Say, "Live for ever, wondrous King, Born to redeem, and strong to save!" Then ask the monster, where 's his sting, "And where's thy victory, boasting grave?" THE GOD OF THUNDER. O the immense, the amazing height, He speaks; and lo, all nature shakes, He rends the clouds with hideous cracks, Well, let the nations start and fly Let noise and flame confound the skies, Celestial King, thy blazing power Thus shall the God our Saviour come, THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. AN ODE, ATTEMPTED IN ENGLISH SAPPHIC. WHEN the fierce north wind, with his airy forces, How the poor sailors stand amaz'd, and tremble, While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet, Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters, Quick to devour them. Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder, (If things eternal may be like these earthly,) Such the dire terror, when the great archangel Shakes the creation Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven, Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes; See the graves open, and the bones arising, Flames all around them! Hark the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches! Lively bright horror, and amazing anguish, [lies Stare though their eyelids, while the living worm Gnawing within them. Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heartstrings, And the smart twinges when the eye beholds the Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance Rolling afore him. Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver, While devils push them to the pit, wide yawning, Hideous and gloomy to receive them headlong Down to the centre. Stop here, my fancy; all away, ye horrid, How he sits godlike, and the saints around him, O may I sit there when he comes triumphant, Shout the Redeemer! THE SONG OF ANGELS ABOVE. EARTH has detain'd me prisoner long, My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue, Tir'd in my thoughts, I stretch me down, There the dear Man, my Saviour, sits, On all the happy minds. Seraphs, with elevated strains, Circle the throne around, And move and charm the starry plains With an immortal sound. Jesus, the Lord, their harps employs, Jesus, the name of both our joys, Sounds sweet from every string. Hark! how beyond the narrow bounds The Godhead of the Son: How on the Father's breast he lay, And now they sink the lofty tone, O sacred beauties of the Man! Then, how he look'd, and how he smil❜d, At his command the blind awake, They try their tongues in praise. |