The Poetical Works of Edward Young | Page 6

to lift
thine eye--Alas! my muse,
How art thou lost! what numbers canst
thou choose?
A sudden blush inflames the waving sky,

And now
the crimson curtains open fly;
Lo! far within, and far above all height,

Where heaven's great Sov'reign reigns in worlds of light, Whence
nature he informs, and with one ray
Shot from his eye, does all her
works survey,
Creates, supports, confounds! Where time, and place,

Matter, and form, and fortune, life, and grace,
Wait humbly at the
footstool of their God,
And move obedient at his awful nod;


Whence he beholds us vagrant emmets crawl
At random on this
air-suspended ball
(Speck of creation): if he pour one breath,
The
bubble breaks, and 'tis eternal death.
Thence issuing I behold (but
mortal sight
Sustains not such a rushing sea of light!)
I see, on an
empyreal flying throne
Sublimely rais'd, heaven's everlasting Son;

Crown'd with that majesty which form'd the world,
And the grand
rebel flaming downward hurl'd.
Virtue, dominion, praise,
omnipotence,
Support the train of their triumphant prince.
A zone,
beyond the thought of angels bright,
Around him, like the zodiac,
winds its light.
Night shades the solemn arches of his brows,
And in
his cheek the purple morning glows.
Where'er serene, he turns
propitious eyes,
Or we expect, or find, a paradise:
But if resentment
reddens their mild beams,
The Eden kindles, and the world's in
flames.
On one hand, knowledge shines in purest light;
On one, the
sword of justice fiercely bright.
Now bend the knee in sport, present
the reed;
Now tell the scourg'd impostor he shall bleed!
Thus
glorious thro' the courts of heav'n, the source
Of life and death eternal
bends his course;
Loud thunders round him roll, and lightnings play;

Th' angelic host is rang'd in bright array:
Some touch the string,
some strike the sounding shell,
And mingling voices in rich concert
swell;
Voices seraphic; blest with such a strain,
Could Satan hear,
he were a god again.
Triumphant King of Glory! Soul of bliss!

What a stupendous turn of fate is this!
O! whither art thou rais'd
above the scorn
And indigence of him in Bethlem born;
A needless,
helpless, unaccounted guest,
And but a second to the fodder'd beast!

How chang'd from him, who, meekly prostrate laid,
Vouchsaf'd to
wash the feet himself had made!

From him who was betray'd, forsook,
denied,
Wept, languish'd, pray'd, bled, thirsted, groan'd, and died;
Hung pierc'd and bare, insulted by the foe,
All heaven in tears above,
earth unconcern'd below!
And was't enough to bid the sun retire?

Why did not nature at thy groan expire?
I see, I hear, I feel, the pangs
divine;
The world is vanish'd,--I am wholly thine.
Mistaken
Caiaphas! Ah! which blasphem'd;
Thou, or thy pris'ner? which shall

be condemn'd?
Well might'st thou rend thy garments, well exclaim;

Deep are the horrors of eternal flame!
But God is good! 'Tis
wondrous all! Ev'n he
Thou gav'st to death, shame, torture, died for
thee.
Now the descending triumph stops its flight
From earth full
twice a planetary height.
There all the clouds condens'd, two columns
raise
Distinct with orient veins, and golden blaze.
One fix'd on earth,
and one in sea, and round
Its ample foot the swelling billows sound.

These an immeasurable arch support,
The grand tribunal of this
awful court.
Sheets of bright azure, from the purest sky,
Stream
from the crystal arch, and round the columns fly.
Death, wrapt in
chains, low at the basis lies,
And on the point of his own arrow dies.

Here high enthron'd th' eternal Judge is plac'd,
With all the
grandeur of his godhead grac'd;
Stars on his robes in beauteous order
meet,
And the sun burns beneath his awful feet.
Now an archangel
eminently bright,
From off his silver staff of wondrous height,

Unfurls the Christian flag, which waving flies,
And shuts and opens
more than half the skies:
The cross so strong a red, it sheds a stain,

Where'er it floats, on earth, and air, and main;
Flushes the hill, and
sets on fire the wood,
And turns the deep-dy'd ocean, into blood.

Oh formidable glory! dreadful bright!
Refulgent torture to the guilty
sight.
Ah turn, unwary muse, nor dare reveal
What horrid thoughts
with the polluted dwell.
Say not, (to make the sun shrink in his beam,)

Dare not affirm, they wish it all a dream;
With, or their souls may
with their limbs decay,
Or God be spoil'd of his eternal sway.
But
rather, if thou know'st the means, unfold
How they with transport
might the scene behold.
Ah how! but by repentance, by a mind

Quick, and severe its own offence to find?
By tears, and groans, and
never-ceasing care,
And all the pious violence of prayer?
Thus then,
with fervency till now unknown,
I cast my heart before th' eternal
throne,
In this great temple, which the skies surround,
For homage
to its lord, a narrow bound.
"O thou! whose balance does the
mountains weigh,
Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey,

Whose breath can turn these watery worlds to flame,
That flame to

tempest, and that tempest tame;
Earth's meanest son, all trembling,
prostrate falls,
And on the boundless of thy goodness calls.
"Oh!
give the winds all past offence to sweep,
To scatter wide, or bury in
the deep:
Thy power, my weakness, may I ever see,
And wholly
dedicate my soul to thee:
Reign o'er my will; my passions ebb and
flow
At thy command, nor