Classic Poem

XXI.

And how he bade him love and multiply,
And fill the earth, yet fair for him outspread,
And rule o'er all that run, creep, swim or fly;
The rightful owner, and the sovereign head
And how, lest in his breast a secret dread
Might harbour, and his better thoughts confine,
Of wrath removed and reconcilement made,
The glorious symbol, dipp'd in dyes divine,
Bright on the rising cloud he bade the rainbow shine.

XXII.

Or 'neath his oak reclined in Mamre's vale,
His herd around him browsing peaceful spread,
Abram, they see, God's Messengers regale,
And hear him warm for Sodom intercede.
Awestruck, they mark that careless city laid,
Full-fed upon the wanton lap of ease,
Fast closing o'er her wrath's eternal shade,
Yet hoarse her tumult, rising on the breeze,
Wild as the boreal winds, or tempest-stricken seas.

XXIII.

Her doom how dread! The gray dawn's placid beam
Has still'd it now, the madden'd night's uproar —
Sloth on her pillow re-repeats her dream,
And blotch'd intemperance, gorged, her nasal snore.
Soft glints the rising sun on tree and tower,
And love and joy awake the woodland quire,
When lo! it bursts from heaven one flash of power,
One scintillation of almighty ire!
Which wraps them one and all up in eternal fire.

XXIV.

Unhappy Lot! didst thou not now reflect
Upon thy selfish choice, thy love of gain;
Thy comfort, and thy dutiful respect
For generous Abram sacrificed in vain?
That rich, well-water'd, ever-verdant plain,
So captivating to thy carnal eye,
With all upon it, swallow'd up amain —
Leaves thee in widow'd solitude to sigh,
The weeping child of woe, and cheerless poverty.

XXV.

Or Isaac meek, come forth at eventide
To meditate at La-hai-roi well,
By fair Rebekah met in maiden pride,
Awakes their pious feeling's gentler swell.
And Jacob, how they, lingering, love to dwell
On portions of thy strangely varied tale;
Thy patient toil, thy faith that did excel,
Thy strength with th' angel wrestling to prevail,
Whence came, a prince with God, thy new name Israel.

XXVI.

Or Pisgah mount with Moses they ascend,
The distant land of promise to survey;
That goodly land, where hills and valleys blend,
Woods wave, streams glide, and living fountains play.
A land for which God careth every day —
Refresh'd with rain and fertilized with dew;
A land whereon his strong right hand for aye
Shall rest conspicuous in creation's view,
Astonishing in grace, in judgment fearful too!

XXVII.

Or of th' Eternal One, a child of days,
All lowly in a humble manger laid;
Or toil-consumed in life's laborious ways,
A man of sorrows, wanting daily bread;
Nor having where to lay his aching head
In his own world — by his own chosen race
His love with heartless apathy repaid,
His office power malign'd, and, to his face,
Charged with demoniac aid his highest acts of grace.

XXVIII.

Or, through the frail humanity he wore,
How brightly to the eye of faith it shone,
Although at times with more or less of power,
The glory of th' alone begotten Son
Image express of him th' unseen One,
He made his pathway the wide weltering wave;
He spoke — the winds were still, disease was gone,
And, yielding up its charge, th' oblivious grave
Proclaim'd him Lord of all omnipotent to save.

XXIX.

Perhaps they read, while rapture-speaking tears
Like dew-drops o'er their sunburnt faces stray,
How free'd from all his woes and all his fears,
Death's bands he burst upon this hallow'd day:
And gracious, as his friends pursued their way
Towards Emmaus, their faith and hope nigh gone,
Revived their spirits with a rich display
From his own word how all that had been done
Must needs have met on him, as from the first foreshown.

XXX.

Foretold in Eden by the bruised heel
The woman's seed was destined to sustain;
Foreshown by faith's accepted sign and seal,
Good Abel's firstlings for an off'ring slain —
And by the door-posts sprinkled, not in vain,
With blood, when Egypt's first-born vengeance slew; —
And by the Serpent rear'd on Petra's plain,
By Moses, in the congregation's view,
On which the dying look'd, and looking liv'd anew.

