The Poetical Works of Edward Young | Page 7

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 c?li?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 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