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What hand the barb'd, invenom'd thought can draw?
What healing hand can pour the balm of peace?
And turn my sight undaunted on the tomb?

With joy,—with grief, that healing hand I see;
Ah! too conspicuous ! it is fix'd on high.
On high ?— What means my phrensy? I blaspheme:
Alas! how low ! how far beneath the skies !
The skies it form’d; and now it bleeds for me,
But bleeds the balm I want-yet still it bleeds ;
Draw the dire steel-ah no! the dreadful blessing
What heart or can sustain, or dares forego?
There hangs all human hope : that nail supports
The falling universe: That gone, we drop;
Horror receives us, and the dismal wish
Creation had been smother'd in her birth-
Darkness his curtain, and his bed the dust;
When stars and sun are dust beneath his throne ;
In heav'n itself can such indulgence dwell?
O what a groan was there ! A groan not His.
He seiz'd our dreadful right; the load sustain’d;
And heav'd the mountain from a guilty world.
A thousand worlds, so bought, were bought too dear;
Sensation's new in angels bosoms rise ;
Suspend their song; and make a pause in bliss.

O for their song ; to reach my lofty theme !
Inspire me, Night! with all thy tuneful spheres :
Whilst I with seraphs share seraphic themes,
And shew to men the dignity of man;
Lest I blaspheme my subject with my song.
Shall pagan pages glow celestial flame,

And christian languish? On our hearts, not heads,
Falls the foul infamy: My heart ! awake.
What can awake thee, unawak'd by this,
“ Expended deity on human weal ?".
Feel the great truths, which burst the tenfold night
Of heathen error, with a golden flood
Of endless day: To feel, is to be fir'd;
And to believe, LORENZO ! is to feel.

Thou most indulgent most tremendous pow'r!
Still more tremendous, for thy wond'rous love !
That arms, with awe more aweful, thy commands;
And foul transgression dips in sev'nfold night;
How our hearts tremble at thy love immense !
In love immense, inviolably just!
Thou, rather than thy justice should be stain's,
Did'st stain the Cross; and work of wonders far
The greatest, that thy dearest far might bleed.

Bold thought! shall I dare speak it, or repress? Should man more execrate, or boast, the guilt Which rous'd such vengeance ? which such love

inflam'd ? O'er guilt (how mountainous !) with out-strecht arms, Stern justice, and soft-smiling love embrace, Supporting, in full majesty, thy throne, When seem'd its majesty to need support, Or that, or man, inevitably lost: What, but the fathomless of thought divine, Could labour such expedient from despair, And rescue both ? Both rescue! both exalt! O how are both exalted by the deed !

The wond'rous deed! or shall I call it more?
A wonder in Omnipotence itself!
A mystery no less to gods than men!

Not, thus, our infidels th' Eternal draw,
A God all o'er, consummate, absolute,
Full-orb’d, in his whole round of rays complete:
They set at odds heav'n's jarring attributes ;
And, with one excellence, another wound;
Maim heav'n's perfection, break its equal beams,
Bid mercy triumph over-God himself,
Undeify'd by their opprobrious praise :
A God all mercy, is a God unjust.

Ye brainless wits ! ye baptiz'd infidels! Ye worse for mending! wash'd to fouler stains ! The ransom was paid down; the fund of heav'n, Heav'n's inexhaustible, exhausted fund, Amazing, and amaz'd, pour’d forth the price, All price beyond: Tho' curious to compute, Archangels faild to cast the mighty sum : Its value vast, ungraspt by minds create, For ever hides, and glows, in the Supreme

And was the ransom paid? It was: And paid (What can exalt the bounty more?) for you. The sun beheld it—No, the shocking scene Drove back his chariot. Midnight veil'd his face; Not such as this; not such as nature makes ; A midnight nature shudder'd to behold; A midnight new! a dread eclipse (without Opposing spheres) from her Creator's frown! Sun ! didst thou fly thy Maker's pain? Or start


At that enormous load of human guilt,
Which bow'd his blessed head; o'erwhelm'd his cross;
Made groan the centre ; burst earth's marble womb,
With pangs, strange pangs! deliver'd of her dead?
Hell howl'd; and heav'n that hour let fall a tear ;
Heav'n wept, that men might smile! Heav'n bled, that

man Might never die !

And is devotion virtue ? 'Tis compellid: What heart of stone but glows at thoughts like these? Such contemplations mount us; and should mount The mind still higher; nor ever glance on man, Unraptur’d, uninflam'd.—Where roll my thoughts To rest from wonders ? Other wonders rise ; And strike where'er they roll: my soul is caught: Heav'n's sovereign blessings, clust'ring from the Cross, Rush on her, in a throng, and close her round, The pris'ner of amaze!- In his blest life, I see the path, and, in his death, the price, And in his great ascent, the proof supreme Of immortality.--And did he rise ? Hear, Oye nations ! hear it, О ye dead! He rose! He rose! He burst the bars of death. · Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates! And give the King of glory to come in. Who is the King of glory? He who left His throne of glory, for the pang of death : Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates ! And give the King of glory to come in. Who is the King of glory? He who slew

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He rose, He rose, He burn the bars of Death,
Fift up your heados, y everlasting gates,
(Ind give the King / Gery ti come in,

Page 68

London: Pub? Jan: Vernor & Hood, and the other Proprietors.

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