(Where sickness never comes, nor age, nor pain) Fast-trickling o'er the pebble-gems. Beneath Unfading amarant and asphodel,
A mirror spreads its many-colour'd round, Mosaic-work, inlaid by hands divine In glist'ring rows, illuminating each, Each shading: beryl, topaz, chalcedon, Em'rald and amethyst. Whatever hues The light reflects, celestial quarries yield, Or melt into the vernant-showry bow, Profusive, vary here in mingling beams. Collected thus the waters, dimpling, end Their soft-progressive lapse. The cherubs hence Immortal vigour quaff and bliss unblam'd. Nor only flow for you, ye sons of light, The streams of comfort and of life, but flow To heal the nations. Wonderful to tell, The aged they renew, the dead revive, And more, the festers of the wounded soul, Corrupted, black, to pristine white relume And saint-like innocence. The mystic dove Broods, purifying o'er them, with his wings. The angel, who Bethesda's troubled pool Stirr'd, first his pinions with these vital drops Sprinkled; then poured himself into the flood, Instilling health and nutriment divine, Its waves to quicken, and exalt its pow'rs. Here lights Hygeia, ardent to fulfil Mercy's behest. The bloom of Paradise Liv'd on her youthful cheek, and glow'd the spring. The deep carnations in the eastern skies, When ruddy morning walks along the hills, Illustriously red, in purple dews,
Are languid to her blushés; for she blush'd As through the op'ning file of winged flames, Bounding, she lightned, and her sapphire eyes With modest lustre bright, improving Heav'n, Cast, sweetly, round, and bow'd to her compeers, An angel amid angels. Light she sprung Along th' empyreal road: her locks distill'd Salubrious spirit on the stars. Full soon She pass'd the gate of pearl, and down the sky, Precipitant, upon the ev'ning-wing Cleaves the live ether, and with healthy balm Impregnates, and fecundity of sweets.
Conscious of her approach, the wanton birds, Instinctive, carol forth, in livelier lays, And merrier melody, their grateful hymn,
As snow in Salmon, at the tepid touch Of southern gales, by soft degrees, dissolves Trickling, yet slow, away; and loosen'd frosts The genial impress feel of vernal suns, Relenting to the ray; my torpid limbs The healing virtue of Hygeia's hand And salutary influence perceive,
Instant to wander through the whole. My heart Begins to melt, o'er-running into joy, Late froze with agony. Kind tumults seize My spirits, conscious of returning health, And dire disease abating from the cells And mazy haunts of life. The judging leech Approves the symptoms, and my hope allows. The hostile humours cease to bubble o'er Their big-distended channels; quiet now And sinking into peace. The organs heave Kindlier with life: and Nature's fabric near To dissolution shatter'd, and its mould To dust dissolv'd, tho' not its pristine strength (The lusty vigour of its healthy prime) Yet gentle force recovers; to maintain, Against the tyrant Death's batt'ring assaults, The fort of life.--But darkness, present still, And absent sweet repose, best med'cine, sleep, Forbid my heart the full carouse of joy.
Soft pow'r of slumbers, dewy-feather'd Sleep, Kind nurse of Nature! whither art thou fled, A stranger to my senses, weary'd out With pain, and aching for thy presence? Come, O come! embrace me in thy liquid arms; Exert thy drowsy virtue, wrap my limbs In downy indolence, and bathe in balm, Fast-flowing from th' abundance of thy horn, With nourishment replete, and richer stor❜d Than Amalthea's; who (so poets feign) With honey and with milk supply'd a god, And fed the Thunderer. Indulgent quit Thy couch of poppies! steal thyself on me, (In rory mists suffus'd and clouds of gold) On me, thou mildest cordial of the world? The shield his pillow, in the tented field, By thee, the soldier, bred in iron-war, Forgets the mimic thunders of the day, Nor envies Luxury her bed of down.
Rock'd by the blast, and cabbin'd in the storm, The sailor hugs thee to the doddering mast, Of shipwreck negligent, while thou art kind.
Brisk-flutt'ring to the breeze. Eftsoons the hills, The captive's freedom, thou! the labourer's hire;
Beneath the gambols of the lamb and kid, Of petulant delight, the circling maze (Brush'd off its dews) betray. All Nature smiles, With double day delighted. Chief, on man The goddess ray'd herself: he, wond'ring, feels His heart in driving tumults, vig'rous, leap, And gushing ecstasy: bursts out his tongue In laud, and unpremeditated song, Obedient to the music in his veins. Thus, when at first, the instantaneous light Sprung from the voice of God, and, vivid, threw Its golden mantle round the rising ball, The cumb'rous mass, shot through with vital And plastic energy, to motion roll'd The drowzy elements, and active rule: Sudden the morning stars, together, sang, And shouted all the sons of God for joy.
