Exalt, O Jacob's sacred race,
The God of gods, the God of grace;
Who will above the stars your empire raise,
And with his glory recompense your praise.
A SPIRIT passed before me: I beheld
The face of Immortality unveiled-
Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine,
And there it stood,-all formless-but divine:
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake :
Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
Than he who deems even seraphs insecure?
Creatures of clay! vain dwellers in the dust!
The moth survives you, and are ye more just?
Things of a day! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to wisdom's wasted light!'
FOURTEENTH CHAPTER OF ISAIAH
Paraphrased.
Now has the' Almighty Father, seated high
In ambient glories, from the eternal throne
Vouchsafed compassion; and the' afflictive power
Has broke, whose iron sceptre long had bruised
The groaning nations. Now returning Peace,
Dove-eyed and robed in white, the blissful land
Deigns to revisit; whilst beneath her steps
The soil, with civil slaughter oft manured,
Pours forth abundant olives. Their high tops
The cedars wave, exulting o'er thy fall,
Whose steel from the tall monarch of the grove
Sever'd the regal honours, and up tore
The scions blooming in the parent shade.
When, vehicled in flame, thou slow didst pass Prone through the gates of Night, the dreary realms
With loud acclaim received thee. Tyrants old
(Gigantic forms, with human blood besmear'd)
Rose from their thrones; for thrones they still
possess,
Their penance and their guilt: 'Art thou,' they cry,
'O emulous of our crimes, here doom'd to reign
Associate of our woe? Nor comest thou girt
With liveried slaves, or bands of warrior-knights,
Which erst before thee stood, a flattering crowd,
Observant of thy brow; nor hireling quires,
Attempering to the harp their warbled airs,
Thy panegyric chant; but, hush'd in death,
Like us thou liest unwept; a corse obscene
With dust, and preying worms, bare and despoil'd
Of ill got pomp.
We hail thee our compeer!
'How art thou with diminish'd glory fallen
From thy proud zenith, swift as meteors glide
Aslope a summer eve! Of all the stars,
Titled the first and fairest, thou didst hope
To share divinity, or haply more,
Elated as supreme, when o'er the North
Thy bloody banners stream'd, to rightful kings Portending ruinous downfal; wondrous low, Opprobrious and detested, art thou thrown, Disrobed of all thy splendours: round thee stand
The swarming populace, and with fix'd regard
Eying thee, pale and breathless, spend their rage
In taunting speech, and jovial ask their friends,
"Is this the Mighty, whose imperious yoke,
We bore reluctant, who to desert wilds
And haunts of savages transform'd the marts
And capital cities razed, pronouncing thrall
Or exile on the peerage? How becalm'd
The tyrant lies, whose nostrils used to breathe
Tempests of wrath, and shook establish'd thrones!"
In solemn state the bones of pious kings,
Gather'd to their great sires, are safe reposed
Beneath the weeping vault: but thou, a branch
Blasted and cursed by Heaven, to dogs and fowls
Art doom'd a banquet; mingling some remains
With criminals unabsolved; on all thy race
Transmitting guilt and vengeance. From thy domes
Thy children skulk, erroneous and forlorn,
Fearing perdition, and for mercy sue,
With eyes uplift and tearful. From thy seed
The sceptre Heaven resumes, by thee usurp'd
By guile and force, and sway'd with lawless rage.'
A PARAPHRASE ON I COR. CHAP. XIII.
DID Sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue
Than ever man pronounced or angel sung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach or science can define;
And had I power to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling earth;
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw
When Moses gave them miracles and law;
Yet, gracious Charity, indulgent guest,
Were not thy power exerted in my breast,
Those speeches would send up unheeded prayer,
That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
A cymbal's sound were better than my voice;
My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.
Charity! decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows, with just reins and gentle hand, to guide
Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.
Not soon provoked, she easily forgives,
And much she suffers, as she much believes.
Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives;
She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;
Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even,
And opens in each heart a little heaven.
Each other gift which God on man bestows,
Its proper bounds and due reflection knows;
To one fix'd purpose dedicates its power,
And, finishing its act, exists no more.
Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease:
But lasting Charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall for ever live,
And endless good diffuse, and endless praise re-
As through the artist's intervening glass
Our eye observes the distant planets pass,
A little we discover, but allow
That more remains unseen than art can show;
So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve
(Its feeble eye intent on things above),
High as we may we lift our reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirm'd by Hope;
Yet are we able only to survey
Dawnings of beams and promises of day.
Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight,
Too great its swiftness and too strong its light.
But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd,
The sun shall soon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated sublime on his meridian throne.
Then constant Faith and holy Hope shall die,
One lost in certainty, and one in joy;
Whilst thou, more happy power, fair Charity,
Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,
Thy office and thy nature still the same,
Lasting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame,
Shalt still survive-
Shalt stand before the host of Heaven confess'd, For ever blessing, and for ever bless'd.
THE ORACLE CONCERNING BABYLON.
HIGH on a mountain's stately brow
The sanguine streaming banner rear;
Wave the stretch'd hand to realms below;
Loud swell the voice, that all may hear;
And through the gates of princes ride
In close array and martial pride.
My chiefs enroll'd to vengeance I command,
And, glorying in my might, in arms my warriors
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