 | Dartmoor, and other poems |  |
56
As time roll'd on, have plunged in shades profound!
Whilst lands, to ten-fold darkness long resign'd,
Have burst their bonds, and led the sons of mind,
Haply! Oh, Heaven avert the curse severe!
Again the Pagan rite may triumph here;
And regions, now, where men to idols bend,
The altar reverence and the ark defend!
What might so soon God's sleeping wrath awake,
And o'er our Isle, tempt him his scourge to shake,
His lamp remove, his heritage forsake,
As langour, to extend the Gospel Sound,
The Bread of Life, to starving nations round!—
As that disastrous, graceless spirit chill,
Which scorns to work and frustrates those who will!
Soft as the far-off murmuring of the sea,
Sweet as at morn the bird's clear melody,
(Amid the shout of orgies vile) I hear
The still small voice of penitence and prayer!
Sunk as they were in guilt, abased, depraved,
Ten righteous men had once a people saved,
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Their Maker's Laws disdain, his Threats deride,
England may yet recount her righteous few,
Salt of our land! and not the least in you.
| Dartmoor, and other poems | |