Enters Hygeia, and her task performs, With healing fingers touch'd my breast and head; Three drops into my mouth infus'd, unseen, Save by the eye of Faith: then re-ascends.
The beggar's store; the miser's better goid; The health of sickness; and the youth of age! At thy approach the wrinkled front of Care Subsides into the smooth expanse of smiles. And, stranger far! the monarch, crown'd by thee, Beneath his weight of glory gains repose.
What guilt is mine, that I alone am wake, Ev'n tho' my eyes are seal'd, am wake alone? Ah seal'd, but not by thee! The world is dumb; Exhal'd by air, an awful silence rules, Still as thy brother's reign, or foot of time; Ev'n nightingales are mute, and lovers rest, Steep'd in thy influence, and cease to sigh, Or only sigh in slumbers. Fifteen nights The Moon has walk'd in glory o'er the sky; As oft the Sun has shone her from the sphere, Since, gentle Sleep, I felt thy cordial dews. Then listen to my moaning; nor delay To sooth me with thy softness; to o'ershade Thy suppliant with thy pinions: or at least, Lightly to touch my temples with thy wand.
So, full and frequent, may the crimson fields With poppies blush, nor feel a Tarquin's hand. So may the west-wind's sigh, th' murm'ring brook, The melody of birds, Ianthe's lute,
And music of the spheres, be all the sounds That dare intrude on thy devoted hour. Nor Boreas bluster, nor the thunder roar, Nor screech-owl flap his wing, nor spirit yell, As 'neath the trembling of the Moon he walks, Within the circle of thy still domain.
He comes! he comes! the reconciling pow'r Of pain, vexation, care, and anguish comes! He hovers in the lazy air:-he melts, With honey-heaviness, my senses down.-
Extinct and smother'd in unwieldy clay Scarce animated: and (O blessing!) now I seem to tread the winds; to overtake The empty eagle in her early chase, Or nimble-trembling dove, from preyful beak, In many a rapid, many a cautious round, Wheeling precipitant: I leave behind, Exulting o'er its aromatic hills,
The bounding Bether-roe. The poet's mind, (Effluence essential of heat and light!)
Not mounts a loftier wing, when Fancy leads The glitt'ring track, and points him to the skies, Excursive: he empyreal air inhales,
Earth fading fror his dight! triumphant soars
-I thank thee, Sleep!-Heav'ns! is the day Amid the pomp oftary worlds, restor'd
To my desiring eyes? their lids, unglew'd, Admit the long-lost sight, now streaming in Painfully clear! O check the rapid gleam With shading silk, 'till the weak visual orb, Stronger and stronger, dares imbibe the Sun, Nor, wat'ring, twinkles at unfolded day. As, where, in Lapland, Night collects her reign, Oppressive, over half the rounded year Uninterrupted with one struggling beam; Young Orra-Moor, in furry spoils enroll'd, Shagged and warm, first spies th' imperfect blush Of op'ning light, exulting; scarce her eyes The lustre bear, tho' faint; but, wid'ning fast Th' unbounded tide of splendour covers, fair, Th' expanded hemisphere; and fills her sight With gladness, while her heart, warm-leaping, burns.
Sight, all-expressive! Tho' the feeling sense Thrills from Ianthe's hand; at Handel's lyre Tingles the ear; tho' smell from blossom'd beans Arabian spirit gathers; and the draught, Sparkling from Burgundy's exalted vines, Streams nectar on the palate: yet, O Sight! Weak their sensations, when compar'd with thee. Without thee, Nature lies unmeaning gloom. Whatever smiles on Earth, or shines in Heav'n, From star of Venus to Adonis flow'r; Whatever Spring can promise: Summer warm To rich maturity; gay Autumn roll Into the lap of Plenty, or her horn; Winter's majestic horrors;-all are thine, All varying in order's pleasing round, In regular confusion grateful all!
