The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
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The Harp of Erin | ||
Who then so impious, who so madly blind,
To think Almighty, spotless, meek, refin'd,
Mid burning gulphs prepares that gloomy bed,
Where the tir'd pilgrim shall recline his head?
To wrath immortal, fiercest tortures ty'd;
Was it for this the Son, the Saviour dy'd?
What need of final judgment's awful hour,
If instant flames the parted soul devour?
If, through cold realms of ever-during frost,
Through ever-kindling fires, the soul is lost!
Seiz'd by due penance, when redeem'd by death,
Dark dæmons brooding o'er the gasping breath,
The gasping breath, that seeks some dismal shore,
Where the red deluge forms a mingled roar
Of wretches, to immortal gibbets chain'd,
By stars oppress'd, or whirlwind force sustain'd,
Hurl'd to and fro, the gibe of yelling sprites,
Through days uncheerful, and infernal nights!
To think Almighty, spotless, meek, refin'd,
Mid burning gulphs prepares that gloomy bed,
Where the tir'd pilgrim shall recline his head?
To wrath immortal, fiercest tortures ty'd;
Was it for this the Son, the Saviour dy'd?
What need of final judgment's awful hour,
If instant flames the parted soul devour?
If, through cold realms of ever-during frost,
Through ever-kindling fires, the soul is lost!
Seiz'd by due penance, when redeem'd by death,
Dark dæmons brooding o'er the gasping breath,
The gasping breath, that seeks some dismal shore,
Where the red deluge forms a mingled roar
Of wretches, to immortal gibbets chain'd,
By stars oppress'd, or whirlwind force sustain'd,
Hurl'd to and fro, the gibe of yelling sprites,
Through days uncheerful, and infernal nights!
The Harp of Erin | ||