The Poetical Works of Edward Young | Page 7

human motive know!
If anger boil, let
anger be my praise,
And sin the graceful indignation raise.
My love
be warm to succour the distress'd,
And lift the burden from the soul
oppress'd.
Oh may my understanding ever read
This glorious
volume, which thy wisdom made!
Who decks the maiden spring with
flow'ry pride?
Who calls forth summer, like a sparkling bride?
Who
joys the mother autumn's bed to crown?
And bids old winter lay her
honours down?
Not the great Ottoman, or greater Czar,
Not
Europe's arbitress of peace and war.
May sea and land, and earth and
heaven be join'd
To bring th' eternal author to my mind!
When
oceans roar, or awful thunders roll,
May thoughts of thy dread
vengeance shake my soul!
When earth's in bloom, or planets proudly
shine,
Adore, my heart, the majesty divine!
"Thro' every scene of
life, or peace, or war,
Plenty, or want, thy glory be my care!
Shine
we in arms? or sing beneath our vine?
Thine is the vintage, and the
conquest thine:
Thy pleasure points the shaft, and bends the bow;

The cluster blasts, or bids it brightly glow:
'Tis thou that lead'st our
powerful armies forth,
And giv'st great Anne thy sceptre o'er the
north.
"Grant I may ever, at the morning ray,
Open with prayer the
consecrated day;
Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arise,
And
with the mounting sun ascend the skies:

As that advances, let my zeal
improve,
And glow with ardour of consummate love;
Nor cease at
eve, but with the setting sun
My endless worship shall be still begun.

"And, oh! permit the gloom of solemn night
To sacred thought
may forcibly invite.
When this world's shut, and awful planets rise,

Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies;
Compose our souls
with a less dazzling sight,
And show all nature in a milder light;

How every boisterous thought in calm subsides!
How the smooth'd

spirit into goodness glides!
O how divine! to tread the milky way,

To the bright palace of the lord of day;
His court admire, or for his
favour sue,
Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew;
Pleas'd
to look down, and see the world asleep,
While I long vigils to its
founder keep!
"Canst thou not shake the centre? Oh! control,

Subdue by force, the rebel in my soul:
Thou, who canst still the
raging of the flood,
Restrain the various tumults of my blood;

Teach me, with equal firmness, to sustain
Alluring pleasure, and
assaulting pain.
O may I pant for thee in each desire!
And with
strong faith foment the holy fire!
Stretch out my soul in hope, and
grasp the prize,
Which in eternity's deep bosom lies!
At the great
day of recompense behold,
Devoid of fear, the fatal book unfold!

Then wafted upward to the blissful seat,
From age to age, my grateful
song repeat;
My light, my life, my God, my Saviour see,
And rival
angels in the praise of thee."
Book III.
Esse quoque in fatis reminiscitur, affore tempus,
Quo mare, quo tellus,
correptaque regia cæli
Ardeat; et mundi moles operosa laboret.
--OVID. MET.
The book unfolding; the resplendent seat
Of saints and angels; the
tremendous fate
Of guilty souls; the gloomy realms of woe;
And all
the horrors of the world below;
I next presume to sing: what yet
remains
Demands my last, but most exalted strains.
And let the
muse or now affect the sky,
Or in inglorious shades for ever lie.
She
kindles, she's inflam'd so near the goal;
She mounts, she gains upon
the starry pole;
The world grows less as she pursues her flight,
And
the sun darkens to her distant sight.
Heaven op'ning, all its sacred
pomp displays,
And overwhelms her with the rushing blaze!
The
triumph rings! archangels shout around!
And echoing nature
lengthens out the sound!
Ten thousand trumpets now at once advance;


Now deepest silence lulls the vast expanse:
So deep the silence,
and so strong the blast,
As nature died, when she had groan'd her last.

Nor man, nor angel, moves; the Judge on high
Looks round, and
with his glory fills the sky:
Then on the fatal book his hand he lays,

Which high to view supporting seraphs raise;
In solemn form the
rituals are prepar'd,
The seal is broken, and a groan is heard.
And
thou, my soul, (oh fall to sudden pray'r,
And let the thought sink
deep!) shalt thou be there?
See on the left (for by the great command

The throng divided falls on either hand);
How weak, how pale,
how haggard, how obscene,
What more than death in ev'ry face and
mien!
With what distress, and glarings of affright.
They shock the
heart, and turn away the sight!
In gloomy orbs their trembling
eye-balls roll,
And tell the horrid secrets of the soul.
Each gesture
mourns, each look is black with care,
And ev'ry groan is loaden with
despair.
Reader, if guilty, spare the muse, and find
A truer image
pictur'd in thy mind.
Shouldst thou behold thy brother, father, wife,

And all the soft companions of thy life,
Whose blended int'rests
levell'd at one aim,
Whose mix'd desires sent up one common flame,

Divided far; thy wretched self alone
Cast on the left, of all whom
thou hast known;
How would it wound! what millions wouldst thou
give
For one more trial, one more day to live!
Flung back in time an
hour, a