And now progressive health, with kind repair, My fever-weaken'd joints and languid limbs New-brace. Live vigour and auxiliar'd nerves Sinew the freshen'd frame in bands of steel. As in the trial of the furnace ore, From baser dregs refin'd, and drossy scum, Flames more refulgent, and admits the stamp Of majesty to dignify the gold,
Cæsar or George! the human body, thus, Enamel'd, not deform'd, from sickness' rage More manly features borrows, and a grace Severe, yet worthier of its sovereign form. The patriarch of Uz, son of the Morn, Envy'd of Lucifer, by sores and blanes Sharply improv'd, to fairer honours rose; Less his beginning blest than latter end. How late a tortur'd lump of baleful pain, The soul immerg'd in one inactive mass Of breathing blanes, each elegance of sense, Each intellectual spark and fiery seed Of reason, mem'ry, judgment, taste and wit,
Ranging infinitude, be, d the stretch Of Newton's ken, reformer of the spheres, And, gaining on the Heav'ns, enjoys his home! The winter of disease all pass'd away,
The spring of health, in bloomy pride, calls forth Embosom'd bliss, of rosy-winged praise. The rising incense, the impassion'd glance Of gratitude, the pant of honour, quick With emulating zeal; the florid wish For sacred happiness, and cordial glow From conscious virtue felt: all the sweet train Of vernal solitude's refining walks,
Best gift of Heav'n, and source of nameless joys!
Light is the first-born of all creatures, and it is commonly observed that the angels were created at the same period of time. St. Austin thinks them meant under Fiat lux, Let there be light: De Civitate Dei, 1. xi. c. 9. This indeed is only conjectural, and we have no article of the apostles creed which directs upon any considerations of angels; because perhaps it exceeds the faculties of men to understand their nature, and it may not conduce much to our practical edification to know them. Yet however this observation may serve to illustrate that beautiful passage in the book of Job: "When the morning-stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy." P. 50. To pristine white relume.
White has been accounted in all ages the peculiar tincture of innocence, and white vestments worn by persons delegated for sacred offices, &c. When our Saviour was transfigured before his disciples, his raiment became shining, exceeding white as snow, Mark, chap. ix. 3. When he ascended into Heaven, the angels descended in white apparel, Acts i. 10. And to the spouse of the lamb was granted that she should be arrayed in fine linen, clean and white, which is the righteousness of the saints, Rev. xix. ver. 8, 14. Hence the custom of the primitive church of clothing the persons baptized in white garments. Inde parens saero ducens de fonte sacerdos Infantes, niveo corpore, mente, habitu. Paulinus, epist. xii.
The heathens paid likewise a great regard to white: Color albus præcipuè Deo charus est. Cicero de Leg. lib. ii.
P. 50. Than Amalthea's, &c.
Amalthea the daughte of Melissus king of Crete, and nurse of Jupiter, who fed him with goats-milk and honey. Bu this story is differently related. See Strabo. 1, x. Diodor. Sicul. 1. iv. c. 5. and Ovid. Fast. 1. v. It is very remarkable that the translation of the Septuagint uses the expression Amalthea's horn, for the name of Job's third daughter Keren-happuc (so called from her beauty) alluding to a Grecian fable invented long after; Job, ch. the last. v. 14. The same translation likewise mentions Arachne in the ninetieth psalm, and 9th verse, which image is left out in all our late versions. A Christian poet therefore may surely be excused for using the word ambrosia, &c. or drawing metaphors or comparisons from the pagan mythology in a serious composition; which is the practice of Milton and some of the best poets. The fault only is, when the poet weaves the heathen fables with the Jewish and Christian truths. As when Sannazarius introduces the Furies, Cerberus, &c. into his poem (which is otherwise a very fine one) De Partu Virginis. And likewise when Camoens blends the adventures of Bacchus with the miracles of Christ, &c. in his Lusiad. But this by the by.
prospect. Excursion to the battle at Tournay, Reflections on the abuses of modern poetry. Hymn to the ever-blessed and glorious Trinity: 1st, to God the Father, as creator and preserver: 2dly, to God the Son, as mediator and redeemer: 3dły, to God the Holy Ghost, as sanctifier and comforter. Conclusion.
COME, Contemplation! therefore, from thy haunts, From Spenser's tomb, (with reverent steps and Oft visited by me; certès, by all, [slow Touch'd by the Muse:) from Richmond's green retreats,
Where Nature's bard' the Seasons on his page Stole from the Year's rich hand: or Welwyngroves, Where Young, the friend of virtue and of man, Sows with poetic stars the nightly song, To Phœbus dear as his own day! and drowns The nightingale's complaint in sadder strains And sweeter elegance of woe, O come! Now ev'ning mildly-still and softer suns (While every breeze is flowing balm) invite To taste the fragrant spirit of the Spring Salubrious; from mead or hawthorn-hedge Aromatis'd, and pregnant with delight No less than health. And what a prospect round Swells greenly-grateful on the cherish'd eye! A universal blush! a waste of sweets! How live the flow'rs, and, as the Zephyrs blow, Wave a soft lustre on their parent-Sun, And thank him with their odours for his beams; Mild image of himself! reflected fair, By faintness fair, and amiably mild!
