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Again, in genuine purity she fines,
And with her presence gilds the long-neglected shrines.
Ill-starr'd does proud Assyria's impious Lord *
Bid Heaven to arms, and vaunt his dreadful sword;
His own vain threats th' insulting king o'erthrow,
But breathe new courage on the generous foe.
Th'avenging Angel, by Divine command,
The fiery sword full-blazing in his hand,
Lean'd down from Heav'n : amid the storm he rode,
March'd Peftilence before him; as he trod,
Pale Desolation bath'd his steps in blood.
Thick wrapt in night, through the proud hoft he pass'd,
Dispensing death, and drove the furious blaft ;
Nor bade Destruction give her revels o'er,
Till the gorgd sword was drunk with human gore.
But what avails thee, pious prince; in vain
Thy fceptre rescu'd, and th' Affyrian lain !
E'en now the soul maintains her latest strife,
And Death's chill grasp congeals the fount of life,
Yet see, kind Heaven renews thy brittle thread,
And rolls full fifteen summers o'er thy head;
Lo! the receding sun repeats his way,
And, like thy life, prolongs the falling day.
Tho' Nature her inverted course forego,
The day forget to reft, the time to flow,
Yet shall Jehovah's servants stand secure,
His mercy fix'd, eternal shall endure ;
On them her ever-healing rays shall shine;
More mild, and bright, and fure, O fun! than thine.
At length, the long-expected prince behold!
The last good king, in ancient days foretold,
When Bethel's altar spoke his future fame,
Rent to it's bafe at good Jofiah's name.
Bleft, happy prince ! o'er who fe lamented urn,
In plaintive song, all Jadah's daughters mourn;
For whom fad Sion's softest sorrow flows,
And Jeremiah pours his sweet melodious woes.
But now fall’n Sion, once the fair and great,
Sits deep in duft, abandon'd, defolate ;
Bleeds her fad heart, and ever stream her eyes,
And anguish tears her with convulfive fighs.
The mournful captive spreads her hands in vain;
Her hands, that rankle with the servile chain ;
Till he, great chief * ! in Heaven's appointed time,
Leads back her children to their native clime.
Fair Liberty revives with all her joys,
And bids her envy'd walls securely rise.
And thou, great hallow'd dome, in ruin spread,
Again shall lift sublime thy facred head :
But ah! with weeping eyes, the ancients view
A faint resemblance of the old in
No more th' effulgent glory of thy God
Speaks awful answers from the mystick cloud ;
No more thine altars blaze with fire divine,
And Heaven has left thy folitary shrine :
Yet, in thy courts, hereafter shalt thou see
Presence immediate of the Deity,
The light himself reveal'd, the God confess’d in thee !
And now, at length, the fated term of years
The world's defire have brought; and lo! the God appears,
The heavenly babe the Virgin Mother bears,
And her fond looks confess the parent's cares ;
The pleasing burden on her breast fhe lays,
Hangs o'er his charms, and with a smile surveys.
The infant smiles, to her fond bosom press’d,
And wantons, sportive, on the mother's breast :
A radiant glory speaks him all divine,
And in the child the beams of Godhead shine!
But now, aląs ! far other views disclose
The blackest comprehensive scene of woes.
See where man's voluntary facrifice
Bows his meek head, and God Eternal dies !
Fix'd to the cross, his healing arms are bound,
While copious Mercy streams from ev'ry wound.
Mark the blood-drops that life-exhaufting roll,
And the strong pang that rends the ftubborn soul!
As all death's tortures, with severe delay,
Exult and riot in the noblest prey !
And can't thou, stupid man, those forrows see,
Nor share the anguish which he bears for thee?
Thy sin, for which his sacred flesh is torn,
Points ev'ry nail, and sharpens ev'ry thorn ;
Can'st thou ?-while Nature smarts in ev'ry wound,
And each pang cleaves the sympathetick ground !
Lo! the black sạn, his chariot backward driven,
Blots out the day, and perishes from Heaven :
Earth, trembling from her entrails, bears a part,
And the rent rock upbraids man's stubborn heart;
The yawning grave reveals his glooiny reign,
And the cold clay-clad dead start into life again.
And thou, O tomb, once more shalt wide display Thy satiate jaws, and give up all thy prey : Thou, groaning earth, fhalt heave, absorpt in flame, As the last pangs convulse thy labouring frame ; When the same God unshrouded thou shalt see, Wrapt in full blaze of power and majesty, Ride on the clouds; whilft, as his chariot flies, The bright effufion streams thro' all the kies. Then shall the proud diffolving mountains glow, And yielding rocks in fiery rivers flow : The molten deluge round the globe shall roar, And all man's arts and labour be no more.
Then fall the splendours of th’enliven'd glass
Sink undistinguifa'd in the burning mass.
And O! till earth and feas, and heaven decay,
Ne'er may that fair creation fade away;
May winds and storms those beauteous colours (pare,
Still may they bloom, as permanent as fair ;
All the vain rage of waiting time repel,
And his tribunal fee, whose cross they paint so well!
HAT! tho' thou com'ft in fable mantle clad,
Yet, Winter! art thou welcome to my eye; . Thee here I hail, tho' terrors round thee wait,
And winds tempestuous howl along the ky,
But shall I then so soon forget the days,
When Ceres led me thro' her wheaten mines; When Autumn pluck'd me, with his tawny hand,
Empurpled clusters from ambrosial vines !
So foon forget, when up the yielding pole
I saw ascend the silver-bearded hop;
When Summer, waving high her crown of hay,
Pour'd o'er the mead her odorif'rous crop !
I must forget them; and thee too, o Spring !
Tho' many a chaplet thou hast weav'd for me : For now, prepar'd to quit th'enchanting scene,
Cold, weeping Winter! I come all to thee.
Hail to thy rolling clouds, and rapid storms!
Tho' they deform fair Nature's lovely face : Hail to thy winds, that sweep along the earth!
Tho' trees they root up from their solid base.
How ficklied over is the face of things !
Where is the fpice-kiss of the southern gale! Where the wild rose, that fmild upon the thorn,
The mountain flow'r, and lily of the vale !
How gloomy 'tis to cast the eye around,
And view the trees difrob'd of ev'ry leaf;
The velvet path grown rough with clotting show'rs,
And ev'ry field depriv'd of ev'ry sheaf!
How far more gloomy, o'er the rain-beat heath,
Alone to travel in the dead of night!
No twinkling star to gild the arch of heav'n,
No moon to lend her temporary light:
To see the lightning spread it's ample fheet,
And view the wild waste thro' its liquid fire, To hear the thunder rend the troubled air,
As Time itself and Nature would expire.
And yet, O Winter ! has thy poet seen
Thy face as smooth, and placid as the Spring; Has felt, with comfort felt the beam of heav'n,
And heard thy vallies and thy woodlands ring;
What time the Sun with burnish'd locks arose,
The long-lost charms of Nature to renew, When pearls of ice bedeck'd the graffy turf,
And tree-tops floated in the filver-dew.