XXXI.

In David, from the haunts of man exiled,
Pursued by Saul, and that vile Edomite,
Doeg, God's priests who unrelenting kill'd,
Four-score and five men in his causeless spite; —
And by the prophets, in the sacred light
Of inspiration rising strong and clear,
Who hail'd the prospect with intense delight,
And, humbly searching, as the time drew near,
To Daniel 'twas vouchsafed to tell th' auspicious year.

XXXII.

Then, on their knees, with fervour deep they pour
Out all their hearts into His gracious ear,
Who, having proved temptation's evil hour,
Feels all the sorrows of his people here.
And o'er their sinful lives, their wanderings drear
From that which all their better thoughts approve,
They deep lament, with many a bitter tear,
Imploring, all his other gifts above,
An increase to their faith, their charity and love.

XXXIII.

But not to mourning nor requests alone
Confined — their grateful adorations rise
For countless mercies daily to them shown,
For life and all its bountiful supplies;
For all those tender and endearing ties
That link them in affection's golden chain —
For hope, that anchoring far above the skies,
Gives them the soul's calm sunshine to maintain,
Though daily prest with toil, with poverty and pain.

XXXIV.

And humbled to the dust, they ardent pray,
His promised Spirit still to be their guide,
Amidst the snares in life's bewildering way,
That, watchful, lurk unseen on every side.
And in their lot, whatever may betide,
The sunny calm — or tempest howling high,
He in the cloudy-skirted storm may ride,
And whisper soft, as fainting low they lie,
" My friends, be not afraid, for see, behold, 'tis I! "

XXXV.

Their humble morning meal is now set forth,
No delicacies heap their simple board,
One homely dish each morn rewards their worth,
'Tis all they ask, and all they can afford
Yet still, within their frugal pantry stored,
Some little dainty waits, to grace the day
Of holy rest and joy, when cares abhorr'd,
Each in its comfort-marring cloud gives way
Before th' enlivening blaze of Hope's high-streaming ray.

XXXVI.

Then, forth they go, for now before the door
The short'ning shadow marks the hour of nine;
And by the broomy hill are coming o'er
Their village neighbours, glittering, clean and fine.
Upon the road, with neighbours, neighbours join,
And converse sweet beguiles the tedious way —
Some trace in Nature's works the hand divine,
Some through the flowery fields of Scripture stray,
And some retail the news — the nonsense of the day.

XXXVII.

The sun burns bright — wide through the fervid air,
Of insect wings the hum unceasing flows;
And stretch'd around, beneath th' oppressive glare,
The flowery field with dazzling splendour glows.
Adown the vale, beneath the shady boughs,
The herd seek shelter from the sultry beam,
Or under yon tall rock, that, rising, throws
All hoary, through the trees a dusky gleam,
Their panting sides they lave, deep in the silver stream.

XXXVIII.

The peaceful valley smiles — with wanton glee
The hare leaps, playful, in the broomy shade;
And clear the wild-wood strains of liberty,
All rapt'rous, sweep along the sunny glade.
With eyes of jet, and swelling bosom red,
The little Robin, flutt'ring, flits on high;
The russet Wren, among the brushwood hid,
Patters unseen, or on the careless eye,
Comes like a falling leaf in air light wavering by.

XXXIX.

Sweet Nature's children! these your haunts enjoy,
Nor yet for me one sportive round decline;
No ruffian I, your pleasures to destroy;
No, brethren, no! the God ye praise is mine.
But ah! what bands approach with fell design!
Their faces dark, with guilty horror brown;
Nor song, nor service is to them divine,
Nor holy times, nor tender ties they own,
The base, degenerate dregs of yonder smoky town.

XL.

Within their bosoms quench'd the light of Heaven,
In vain would Pity cross their guilty way;
The harmless creatures fly, in terror driven,
As, dark, they sweep along with ruthless sway.
The warbling Linnet drops the unfinish'd lay,
Frantic, to see her little nestlings torn
For ever from her eyes: — full many a day,
With feathers ragged, drooping, all forlorn,
Her plaintive note shall flow from yonder milk-white thorn.