Hark! how the airy Echoes talk along With undulating answer, soft or loud, The mocking semblance of the imag'd voice, Babling itinerant from wood to hill, From hill to dale, and wake their sisters round, To multiply delight upon the ear.
As float the clouds, romantic Fancy pours The magazines of Proteus forth, and builds Huge castles in the air; while vessels sail Spacious, along the fluid element;
And dragons burn in gold, with azure stains Speckled: ten thousand inconsistent shapes Shift on the eye, and through the welkin roll.
Here tufted hills! there shining villas rise, Circling; and temples, solemn, fill the mind With beauty, splendour, and religious awe! Peace o'er the plains expands her snowy wing, Dove-ev'd; and buxom Plenty laughs around! Far different objects mortify the eye Along thy borders, Scheld: (with William's tears Ennobled, tears from brave Humanity And royal Pity drawn! nor of his blood Less prodigal!) Instead of herbag'd plains, Of fields with golden plenty waving wide,
Of lowing valleys, and of fleecy hills: What magazines of death! what flaming swords Destruction brandish; what a burnish'd glare Of horrour wanders round; what carnage vile Of dubitable limbs; what groaning piles Of dying warriors on th' ensanguin'd earth (E'en sons of Britain, chiefs of high renown) Grov'ling in dust, and with unmartial fires Sheer blasted! O'tis pitiful to sight!
It smites the honest brain and heart! The cloud,
Belch'd from the brazen throat of war, would hide, | My God! for meditation is too poor, Industrious, the ruin which it spreads,
As if asham'd of massacre-But hark!- What dire explosion tears th' embowel'd sky, And rumbles from th' infernal caves? The roar Of Etna's troubled caverns, when she heaves Trinacria from her marble pillars, fix'd On the foundations of the solid Earth, And Thetis' bellows from her distant dens, O'erwhelm the ear!-A mine with deadly stores Infuriate, burst; and a whole squadron'd host Whirl'd through the riven air. A human show'r With smouldry smoke enroll'd and wrapt in fire, To cover Earth with desolation drear!-
Curst be the man, the monk, the son of Hell, The triple Moloch! whose mechanic brain, Maliciously inventive, from its forge, Of cruel steel, the sulphur seeds of wrath Flash'd on the world, and taught us how to kill; To hurl the blazing ruin, to disgorge From smoking brass the ragged instruments Of Fate, in thunder, on the mangled files Of gallant foes:-the cowardice of Hell! And what the barb'rous nations never knew, (Though nourish'd by the tigers, and their tongues Red with the gore of lions) to involve The holy temples, the religious fanes, To hallelujahs sacred and to peace,
With dreadless fires. Shudd'ring the angels weep At man's impiety, and seek the skies: They weep! while man, courageous in his guilt, Smiles at the infant writhing on his spear; The hoary head pollutes the flinty streets With scanty blood; and virgins pray in vain. Blush, blush! or own Deucalion for thy sire.
Yet should Rebellion, bursting from the caves
Of Erebus, uprear her hydra-form,
To poison, Liberty, thy light divine; If she, audacious, stalk in open day,
Below the sacrifice of Christian hearts: Plato could meditate; a Christian, more! Christians, from meditation, soar to pray'r. Methinks I hear, reprov'd by modern wit, Or rather pagan: "Tho' ideal sounds Soft-wafted on the Zephyr's fancy'd wing, Steal tuneful soothings on the easy ear, New from Ilissus' gilded mists exhal'd; Tho' gently o'er the academic groves, The magic echoes of unbodied thoughts Roll their light billows through th' unwounded air, In mildest undulations! yet a priest, Tasteless and peevish, with his jargon shrill, Scorns Academus; tho' its flow'rs bestow On Hybla nectar, purer than her own, From Plato's honey-dropping tongue distill'd In copious streams, devolving o'er the sense Its sweet regalement!" Philodemus, yes: (Tho' learn'd Lyceum's cloisters lead the mind Attentive on, as far as Nature leads: And Plato, for a heathen, nobler dreams Than dream some modern poets:) yes, a priest, A priest dares tell you, Salem's hallow'd walks, And that illumin'd mountain, where a God, The God of my salvation, and I hope Of thine, unutterable beauty beam'd, (Tho' shaded from excess of Deity, Too fierce for mortal-aching eyes to prove The rush of glory) me, desirous, draw From Athen's owls, to Jordan's mystic dove. Thou sing of Nature, and the moral charms Gild with thy painted Muse: my fingers lift The lyre to God! Jehova! Eloim! Truth is my leader; only Fancy, thine: (Sweet Farinelli of enervate song!)
