Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock Together with an Essay on the Education of the Blind. To Which is Prefixed A New Account of the Life and Writings of the Author |
 |
|
An HYMN to DIVINE LOVE.
|
 |
 | Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock |  |
An HYMN to DIVINE LOVE.
In Imitation of Spencer.
I
No more of lower flames, whose pleasing rageWith sighs and soft complaints I weakly fed;
At whose unworthy shrine, my budding age,
And willing Muse, their first devotion paid.
Fly, nurse of madness, to eternal shade:
Far from my soul abjur'd and banish'd fly,
And yield to nobler fires, that lift the soul more high.
II
O Love! coeval with thy parent God,To thee I kneel, thy present aid implore;
At whose celestial voice and pow'rful nod
20
Light smil'd, and order rose, unseen before,
But in the plan of the eternal Mind,
When God design'd the work, and lov'd the work design'd.
III
Thou fill'dst the waste of ocean, earth, and air,With multitudes that swim, or walk, or fly:
From rolling worlds descends thy generous care,
To insect crowds that 'scape the nicest eye:
For each a sphere was circumscrib'd by thee,
To bless, and to be bless'd, their noblest end;
To which, with speedy course, they all unerring tend.
IV
Conscious of thee, with nobler pow'rs endu'd,Next man, thy darling, into being rose,
Immortal, form'd for high beatitude,
Which neither end nor interruption knows,
Till evil, couch'd in fraud, began his woes:
Then to thy aid was boundless wisdom join'd,
And for apostate man redemption thus design'd.
V
By thee, his glories veil'd in mortal shroud,God's darling offspring left his seat on high;
And heav'n and earth, amaz'd and trembling, view'd
Their wounded Sov'reign groan, and bleed, and die.
By thee, in triumph to his native sky,
21
Relenting justice smil'd, and frowning wrath retir'd.
VI
To thee, munific, ever-flaming love!One endless hymn united nature sings:
To thee the bright inhabitants above
Tune the glad voice, and sweep the warbling strings.
From pole to pole, on ever-waving wings,
Winds waft thy praise, by rolling planets tun'd;
Aid then, O love! my voice to emulate the sound.
VIII
It comes! it comes! I feel internal day;Transfusive warmth through all my bosom glows;
My soul expanding gives the torrent way;
Thro' all my veins it kindles as it flows.
Thus, ravish'd from the scene of night and woes,
Oh! snatch me, bear me to thy happy reign;
There teach my tongue thy praise in more exalted strain.
| Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock | |