An Hymn upon the TRANSFIGURATION.
'Ail King of Glory, clad in Robes of Light,
Out-fhining all we here call bright:
Hail Light's divinest Galaxy,
Hail Express Image of the Deity.
Could now thy Amorous Spoufe thy Beauties view,
How would her Wounds all bleed anew!
Lovely thou art all o're and bright,
Thou Ifrael's Glory, and thou Gentile's Light.
But whence this brightness, whence this fuddain day?
Who did thee thus with Light array?
Did thy Divinity difpence
T'its Confort a more liberal influence?
Or did fome Curious Angel's Chymick Art
The Spirits of pureft Light impart,
Drawn from the Native Spring of Day,
And wrought into an Organized Ray?
How e're 'twas done, 'tis Glorious and Divine,
Thou doft with radiant wonders thine.
The Sun with his bright Company,
Are all grofs Meteors if compar'd to thee.
Thou art the Fountain whence their Light does flow,
But to thy will thine own doft owe.
For (as at first) thou didst but fay,
Let there be light, and strait sprang forth this wondrous
Let now the Eastern Princes come and bring
Their Tributary Offering.
There needs no Star to guide their flight,
They'll find thee now, great King, by thine own light.
And thou, my Soul, adore, love, and admire,
And follow this bright Guide of Fire.
Do thou thy Hymns and Praifes bring
Whil'ft Angels with Veil'd Faces, Anthems fing.
Epart ! The Sentence of the Damn'd I hear;
Compendious grief, and black despair.
I now believe the Schools with ease,
(Tho once an happy Infidel)
That fhould the Senfe no torment seize,
Yet Pain of Lofs alone would make a Hell.
Take all, fince me of this you Gods deprive,
'Tis hardly now worth while to live.
Nought in exchange can grateful prove,
No fecond Friendship can be found
To match my mourning Widow'd Love;
Eden is loft, the reft's but common ground.
Why are the greatest Bleffings fent in vain,
Which must be loft with greater pain?
Or why do we fondly admire
The greatest good which life can boast?
When Fate will have the Bliss expire,
Like Life, with painful Agonies 'tis loft.
How fading are the Joyes we dote upon,
Like Apparitions feen and gone:
But thofe which fooneft take their flight,
Are the most exquifite and strong.
Like Angels vifits, short and bright;
Mortality's too weak to bear them long.
No Pleasure certainly is fo divine
As when two Souls in Love combine :
He has the fubftance of all blifs,
To whom a Vertuous Friend is given,
So fweet harmonious Friendship is,
Add but Eternity, you'll make it Heaven.
The Minutes in your Conversation spent
Were Festivals of true content.
Here, here, an Ark of pleasing rest,
My Soul had found that restless Dove,
My prefent State methought was beft,
I envy'd none below, fcarce thofe above..
VII.
But now the better part of me is gone,
My Sun is fet, my Turtle flown.
Tho here and there of Leffer Bliss
Some twinkling Stars give feeble light,
Still there a mournful darkness is,
They shine but just enough to fhew 'tis night.
VIII.
Fatal divorce! What have I done amifs,
To bear fuch Mifery as this?
The World yields now no real good,
All happiness is now become
But painted and deluding food:
As meer a Fiction as Elysium.
Well then, fince nothing elfe can please my tafte,
I'll ruminate on pleafures paft.
So then with glorious Vifions bleft,
The waking Hermit finds no Theme
That's grateful to his thoughtful Breaft,
He fweetly recollects his pleasing Dream.
To a Lady, fuppofed to ask, What Life was?
IS not becaufe I breathe and eat,
'Tis not because a vigorous heat Drives round my Blood, and does impart Motion to my Pulfe and Heart :
'Tis not fuch Proofs as thefe can give Any affurance that I Live:
No, no, to Live is to enjoy;
What marrs our Blifs does Life destroy:
The days which pafs without Content,
Are not liv'd properly, but spent.
Who fays the Damn'd in Hell do Live?
That word we to the Bleffed give:
The Sum of all whofe happiness
We by the Name of Life exprefs.
Well then, if this account be true,
To Live is ftill to Live with Ton.
The Third Chapter of Job Paraphrafed.
Urs'd, ever curs'd be that unhappy day,
When first the Sun's unwelcom ray
I faw with trembling Eyes, being newly come
From the dark Prifon of the Womb.
When first to me my vital Breath was lent,
That Breath which now muft all in fighs be spent.
Let not the Sun his chearing Beams difplay
Upon that wretched, wretched day;
But mourn in Sables, and all over shroud
His glories in a fullen Cloud.
Let Light to upper Regions be confin'd,
And all below as Black as is my Mind.
Curs'd be the Night which firft began to lay
The Ground-work of this Houfe of Clay:
Let it not have the Honour to appear
In the Retinue of the Year.
Let all the Days fhun its Society,
Hate, curfe, abandon it as much as I.
Let Melancholly call that Night her own,
Then let her figh, then let her groan:
A general Grief throughout all Nature spread,
With folded Arms, and drooping Head.
All Harps be ftill, or tun'd to fuch a train
As Fiends might hear, and yet not ease their Pain.
Let neither Moon nor Stars, with borrow'd Light,
Checquer the blacknefs of that Night:
But let a pure unqueftion'd Darkness rear
Her Sooty Wings all o're the Air;
Such as once on th' Abyss of Chaos lay,
Not to be pierc'd by Stars, fcarce by the edge of Day.
Why was there then, ah, why a paffage free
At once for Life and Mifery?
Why did I not uncloitter'd from the Womb
Take my next Lodging in a Tomb?
Why with fuch cruel tenderness and care
Was I nurs'd up to Sorrow and Defpair?
For now in fweet Repofe might I have lain
Secure from any Grief or Pain:
Untouch'd with Care, my Bed I fhould have made
In Death's cool and refreshing Shade.
I fhould have flept now in a happy Place,
All calm and filent as the Empty space.
There where great Emperours their Heads lay down,
Tir'd with the Burthen of a Crown.
There where the Mighty, Popular and Great,
Are happy in a dear Retreat;
Enjoy that folid Peace which here in vain,
In Grotts and fhady Walks they fought t'obtain.
IX.
None of Hells Agents can or dare moleft
This awful Sanctuary of Reft.
No Prifoners fighs, no groanings of the Slave,
Diflurb the quiet of the Grave.
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