I quit the myrtle, for a starry crown.
And know, if Sickness shed her bluish plagues From fog, or fen, or town-infected damps,
And hiss against the throne by Heav'n's own hand (And, sure I'd pity thee) among thy veins:
Establish'd, and religion Heav'n-reform'd,
Britannia! rescue Earth from such a bane: Exert thy ancient spirit; urge thyself
Into the bowels of the glowing war, Sweep her from day to multiply the fiends,
And scare the damn'd!-and thou! the God of Hosts,
Supreme! the Lord of lords, and King of kings! Thy people, thy anointed with thy shield
Cover and shade; unbare thy righteous arm, And save us in the hollow of thy hand! Michael send, as erst against the host Of Lucifer, and let his sword be drunk With rebel blood. The battle is thy own; When virtue, liberty, religion call: Thine is the victory: the glory thine!
Turn, Contemplation, from this savage scene Of violence and waste: my swimming eyes Have lost the beauties of the vernal view!
Sweet are the beauties of the vernal view! And yet devotion wafts to nobler themes, And lifts the soul to Heav'n! for who, untouch'd, With mental adoration, feeling laud, Beholds this living-vegetable whole, This universal witness of a God! Tho' silent, yet convincing, uncontrol'd,. Which meets the sense, and triumphs in the soul? Let me, by Isaac's wise example fir'd, When meditation led him through the fields, Sweetly in pious musings lost, adore
Then, theu no Platonist! thy inmost soul Will thank me for this preaching; nor disdain To breathe itself in pray'r, as low as mine; From God begin, with God conclude the song; Thus glorifying with a Christian-zeal.
Father of Heav'n and Earth! coeval Son! And co-existing Spirit! Trinal-One! Mysterious Deity; invisible; Indefinite, and omnipresent God, Inhabiting eternity! Shall dust,
Shall ashes, dare presume to sing of thee? O for a David's heart, and tongue of fire To rival angels in my praise and zeal! Yet love immense, and gratitude, with awe Religious mix'd, shall elevate the hymn, My heart enkindle, and inspire any tongue. Father-Creator! who beholds thy works, But catches inspiration! Thou the Earth On nothing hung, and balanc'd in the void With a magnetic force, and central poise. Ocean of brightness thou! Thy grand behest Flung on thy orb, the Sun, a sparkling drop, To light the stars, and feed their silver urns With unexhausted flame; to bid them shine Eternal in their courses, o'er the blue Which mantles night, and woo us to repose With roscid radiance. They harmonious roll,
The very expressions of one of our disciples of Socrates.
In majesty of motion, solemn, loud, The universal hallelujah: sphere,
In lucid order, quiring sweet to sphere, Deep-feit and loftier than a seraph's song; The symphony of well-according worlds! But man, thy beam, thy breath, thy image, shines The crown, the glory, and the lord of all; Of all below the stars! a plant, from Heav'n Traduc'd, to spread the riches of its bloom O'er Earth, and water'd with etherial dews; Incorruptible aliment! The birds
Warbie among his boughs; the cattle, safe, Pasture within his shade; and Earth beneath Th' imperial umbrage of his branches smiles. The smiling Earth, the spangled spheres, and man Their great Creator praise! but praise how long, Unless by thy almighty arm upheld, Preserver infinite? By thee unless Upheld, the Earth would from her basis reel; The spheres forego their courses, (off their orbs The silver softness melted into shade) Obscurely dissonant; and mortal man (Void of thy fostering fires) his stately form To dust be moulder'd: Chaos would resume Her ancient anarchy; confusion, rule; And darkness swallow all. In thee we live, In thee we move our beings in thy chain, Linkt to eternity, fasten on thee,
The pillar of our souls! For me, (how late A neighbour of the worm!) when I forget The wonders of thy goodness ray'd on me, And cease to celebrate, with matin-harp Or vesper-song, thy plenitude of love, And healing mercy; may the nightly pow'r, Which whispers on my slumbers, cease to breathe Her modulating impulse through my soul; Untun'd, unhallow'd! Discord, string my lyre, Idly, my finger, press the fretted gold, Rebellious to the dictates of my hand, When indolent, to swell the notes for thee, Father of Heav'n and Earth!-Coeval Son! (His word, his essence, his effulgence pure!) Not less thy filial likeness I adore, Nor from thy Father's glory aught disjoin, Redeemer! Mediator! from the birth Of uncreated Time, thy Father's wrath
