But wholesome, well-digested; grateful some To palates that can taste immortal truth; Insipid else, and sure to be despis'd. But all is in his hand whose praise I seek. In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, If he regard not, though divine the theme. "Tis not in artful measures, in the chime And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre,
To charm his ear, whose eye is on the heart; Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, Whose approbation-prosper even mine.
And that one season an eternal spring,
The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, For there is none to covet, all are full.
The lion, and the libbard, and the bear,
Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon Together, or all gambol in the shade
Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. Antipathies are none. No foe to man
Lurks in the serpent now: the mother sees, And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm, To stroke his azure neck, or to receive The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. All creatures worship man, and all mankind One Lord, one Father. Error has no place: That creeping pestilence is driv'n away;
The breath of heav'n has chas'd it. In the heart No passion touches a discordant string,
But all is harmony and love. Disease Is not: the pure and uncontam'nate blood Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. One song employs all nations; and all cry, "Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!" The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks
Shout to each other, and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy; Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round. Behold the measure of the promise fill'd; See Salem built, the labour of a God! Bright as a sun the sacred city shines; All kingdoms and all princes of the earth- Flock to that light; the glory of all lands Flows into her; unbounded is her joy, And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, *Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there; The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. Praise is in all her gates: upon her walls, And in her streets, and in her spacious courts, Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there Kneels with the native of the farthest west; And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand,. And worships. Her report has travell'd forth
* Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progeni tors of the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded to, may be reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large.
From ev'ry clime they come
To see thy beauty and to share thy joy, O Sion! an assembly such as earth
Saw never, such as Heav'n stoops down to see.
Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth, Thou who alone art worthy! It was thine By ancient covenant, ere nature's birth; And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, And overpaid its value with thy blood.
Thy saints proclaim the king; and in their hearts Thy title is engraven with a pen
Dipt in the fountain of eternal love.
Thy saints proclaim the king; and thy delay Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see The dawn of thy last advent, long-desir'd, Would creep into the bowels of the hills, And flee for safety to the falling rocks. The very spirit of the world is tir'd
Of its own taunting question, ask'd so long, "Where is the promise of your Lord's approach?" The infidel has shot his bolts away,
Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none,
He gleans the blunted shafts that have recoil'd, And aims them at the shield of truth again. The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands, That hides divinity from mortal eyes; And all the mysteries to faith propos'd, Insulted and traduc'd, are cast aside, As useless, to the moles and to the bats. They now are deem'd the faithful, and are prais'd, Who, constant only in rejecting thee,
Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal, And quit their office for their error's sake. Blind, and in love with darkness! yet ev'n these Worthy, compar'd with sycophants, who kneel Thy name adoring, and then preach the man! So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare The world takes little thought. Who will may preach,
And what they will. All pastors are alike To wand'ring sheep, resolv'd to follow none. Two gods divide them all-Pleasure and Gain: For these they live, they sacrifice to these, And in their service wage perpetual war
With conscience and with thee. Lust in their hearts, And hischief in their hands, they roam the earth
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