Now wisdom with superior sway He spake; the sun obedient stood, Old Jordan backward drives his flood, Lord of the armies of the sky, Chain'd to his throne a volume lies, His Providence unfolds the book, And makes his counsels shine: Each opening leaf, and every stroke, Fulfils some deep design. Here he exalts neglected worms Not Gabriel asks the reason why, My God, I never long'd to see In thy fair book of life and grace DIVINE JUDGMENTS. NOT from the dust my sorrows spring, Their mingled curses on my head, How vain their curses, if th' Eternal King Are but his slaves and must obey; They wait their orders from above, And execute his word, the vengeance, or the love. 'Tis by a warrant from his hand The gentler gales are bound to sleep: The north wind blusters and assumes command Over the desert and the deep; Old Boreas with his freezing pow'rs Turns the earth iron, makes the ocean glass, Arrests the dancing rivulets as they pass, And chains them moveless to their shores; The grazing ox lows to the gelid skies, Walks o'er the marble meads with withering eyes, Walks o'er the solid lakes, snuffs up the wind, and dies. Fly to the polar world, my song, And mourn the pilgrims there, (a wretched throng!) A troop of statues on the Russian plains, And magazines of frost, and magazines of flame. His sharp artillery from the north Shall pierce thee to the soul, and shake thy mortal frame. Sublime on winter's rugged wings He rides in arms along the sky, And scatters fate on swains and kings; And flocks and herds and nations die; Grow pale; and, quivering at his dreadful cold, Give their own blasphemies the lie. The mischiefs that infest the earth, Are but the flashes of a wrathful eye In vain our parching palates thirst, For vital food in vain we cry, And pant for vital breath: The verdant fields are burnt to dust, And all the air is death: Ye scourges of our Maker's rod, "Tis at his dread command, at his imperial nod, Hail, whirlwinds, hurricanes, and floods, And bear down with a mighty sweep The riches of the fields, and honours of the woods; And bury millions in the waves; Earthquakes, that in midnight sleep Turn cities into heaps, and make our beds our graves; "Tis the Creator's voice that sounds your loud alarms, O for a message from above To bear my spirit up! Some pledge of my Creator's love To calm my terrors and support my hope! Let waves and thunders mix and roar, Be thou my God, and the whole world is mine: I shall be rich till thou art poor; For all I fear, and all I wish, heav'n, earth, and hell are thine. EARTH AND HEAVEN. HAST thou not seen, impatient boy, That grey experience writes for giddy youth "Pleasure must be dash'd with pain!" And yet with heedless haste, The thirsty boy repeats the taste, Nor hearkens to despair, but tries the bowl again. (Earth has no unpolluted spring ;) From the curs'd soil some dang'rous taint they bear; So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting. In vain we seek a heaven below the sky; And when we grasp the airy forms Earth with her scenes of gay delight But bring the nauseous daubing nigh, Look up, my soul, pant toward the eternal hills: Those heav'ns are fairer than they seem; There pleasures all sincere glide on in crystal rills, There not a dreg of guilt defiles, Nor grief disturbs the stream. That Canaan knows no noxious thing, No cursed soil, no tainted spring, Nor roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting. FELICITY ABOVE. No, 'tis in vain to seek for bliss, And tread on heav'nly ground. Н |