English

I.

  A GOD omnipotent I own,
   Eternal things allow;
But what of GOD have I e'er known?
 Or how's my standing now?

II.

I say that Christ for sinners died,
  And that a truth may be;
 But if not to my soul apply'd
   'Tis not a truth to me.

III.

I say he gives his people rest,
 And gives them life divine;
But if this life I ne'er possess,
 How is the blessing mine?

IV.

 I talk of everlasting death,
 And thousands of despair,

YOU 've seen the Play — and I'll unfold the P OET ,
To whom (stray'd sheep of a pure flock ) we owe it,
He's a chance blessing — somewhat strangely flung us!
Dropt, from the clouds of innocence , among us!
Slipt through the K IRKS loose pale, we gave him quarter;
Poor soul! he had like to've been the muse's Martyr:
When stage-plays! and abominations! took him,
Grace , and the shepherds of the S AINTS forsook him.
'Twas given thenceforth, to S ATAN'S power, to win him;

That Macro's looks are good let no man doubt,
Which I, his friend and servant — thus make out:
In ev'ry line of his perfidious face
The secret malice of his heart we trace;
So fair the warning, and so plainly writ,
Let none condemn the light that shows a pit.
Cocles, whose face finds credit for his heart,
Who can escape so smooth a villain's art?
Adorn'd with ev'ry grace that can persuade,
Seeing we trust, tho' sure to be betray'd:
His looks are snares, but Macro's cry Beware;
Believe not tho' ten thousand oaths he swear.

Here sleeps in peace, beneath this rustic vase,
The tenderest lover a husband could prove;
Of all this distress, alas! I am the cause,
So much I ador'd him, heaven envied my love.

The sighs I respire ev'ry morn I arise,
The misery I cherish, the grief, and the pain,
The thousand of tears that fall from my eyes,
Are all the sad comforts for me that remain.

II.

When, his colours display'd, honour call'd him to arms,
By tender persuasions I kept him away,

A Mother drives a mother from her home!
With tears the patriarch sees that dawning day;
With tears the child receives an outcast's doom;
With tears his mother leads him far away!

The desert welcomes those by men outcast;
The desert sees her want and hears her cry,
" Beneath this parched shade, rest, child, thy last!
Let not thy mother see her darling die! "

Tears are but dew-drops at gray morning-tide,
And God has beams of love to dry them all;
Deserts are wide, but his reign far more wide

Now rest for the wretched. The long day is past,
And night on yon prison descendeth at last.
Now lock up and bolt. — Ha, jailer! look there!
Who flies like a wild-bird escaped from the snare?
A woman, — a slave! Up! out in pursuit,
While linger some gleams of the day!
Ho! rally thy hunters, with halloo and shout,
To chase down the game, — and away!

A bold race for freedom! — On, fugitive, on!

My hand reached for the telephone;
I said Hello and asked for you,
And then, as dumb as any stone,
There was no other word I knew
To say.
What was there now that I could tell,
When I had seen you yesterday?
I had to ask if you were well,
And when your voice gave the reply
It held me, and I could not go.
I could not let us say good-by;
I spoke, of what I do not know —
Of anything to keep you there —
It did not matter what we said,
It did not matter — I did not care —

There rode through the country three gallants so fine,
They came to the Landlady, hard by the Rhine.

" Landlady, hast thou good ale and good wine?
And how is that beautiful daughter of thine? "

" My ale and my wine are fresh and clear,
But my dear little daughter lies dead on her bier. "

And when they were come to the chamber within,
All cold in her coffin, the maiden was seen.

The first, from her face the death-veil he took,
And looked at her long with a sorrowful look;

I.

While Phyllis is drinking, Love and Wine in alliance,
With forces united, bid resistless defiance;
By the touch of her lips the wine sparkles higher,
And her eyes by her drinking redouble their fire.

II.

Her cheeks glow the brighter, recruiting their colour,
As flowers by sprinkling revive with fresh odour;
Each dart dipp'd in wine gives a wound beyond curing,
And the liquor, like oil, makes the flame more enduring.

III.

Then, Phyllis! begin, let our raptures abound,

The open vision ceases from the land,
God's word becomes more rare, and yet more rare;
Eli, thine eyes wax dim! although thou stand
In God's own house, thou dost not see him there!
He speaks! list, Eli, to the precious word!
Alas, that word is not for such as thee;
Thy sealed ears no voice of God have heard, —
Thy sluggard eyes no open vision see.
Wherefore should not the lamp of God burn out?
The seer of God is blind, and nothing sees!
Who shall light Israel through her clouds of doubt?