University of Virginia Library

II.

God came from Teman, and the Holy One,
Descended from Mount Paran, with a mighty Train:
The Earth to Heav'n did dart the Rays again,
And as He past the Skie with Glory shone.
Refined Light, without allay,
Such as above makes Angels Day,
Such was His Brightness, and such was His Way.
He was all Light, but from His Side
Shot forth a Beam, so clear, and pure,
That none to see it could endure;
And there, as in the dark, He did His Glories hide.
The Pestilence before Him went,
Gathering new Poysons, as the old were spent;
Ruine and Desolation, at His Feet,
Never to part again did meet,
But sworn to execute His Wrath on Man,
Kist and embrac'd each other close, as they before Him ran.

III.

He stood and in His Hand
He held a Line, and measuring Wand,
Both to mete out, and to destroy his Land.
Over the Earth the fatal Line He threw,
And that it level on all sides might lie,
He smote the Nations, and they' in haste withdrew;
Th' affrighted Earth, that fain would flie,
Seeing it could not stir, the Line did take,
But did with horrour, and amazement shake;
The Rocks as it came o're their Backs, did quake;
Bow'd down their Heads, and griev'd they were so high.
The everlasting Mountains scatt'red lay,
And the perpetual Hills sank down, and stole away.

IV.

I saw the Tents of Egypt in distress,
Methoughts I heard their doleful groans;
The Land did tremble, and its emptiness
An hollow murmur added to its moans,
And shriekt a deadly eccho from the wounded Stones,
When not content to see their First-born slain,
Conquer'd on Land, they once again
Would try the fortune of the Main.
Since they the Tenth Shock could so stoutly brave,
They scorn'd to fear the Eleventh Wave,
Till they themselves, and that saw buried in a Grave.
What ail'd the Rivers, Lord, what ail'd the Flood,
That Thou shouldst make their streams true Veins of Blood?
What could the Sea, against Thee do,
So small against so great a Foe,
Exalted Thou so high, and that so low?
Could it deserve Thy Wrath, or roar so loud,
From Heav'n, Thy Throne, to call Thee down;
Or in its swellings was it grown so proud,
It 'sdeign'd a check from a single frown,
Unless in Triumph God would o're it ride,
And Seas, from Seas below, as first from those above divide?

V.

So on the Sea; ith' Air his Bow was seen;
Not by Reflection, like the Rain-bow made,
Where all the pleasing Colours are together laid,
That Man might be no more afraid
Of a new Deluge to be unsherd in,
And once more drown, what it could never purge, his Sin.
That is his Bow of Peace, but this of War,
The Skie about it was with Darkness spread,
Slaughter, and Gore had stain'd it red,
Ghastly and terrible it glistned from afar.
A poysoned Arrow on the string did hang,
It hung a while, but when the Bow He drew,
Drawn to the head away it flew,
And flying gave a deadly twang;
The Air a good while after rang.
The sound how loud, the Pile how keen,
How would it enter, when no Mail could come between?
Such was his Word, which did their Way prepare,
The Oath, which to the Tribes He past,
Making them Conquerors every where,
Till they were in Canaan plac'd,
Till to the Promis'd Land, He brought them safe at last.

VI.

But first the War did rage at Home,
Thirst, a worse Foe than Amaleck, to be o'recome.
To God for Drink they cry,
Not with a Wet, but envious Eye;
For Drought long since had made those Cisterns dry.
They cry'd, and murmur'd, to' Egypt back would go,
Till from the Rock God bid the Waters flow;
The Rock obey'd, and to the sacred Rod did bow.
Out gusht new Streams, th' admiring Earth gave way,
But wondred how such Rivers should come there;
Yet lookt again to see her fear,
And as she saw it quak't, and ready cut in Channels lay.

VII.

There as He marcht, the Mountains saw their God,
And stagger'd as he shook His Rod;
The surly Deep past silent by,
And fearful any more to look on high,
In humble plains of liquid Chrystal flat did lie.
The bolder Waves, which yet would rise,
And with their towring Billows dare the Skies,
Seeing Him, started and shriekt out;
No more of their Defiance thought,
And of His Presence were asham'd to doubt.
As when one sees some Ruine near,
Ready upon his Head to fall,
Which yet he cannot help at all,
Cannot prevent; but with unequal strength must bear;
Expecting the dead weight he stands,
Shrinks in his Shoulders, and lifts up his Hands:
So stood the Waves, and without power to flie,
With rais'd up Hands and Eyes, had hardly strength to cry.

VIII.

The Sun amaz'd stood still, and at the sight,
Bid the Moon stop, and see the bloody Fight;
Never was such a Fight, never so long a Day,
When Heav'n it self did waiting stay,
Nor till it saw the Victors went away.
The Lord Himself that Day marcht out,
Hail-stones and Coals of Fire hurl'd all about;
In wrath He marcht, through the whole Land,
And thresht the Nations, as He past along,
His Arm so weighty, and his Wrath so strong,
None durst against Him stand.
To save his People did He thus appear,
To them so Glorious, to His Foes so full of Fear.

IX.

To th' Earth He stroke their Princes down,
Their Villages destroy'd, sack'd every Town;
Tho like a Whirlwind, they against us came,
God for us fought in arms of Flame.
Flames, which their blasts made fiercer burn,
And on themselves with double Vengeance turn;
In Fire God came against them, and o'recame:
Did through the Sea on His great Horses ride,
Whilst Waves to make Him room, stood up in heaps, on either side.

X.

This as I heard my Joynts unloos'd,
Through all my Veins chill Horrour was diffus'd.
My Belly trembled, and my Lips did quake,
My Bones for very rottenness did shake.
Afraid I was, yet could not chuse but fear,
When I such mighty things did hear,
When e're I was aware,
The God, who did them I perceiv'd drew near.
O may I rest, when he to judg shall rise!
For when He does the wicked World chastise,
How heavy then will be His Hand, how red his Eyes!

XI.

From Thee, Lord, then, to my God now I flie,
And for Thy Mercy, on Thy Power relie,
Propitious Thee thy Land has found, and so shall I.
Nothing shall make me quit my trust,
For Thou art Pitiful, as well as Just
No, tho the Fig-Tree blossom not,
And on the Vine the generous clusters rot;
Tho th' labours of the Olive cease,
And all the lesser Plants of Life,
With Man, as He is with his God at strife,
Deny to give their rich encrease.
Let th' Earth threat Famine, bear no Grass,
Iron below, as Heav'n above, is Brass.
No Fruit, no Pasture yield,
But be with Thorns and Brambles fill'd,
And they burnt up, whilst there's a Furnace in each Field;
Let the Flocks die, and in the Stall
The Ox, not by the Knife, but want of Fodder fall;
Yet in my God will I rejoyce,
Whose care I am, as I made him my choice.
'Tis He's my strength, and freed from fear,
For me on high He shall His Truth display;
Or when the Desolation's near,
Give me Hinds Feet to scape away.