Of elegiac-sorrow, with the theme Mournfully varying. Take, my soul redeem'd! O take the moaning dove's dew-dropping wing, Fly, fly to Solyma! and melt thy woe To Cedron's murmurs. Thence, extend thy flight To Golgotha's accursed tree. Behold! Clouds roll'd on clouds of wrath (the blackest wrath Of an offended God!) his beauties shade; But shade not long: it soon in drops dissolves, Sweet to the soul as manna to the taste,
As pride of summer-flow'r to sight or smell! Behind this shadowing cloud, this mystic gloom, The Sharon rose, dy'd in the blood of Heav'n, The lily of the valley, white from stain, Bows the fair head, in loveliness declines, And, sweetly languishing, it droops and dies. But darkness 'veils the Sun: a curtain draw Before the passion; beyond wonder great, Great beyond silence! - (Awe-struck pause a- while-)
And heavy as the burthen of our sins! - 'Tis finish'd!-Change the lyre, the numbers Let holy anthem-airs inspire the hymn. [change; Glory in Heav'n! redemption to mankind, And peace on Earth! dominion! blessing! praise! Thanksgiving! pow'r! salvation to our God! Salvation to our God, and to the Lamb! And, co-existing Spirit! Thou, whose breath My voice informs, shall it be mute to thee, Eternal Paraclete? in order, last,
Equal in glory to Omnipotence
The first, as to the second; and from both Proceeding; (O inexplicable name!) Mystical link of the unnumber'd Three! To learning, night; to faith, the noon-tide day. Soul of the universe! thy wisdom, first, The rage compos'd of warring elements3, (The subject of a nobler future song) Yon all-surrounding Heav'ns with crystal orbs Garnish'd, and living gems, in goodly ranks And disciplin'd array; dividing night From day, their ordinances 'stablish'd sure. Moving the waters saw thee o'er their face, O God, the waters saw thee, and afraid, Into their channels shrunk, (capacious bed Of liquid element!) and own'd their bounds
(Sprung from omniscience!) to appease, for man, Impassable, as that eternal gulph
Upright as yet, to mediate, mercy wak'd Unbounded love in thee; unbounded love Contracted to the measure of a span Immensity of Godhead, and thy crown Reft from thy faded brow. Listen, O Earth! And wonder, O ye Heav'ns! shall he, whose feet Are cloth'd with stars, (the glory of his head For who can tell?) whose looks divine illume The dazzl'd eyes of cherubs, and the youth Of saints with everlasting bloom renew: Shall he, whose vital smiles with splendour fill The circuits of creation, and sustain Th' abodes of all existence, from the depths Of Hell beneath, above Heav'n's highest orb, With life, and health, and joy! shall he, to God, Dear as his eye and heart, engraven there Deep from eternity; alone belov'd, Alone begotten! say, shall he become A man of grief-for man? nay more his foe, Rebellious next the fiends?-Astonishment Had chain'd my tongue to silence, if the pow'rs Of tenderest pity and of warmest love Provok'd not pensive measures, sadder strains
"Twixt bliss and woe.-The Prince of Peace thy Largely imbib'd, when, dovelike, o'er his head, Fast by the banks of Jordan's sacred stream, Thy mantling wings diffus'd their heavenly hues; And Abba glorify'd his Only Son, Well-pleased.-From thy tongues of cloven fire Kindled, the nations burn'd in flaming zeal, And unextinguish'd charity, dispers'd
And glowing as the summer blaze at noon. The rushing winds, on all their wings convey'd Thy doctrine, strong to shake the guilty soul; As, erst, the dome, low-stooping to its base, Before thy mighty presence learn'd to bend. Thou, from the morning-womb, upon our souls, Barren and dry, thy sanctifying dews, Abroad, in silent softness sheds: the dews Of love unspotted, uncorrupted joy; Obedient goodness, temperance subdu'd; Unshaken faith, and meekness without guile. Hence flow the odours out, our pray'rs perfume, Like incense, rising fragrant on the throne,
3 The Elements, a Poem: in four books.
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