The Poetical Works of Edward Young | Page 8

moment's space,
To grasp with eagerness the means of grace;

Contend for mercy with a pious rage,
And in that moment to
redeem an age?
Drive back the tide, suspend a storm in air,
Arrest
the sun!--but still of this despair.
Mark, on the right, how amiable a
grace!
Their Maker's image fresh in ev'ry face!
What purple bloom
my ravish'd soul admires!

And their eyes sparkling with immortal
fires!
Triumphant beauty! charms that rise above
This world, and in
blest angels kindle love!
To the great Judge with holy pride they turn,

And dare behold th' Almighty's anger burn;
Its flash sustain,
against its terror rise,
And on the dread tribunal fix their eyes.
Are
these the forms that moulder'd in the dust?
Oh the transcendent glory
of the just!
Yet still some thin remains of fear and doubt,
Th'

infected brightness of their joy pollute.
Thus the chaste bridegroom,
when the priest draws nigh, Beholds his blessing with a trembling eye,

Feels doubtful passions throb in every vein,
And in his cheeks are
mingled joy and pain,
Lest still some intervening chance should rise,

Leap forth at once, and snatch the golden prize;
Inflame his woe,
by bringing it so late,
And stab him in the crisis of his fate.
Since
Adam's family, from first to last,
Now into one distinct survey is cast;

Look round, vainglorious muse, and you whoe'er
Devote
yourselves to fame, and think her fair;
Look round, and seek the
lights of human race,
Whose shining acts time's brightest annals grace;

Who founded sects; crowns conquer'd, or resign'd;
Gave names to
nations: or fam'd empires join'd;
Who raised the vale, and laid the
mountain low;
And taught obedient rivers where to flow;
Who with
vast fleets, as with a mighty chain,
Could bind the madness of the
roaring main:
All lost? all undistinguish'd? nowhere found?
How
will this truth in Bourbon's palace sound?
That hour, on which the
Almighty King on high
From all eternity has fix'd his eye,
Whether
his right hand favour'd, or annoy'd,
Continu'd, alter'd, threaten'd, or
destroy'd;
Southern or eastern sceptre downward hurl'd,
Gave north
or west dominion o'er the world;
The point of time, for which the
world was built,
For which the blood of God himself was spilt,
That
dreadful moment is arriv'd.
Aloft, the seats of bliss their pomp display

Brighter than brightness, this distinguish'd day;
Less glorious,
when of old th' eternal Son
From realms of night return'd with
trophies won:
Thro' heaven's high gates, when he triumphant rode,

And shouting angels hail'd the victor God.
Horrors, beneath, darkness
in darkness, hell
Of hell, where torments behind torments dwell;
A
furnace formidable, deep, and wide,

O'erboiling with a mad
sulphureous tide,
Expands its jaws, most dreadful to survey,
And
roars outrageous for the destin'd prey.
The sons of light scarce
unappall'd look down,
And nearer press heaven's everlasting throne.

Such is the scene; and one short moment's space
Concludes the
hopes and fears of human race.
Proceed who dares!--I tremble as I

write,
The whole creation swims before my sight:
I see, I see, the
Judge's frowning brow;
Say not, 'tis distant; I behold it now;
I faint,
my tardy blood forgets to flow,
My soul recoils at the stupendous
woe;
That woe, those pangs, which from the guilty breast,
In these,
or words like these, shall be exprest.
"Who burst the barriers of my
peaceful grave?
Ah! cruel death, that would no longer save,
But
grudg'd me e'en that narrow dark abode,
And cast me out into the
wrath of God;
Where shrieks, the roaring flame, the rattling chain,

And all the dreadful eloquence of pain,
Our only song; black fire's
malignant light,
The sole refreshment of the blasted sight.
Must all
those pow'rs, heaven gave me to supply
My soul with pleasure, and
bring in my joy,
Rise up in arms against me, join the foe,
Sense,
reason, memory, increase my woe?
And shall my voice, ordain'd on
hymns to dwell,
Corrupt to groans, and blow the fires of hell?
Oh!
must I look with terror on my gain,
And with existence only measure
pain?
What! no reprieve, no least indulgence given,
No beam of
hope, from any point of heaven!
Ah mercy! mercy! art thou dead
above?
Is love extinguish'd in the source of love?
"Bold that I am,
did heaven stoop down to hell?
Th' expiring Lord of life my ransom
seal?
Have I not been industrious to provoke?
From his embraces
obstinately broke?
Pursu'd and panted for his mortal hate,
Earn'd
my destruction, labour'd out my fate?
And dare I on extinguish'd love
exclaim?
Take, take full vengeance, rouse the slack'ning flame;
Just
is my lot--but oh! must it transcend
The reach of time, despair a
distant end?
With dreadful growth shoot forward, and arise,

Where
thought can't follow, and bold fancy dies?
"Never! where falls the
soul at that dread sound?
Down an abyss how dark, and how
profound?
Down, down, (I still am falling, horrid pain!)
Ten
thousand thousand fathoms still remain;
My plunge but still
begun--And this for sin?
Could I offend, if I had never been,
But
still increas'd the senseless happy mass,
Flow'd in the stream, or
shiver'd in the grass?
"Father of mercies! why from silent earth

Didst thou awake, and curse me into birth?
Tear me from quiet,

ravish me from night,
And make a thankless present of thy light?

Push into being a reverse of thee,
And animate a clod with misery?

"The beasts are happy;