FEW HAPPY MATCHES Words by Isaac Watts, Lyric Poems Tune by Crane (Sacred Harp, p. 96, Southern Harmony, p. 277) MIDI: http://www.ccel.org/s/southern_harmony/midi/Willoughby.midi Say, mighty Love, and teach my song, To whom my sweetest joys belong; And who the happy pairs, Whose yielding hearts and joining hands, Find blessings twisted with their bands, To soften all their cares. Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains, That thoughtless fly into the chains, As custom leads the way: If there be bliss without design, Ivys and oaks may grow and twine, And be as blest as they. Not sordid souls of earthly mould, Who drawn by kindred charms of gold, To dull embraces move: So two rich mountains of Peru May rush to wealthy marriage too, And make a world of love. Not the mad tribe that hell inspires With wanton flames: those raging fires The purer bliss destroy. On Etna's top let furies wed, And sheets of lightning dress the bed T'improve the burning joy. Not the dull pairs, whose marble forms None of the melting passions warms, Can mingle hearts and hands: Logs of green wood, that quench the coals, Are married just like Stoick souls, With oziers for their bands. Not minds of melancholy strain, Still silent, or that still complain, Can the dear bandage bless: As well may heavenly concerts spring From two old lutes with ne'er a string, Or none beside the bass. Nor can the soft enchantments hold Two jarring souls of angry mould, The rugged and the keen: Sampson's young foxes might as well In bonds of cheerful wedlock dwell, With firebrands tied between. Nor let the cruel fetters bind A gentle and a savage mind, For love abhors the sight: Loose the fierce tiger from the deer, For native rage and native fear Rise, and forbid delight. Two kindest souls alone must meet: 'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet And feeds their mutual loves. Bright Venus on her rolling throne Is drawn by gentlest birds alone, And cupids yoke the doves.