Classic Poem

LXXXI.

The sermon closed — again in prayer they join,
Prayer not preferr'd for sordid selfish ends,
But, drinking at the fount of love divine,
Wide as the world their soul's warm wish extends.
And sweet the grand prophetic song ascends —
Mercy is built for ever firm and sure;
On God her strong stability depends,
And still her seed, brought forth refined and pure,
Shall, as the sun in heaven, from age to age endure.

LXXXII.

Now westward driving far, with prone career,
The red-hair'd sun rolls on his fiery road;
Gay, golden hues the green-topp'd mountains wear,
And deeper shades invest the waving wood.
When, closed the sacred work, they come abroad,
Devoutly raised to holy rapture some;
Some pond'ring dark, the fix'd decrees of God ,
His awful wrath, the Sinner's final doom,
With all the shadowy shapes that frown behind the tomb.

LXXXIII.

Ah! Christian, cease! these dangerous themes forbear,
Or farewell hope! farewell departed joy!
There, Frenzy wild, a legion in her rear
Of phantoms fell, lies lurking to destroy.
Surrounded once, in vain shalt thou employ
Thy powers, to force her dark entrenchments strong,
No art can soothe, no argument annoy
Her baleful train, that thick and thicker throng,
Till whelm'd, thy reason falls, in darkness stretch'd along.

LXXXIV.

Mark, yonder, where the bean-field fragrant blooms,
Diffusing grateful odours all around,
Woful and wan the moping maniac roams,
Within her mazy fetters, mournful, bound
His looks are ever fixed on the ground,
Despair's dark tear dim glistens in his eye;
Now he stops short, now starts with sudden bound,
While, from his bosom bursts the rending sigh,
And hell and horror still accent his wailing cry.

LXXXV.

Upon his faded form and gestures wild,
The lowing heifer stares with wondering gaze;
And o'er him, sweet Devotion's ruin'd child,
Th' unconscious warbler mends his love-taught lays;
The lark, descending in the sunny rays,
Bends down the flowery turf with slender feet,
His spreckled breast, his rising plume displays,
The gentle breathings of the breeze to meet,
And pours his raptur'd strain in warblings wildly sweet.

LXXXVI.

But what are warbling birds, or flowery fields,
To him whose heart still bleeds, whose spirit grieves —
Say, what the joy a smiling prospect yields,
When grim Despair the web of terror weaves?
Sing on, the bruis'd one cries; your happy lives,
Ye birds, are pure; arise on spotless wing;
Spurn earth, vile earth! 'tis but a place of graves —
Ah! why should death your gentle bosoms wring?
'Tis I — poor wretched I, have forged the fatal sting.

LXXXVII.

Thy fires, O vengeance! in what corner hid?
Thy victim I, thy speedy act implore!
Why hangs thy red bolt, Justice, o'er my head?
Exact thy due, and I shall be no more.
In vain I call! those skies must ever lower!
This dreadful shade, Remorse, still crush me down:
O Mercy! Mercy! is thy season o'er?
Will God for ever, thus in anger frown,
And stalking terrors guard all access to his throne?

LXXXVIII.

Yes, still to me — I see the dark decree
Firm as the pillars of th' eternal throne!
O Hope, sweet Hope! on all thy flowery tree
No blossom blows, to ease my dying groan. "
Thus hapless, day by day, his life glides on —
Not so where Reason aids Religion's reign;
There, though the tempest howl, fair Hope, anon,
Far beaming, brightens Faith's immense domain,
Where free the soul expands, exults, and smiles serene

LXXXIX.

From church return'd, our simple cottar see,
His babes around him innocently smile;
His spouse, with looks of kind complacency,
Hastes to present again the frugal meal.
And as they eat, what text was read he'll tell;
What doctrines thence deduc'd, what sins reprov'd,
What motives given to cherish holy zeal,
What views to faith of Him her best Belov'd,
By whom upheld, she stands in fiery storms unmov'd.

XC.

To him, their guide, they lend a willing ear,
While he at large instructs them as he can,
The path of truth to tread, their God to fear,
And thus fulfil the great design of man.
Nor sneer, ye sages — though unfit to scan
Your systems jarring, intricate, and wild;
Some precious outlines of Salvation's plan,
How man far, far from happiness, exiled,
By grace may be restored, he yet can teach his child.

XCI.

Nor can the simplest here be at a loss,
Thanks to our great forefathers' pious care,
Who, shunning doctrines crude, and customs gross,
Built up our church compact, a fabric fair;
With formularies, rich, beyond compare,
In all the elements of truth divine,
Especially the Shorter Compend, where,
Concise and neat, in each perspicuous line,
Great thoughts with simplest words felicitously join.

