Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

Forgive my treasons, Prince of Grace,

The bloody Jews were traitors too; Yet thou hast pray'd for that curs'd race,

* Father, they know not what they do.'

Great Advocate! look down and see

A wretch, whose smarting sorrows bleed; O plead the same excuse for me !

For, Lord, I knew not what I did.

Peace, my complaints ; let every groan

Be still, and silence wait his love; Compassions dwell amidst his throne,

And through his inmost bowels move,

Lo, from the everlasting skies,

Gently, as morning-dews distil, The Dove immortal downward flies,

With peaceful olive in his bill.

How sweet the voice of pardon sounds!

Sweet the relief to deep distress!
I feel the balm that heals my wounds,

And all my powers adore the grace.

THE HUMBLE INQUIRY:

A FRENCH SONNET IMITATED, 1695.

Grand Dieu, tes Jugemens, &c.

GRACE rules below, and sits enthron'd above,
How few the sparks of wrath! how slow they move,
And drop and die in boundless seas of love!

But me, vile wretch, should pitying love embrace
Deep in its ocean, hell itself would blaze,
And flash and burn me, through the boundless seas.

[ocr errors]

Yea, Lord, my guilt to such a vastness grown
Seems to confine thy choice to wrath alone,
And calls thy power to vindicate thy throne.

Tbine honour bids avenge thine injur’d name,'
Thy slighted loves a dreadful glory claim,
While my moist tears might but incense thy flame.

Should Heaven grow black, almighty thunder roar, And vengeance blast me, I could plead no more ; But own thy justice dying, and adore.

Yet can those bolts of death that cleave the flood
To reach a rebel, pierce this sacred shroud,
Ting'd in the vital stream of my Redeemer's blood.

A HYMN OF PRAISE

FOR THREE GREAT SALVATIONS, viz.

1. From the Spanish Invasion, 1588.
2. From the Gunpowder Plot, Nov. 5, 1605.
3. From Popery and Slavery, by King William, of glorious

Memory, who landed Nov. 5, 1688.

Composed Nov. 5, 1695.

INFINITE God, thy counsels stand

Like mountains of eternal brass, Pillars to prop our sinking land,

Or guardian rocks to break the seas.

From pole to pole thy name is known,

Thee a whole heaven of angels praise,
Our labouring tongues would reach thy throne

With the loud triumphs of thy grace.

Part of thy church, by thy command,

Stands rais'd upon the British isles; “There,' said the Lord, 'to ages stand,

Firm as the everlasting hills.'

In vain the Spanish ocean roar'd;

Its billows swell'd against our shore, Its billows sunk beneath thy word,

With all the floating war they bore.

Come,' said the sons of bloody Rome,

'Let us provide new arms from hell,' And down they digg'd through earth's dark womb,

And ransack'd all the burning cell. Old Satan lent them fiery stores,

Infernal coal, and sulphurous flame, And all that burns, and all that roars,

Outrageous fires of dreadful name.
Beneath the senate and the throne,

Engines of hellish thunder lay;
There the dark seeds of fire were sown,

To spring a bright, but dismal day.
Thy love beheld the black design,

Thy love that guards our island round; Strange! how it quench'd the fiery mine,

And crush'd the tempest under ground,

THE SECOND PART.

AssUME, my tongue, a nobler strain,

Sing the new wonders of the Lord ; The foes revive their powers again,

Again they die beneath his sword. Dark as our thoughts our minutes roll,

While tyranny possess’d the throne, And murderers of an Irish soul

Ran, threatening death through every town. The Roman priest, and British prince,

Join'd their best force, and blackest charms, And the fierce troops of neighbouring France

Offer'd the service of their arms.

'Tis done, they cried, and laugh'd aloud,

The courts of darkness rang with joy, The old serpent hiss'd, and hell grew proud,

While Zion mourn'd her ruin nigh.

But, lo! the great Deliverer sails

Commission'd from Jehovah's hand, And smiling seas, and wishing gales,

Convey him to the longing land.

The happy day, and happy year,*

Both in our new salvation meet:
The day that quench'd the burning snare,

The year that burnt the’ invading fleet.t

Now did thine arm, O God of hosts!

Now did thine arm shine dazzling bright, The sons of might their hands hal lost,

And men of blood forgot to fight.

Brigades of angels lin’d the way,

And guarded William to his throne; There, ye celestial warriors, stay,

And make his palace like your own.

Then, mighty God, the earth shall know

And learn the worship of the sky: Angels and Britons join below,

To raise their hallelujah's high.

All hallelujah, heavenly King!
While distant lands thy victory sing,
And tongues their utmost powers employ,
The world's bright roof repeats the joy.
* Nov, 5, 1688.

† Nov, 5, 1588.

« AnteriorContinuar »