his works, by Phyllis Wheatley, Read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett. To show the laboring bosom's deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learnt from thee to live, How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still wondrous youth, each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view, Still may the painters and the poets fire, To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies, Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes. Thrice happy when exalted to survey That splendid city crowned with endless day, Whose twice-six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene thy moments glide along, And may the muses inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends an everlasting day, On what seraphic pinions shall we move, And view the landscapes and the realms above? There shall thy tongue and heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transport glow. No more to tell of daemon's tender sighs, Or rising radiance of aurora's eyes. For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And pure language on the ethereal plain. Cease, gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night Now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Do S. M. A. Young African Painter Unseen His Works By Phyllis Wheatley, read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. To show the laboring bosoms deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint. When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learned from thee to live, How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still wonders youth, each noble path pursued, On deathless glories fixed thine ardent view. Still may the painters and the poets fire To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. Hide to the blissful wonders of the skies, Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes. Price happy when exalted to survey that splendid city, Crowned with endless day, Whose twice six gates unreddient hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends in everlasting day, On what seraphic pinions shall we move, And view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall my tongue in heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transport glow, No more to tell of demons' tinder size, Or rising radiance of aurora's eyes. For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And pure language on the ethereal plain, Cease gentle muse, The solemn gloom of night now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To S.M., a young African painter, On seeing his works, by Phyllis Wheatley, To show the laboring bosom's deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learnt from thee to live, How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still, wondrous youth, each noble path Pursued on deathless glories fix thine ardent view, Still may the painters and the poets fire To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to a mortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the sky, Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes. Trice happy, when exalted to survey That splendid city, crowned with endless day, Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Call man's serene night moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends in everlasting day, On what seraphic pinions shall we move, And view the landscapes in the realms above? There shall thy tongue in heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transport glow, No more to tell of Daemon's tender size, Or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes. For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And purer language on the ethereal plain. Cease, gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night Now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. To SM, a young African painter, On seeing his works by Phyllis Wheatley, Read for LibriVox.org by Raymond Chen, To show the laboring bosoms deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint. When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learned from thee to live. How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still, wondrous youth, each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view. Still, may the painters and the poets fire, To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies, Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes, Thrice happy when exalted to survey That splendid city crowned with endless day. Whose twice-six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends in everlasting day, On what seraphic pinions shall we move, And view the landscapes in the realm above? There shall thy tongue in heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transport glow. No more to tell of daemons' tender sighs Or rising radiance of aurora's eyes, For nobler themes demand a nobler strain And purer language on the ethereal plain. Cease, gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night Now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To S.M., a young African painter, On seeing his works by Phyllis Wheatley. Read for Liberbox.org by Thomas Peter. To show the laboring bosom's deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learned from thee to live, How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still, wondrous youth, each noble path pursue, On deathless glories fix thine ardent view, Still may the painters and the poets fire To aid thy pencil and thy verse conspire, And may the charms of each seraphic theme Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame. High to the blissful wonders of the skies, Elate thy soul and raise thy wishful eyes. Thrice happy, when exalted to survey That splendid city, crowned with endless day, Whose twice-six gates on radiant hinges ring, Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring. Calm and serene thy moments glide along, And may the muse inspire each future song. Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessed, May peace with balmy wings your soul invest. But when these shades of time are chased away, And darkness ends an everlasting day, On what seraphic pinyons shall we move, And view the landscapes and the realms above? There shall thy tongue and heavenly murmurs flow, And there my muse with heavenly transport glow. No more to tell of Daemon's tender sighs, Or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes, For nobler themes demand nobler strain, And pure language on the ethereal plain, Cease, gentle muse, the solemn gloom of night, Now seals the fair creation from my sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.