University of Virginia Library

A PARAPHRASE on Jer. XXXI. 18, 19, 20.

Homer's interview of Hector and Andromache, Virgil's elegiac lines upon Marcellus, and Eve's intercessions with Adam for reconciliation in Milton, have justly been the admiration of critics for their passionate tenderness and restless energy. But they all appear to be much less moving and pathetic, than these admirable strains of Jeremiah; an author, whom natural genius and divine inspiration formed to teach all the springs of the passions, and charm us into pleasing melancholy with the harmony of melodious sorrows.

The supreme of Beings represents himself earnestly listening to catch the harmony of penitential groans, so grateful to his ears, from whatever spot of our guilty globe they come. And lo! He hears Ephriam bemoaning himself thus. “Thou hast chastised me, and I was chastised, as a bullock unaccustomed to the yoke: turn thou me, and I shall be turned; for thou art the lord my God.” Thus he prays, and mercy hears. The converting influence he sought, is granted: And by this, his heart, once so reluctant and unmanageable, is so effectually turned, that he cannot but reflect upon the sudden and surprizing change with delightful wonder—“Surely, says he, after I was turned, I repented; and after that I was instructed. I smote upon my thigh: I was ashamed, yea, even confounded, because I did bear the reproach of my youth.” The father can no longer hear these mournful strains of the broken hearted penitent: He can no longr keep silence, but agreeably surprizes and interrupts him with the soothing voice of mercy— Who is this that affects my ears with his penitential groans? “Is this my dear son Ephraim? Is this my pleasant child?” So I call him notwithstanding the aspect of wrath a farther but constrained to put on; “for since I spake against him, I do earnestly remember him still: therefore my bowels are troubled for him: I will surely have mercy upon him, saith the Lord.” —Can there be a heart so hard, as not to be dissolved with these melting strains of penitential sorrow? Or can there be despondency so deep and sullen, as not to be animated with these tender strains of paternal goodness?