XCII.

Ranged in due order, there the little ones —
A sight which seraphs stoop from heaven to see —
Each in its gravest mood, and firmest tone,
The running question answers full and free
Even he, the infant on his mother's knee,
A lisping lamiter, of feeble frame,
Distinguish'd as his elders, too, must be,
To speak the Spirit's grace, the Saviour's fame,
Although 'tis but by halves he can pronounce the name.

XCIII.

And one whose life seems drawing near the grave,
Darken'd her day, her nights with pain opprest,
She, too, her custom'd place and say must have,
Leaning her head upon a sister's breast.
A psalm, too, she has got as well's the rest,
Though ears do now the want of eyes supply —
How truly every humble soul is blest
Who can, by faith, on Jacob's God rely,
Who made and peopled earth, the sea, and heaven high.

XCIV.

Who giveth, gracious, to the blind their sight,
And leads them by a way they do not know;
The bowed down doth make to walk upright,
And the pale cheek with roseate health to glow;
In whom compassions, never ceasing, flow,
And mercy reigns an attribute supreme,
Long suffering, to aught like anger slow,
And bounteous, in the trying hour extreme,
From all iniquity his Israel to redeem.

XCV.

Thus, from the mouth of babes, the song of praise
Ascends to heaven, at eve or dewy morn;
Hence truest honour, with unborrow'd rays,
In humble life the meanest may adorn
Thus taught, the hind treats with a manly scorn
Th' ambiguous virtues of th' ignobly great;
And true to reason, by pure faith upborne,
Soaring o'er all the rigours of his fate,
With dignity and grace adorns his low estate.

XCVI.

Parental teaching closed with family prayer,
Each seeks, for soft repose, the peaceful bed;
The sire except, who, by the evening fair,
To muse along the greenwood side is led
The setting sun, in robes of crimson red
And purple gorgeous, clothes the glowing west;
While sober eve, in misty mantle clad,
One bright star, lovely, beaming on her breast,
With feet all bathed in dew, comes slowly from the east.

XCVII.

Now closed — the daisy droops its dewy head, —
Hush'd are the woods, the breathing fields are still,
And soft beneath the meadow's flowery pride,
Creeps gurgling on its way — the mossy rill.
Sublimely solemn rolls the mingling swell,
At times with many a mournful pause between,
Of streams rude, rushing down the sounding dell,
Re-echo'd far from distant wilds unseen,
And lambs that softly bleat far o'er the flowery green.

XCVIII.

Fast follows on the cloud of night's dark noon,
And bright the fires of heaven begin to blaze;
While o'er the misty mountain's head, the moon
Pours, in a streaming flood, her silver rays.
White on the pool, her radiance, flickering, plays,
Where shadows, faintly glimmering, shadows mar;
And clear, the cottage window, to the gaze
Of solitary wanderer, gleaming far
Up yonder green hill side, appears a glittering star.

XCIX.

Our Poor Man here, in converse with the sky,
Lone, o'er the uplands holds his wandering way;
His bosom swells, he heaves the frequent sigh,
And tears start sudden, ere he well knows why
'Tis nature stirs him — verging to decay,
Through all her works, she pours the weary groan;
Even now, by faith, he hails th' eventful day —
He hears the trump of God — the great white throne
Is raised — creation melts — lo, heaven and earth are gone!

C.

And thou, my soul! he cries, shalt thou survive,
When quench'd in years, these living fires shall fade?
Yes, in immortal vigour thou shalt live,
And soar and sing when every star is fled.
For so hath God — God thy Redeemer said:
A higher song than seraph's shall be thine,
Yea, though in mould'ring clay this flesh be laid,
These very lips, with energy divine,
Heaven's high resounding harp in holy hymns shall join.

CI.

To God , for ever let thy song ascend,
Though stormy howlings sweep thy rugged path;
Though weeping woe thy straiten'd steps attend,
And sin thy green leaves soil with burning breath;
There yet remains a rest reveal'd to faith,
A rest from sin and all its dire distress;
A Sabbath sweet, beyond the realm of death,
Bright with the beams of God's all-gracious face,
The gift of sovereign love, the rich reward of grace.

CII.

Sooth'd with this sweet idea, he retires,
His brow serene with calm contentment's smile,
To rest, till ruddy morning's glowing fires
Again awake him to his weekly toil.
F OUNTAIN OF Good ! grant me to keep, the while
My span extends, thy Sabbaths thus alway;
My reason clear, my spirit free from guile:
And of thy light still lend a purer ray,
Till glory's sun arise in bright refulgent day.