« ZurückWeiter »
Hasten the welcome end of all my pains.
with that gift
tend, That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light, Nor the other light of life continue long, But yield to double darkness nigh at hand: So much I feel my genial spirits droop, My hopes all flat, Nature within me seems In all her functions weary of herself; My race of glory run, and race of shame, And I shall shortly be with them that rest. Manoah. Believe not these suggestions, which
proceed From anguish of the mind and humours black,
That mingle with thy fancy. I however
My griefs not only pain me
Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp,
I was his nursling once, and choice delight,
Chorus. Many are the sayings of the wise,
All chances incident to man's frail life,
their sound Little prevails, or rather seems a tune Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint; Unless he feel within Some source of consolation from above, Secret refreshings, that repair his strength, And fainting spirits uphold.
God of our fathers, what is man! That thou towards him with hand so various, Or might I say contrarious, Temper’st thy providence through his short course, Not evenly, as thou rul'st The angelick Orders, and inferior creatures mute, Irrational and brute. Nor do I name of men the common rout, That wandering loose about Grow up and perish, as the summer-fly, Heads without name no more remember'd; But such as thou hast solemnly elected, With gifts and graces eminently adorn’d, To some great work, thy glory, And people's safety, which in part they effect: Yet toward these thus dignified, thou oft, Amidst their highth of noon,
Changest thy countenance, and thy hand, with no
regard Of highest favours past From thee on them, or them to thee of service,
Nor only dost degrade them, or remit To life obscur'd, which were a fair dismission, But throw'st them lower than thou didst exalt them
high, Unseemly falls in human eye, Too grievous for the trespass or omission; Oft leav'st them to the hostile sword Of Heathen and profane, their carcasses To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captív'd; Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times, And condemnation of the ingrateful multitude. If these they ’scape, perhaps in poverty With sickness and disease thou bow'st them down, Painful diseases and deform'd, In crude old Though not disordinate, yet causeless suffering The punishment of dissolute days : in fine, Just, or unjust, alike seem miserable, For oft alike both come to evil end.
So deal not with this once thy glorious champion, The image of thy strength, and mighty minister. What do I beg? how hast thou dealt already! Behold him in his state calamitous, and turn His labours, for thou canst, to peaceful end.