A paraphrase upon the canticles and some select hymns of the New and Old Testament, with other occasional compositions in English verse. By Samuel Woodford |
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The PASSION.
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 | A paraphrase upon the canticles |  |
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The PASSION.
An Ode.
I.
Twice sixteen Years have almost o're Thee past,Twice sixteen more Thou mayst as fondly waste,
In expectation, Sylvius, as thou hast
The swift-wing'd Years, which in their Passage scap'd thee last.
The Kalendar is searcht, and all in vain
Wouldst Thou have this Day return
To the same Point, as when in 'it Thou wert Born,
But 'twill not be this Age, if it e're come again.
Enough 'tis that Thou once didst see
The great Conjunction:
Wait not o're long, for what may be
Too late for Thee,
And is sufficient of it self alone,
Without that Circumstance to fill Thy Song.
For grant it now what could to Thee be' apply'd
But that thy Birth fell out the Night thy Saviour Di'd.
II.
Rise then my Muse, but from a nobler Ground,And sing in Numbers mournful as the Day,
Of Natures fright, and disarray,
Which did Philosophy confound,
And scattered dismal Horrours all around.
When Heaven, and Earth, and Hell partook
In the Darkness, and the Night,
Which like a Sea o'reflow'd the plains of Light,
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Unlike to that, which once in Egypt raign'd,
When solid Night did Rhamases invest,
But Goshen, of the Sun possest,
Over the Gleam a Prospect gain'd,
And uninvellopt saw how far the Heav'ns were stain'd.
Nor was it to the Antipodes
The Day had hastned his access;
For they unsensible of Light,
Lay buried all the while in Night,
And without Miracle could not behold it bright.
Unless Thou add'st the Prodigie to raise,
(And which none else but Thou, O Muse, dares say)
Th' Antipodes at Midnight rose to gaze,
And Night Jerusalem less admir'd, than they the Day.
III.
A thought too wild this, and extravagant,And which does all but its own airy basis want:
Say rather that the Pangs and Agonies
Of a new, and better World,
Which was thence to take its rise,
Were thus conceal'd from Mortal Eyes,
And Darkness, as at first, o're all th' Expansion hurld.
God's sacred Kingdom was that Birth,
The same New Heaven, and new Earth,
Which the belov'd Disciple saw,
In all its Beauties, as it did appear,
And to provoke Adventurers there,
A Chart thereof by Vision did exactly draw.
For on the Cross as our great Saviour hung,
And just Expiring, bow'd his Conquering Head,
From the black Skies bright beams like Lightning sprung
But as the Day, continued long,
Chasing wing'd Darkness, which before them fled.
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By the commanding Word, which He
To Nothing, and to Chaos sed,
Making when He spake only, “Let there be,
By a no less Word this too was done,
Created by that Voice, which cry'd, “Tis Finished.
IV.
'Tis Finished the Mighty Victor cry'd,All reaking in Triumphal Gore,
Which his own Wounds, not Enemies Necks supply'd;
For tho with them He Skirmisht had before,
And oft rebated had their Power,
He could not throughly for us Conquer, till He Di'd.
Alone He did the Wine-press tread,
Of his Just Father's Wrath, alone,
Israels to raise, stoopt his own Head,
And to assist Him was there none.
So far from that, that ith' pursuit
Of Satan, Sin, and Death, when He cry'd out,
With fainting Groans, I Thirst,
His Patience some, and some his Conquest Curst,
And Gall and Vinacre of the bitter Tree, was all the Fruit.
Till having tasted of the Brook ith' way,
Anew He follow'd, till He gain'd the Day;
And to compleat his Victory,
Got thence more Aids, and strength enough to Die.
V.
Blest Saviour, who but Thou couldst Live so long,And in one Soul so many Deaths endure,
And different all, and all their Pains so strong,
That their rehearsal does fresh Griefs ensure,
And again pierce those Hearts Thou bledst to Cure?
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Gethsemane, for ease design'd,
And safe retirements of a troubled Mind,
Purging thence all th' effects of Sin,
Which still, tho hid, remaind behind,
The dregs of what on Man in Paradise brake in.
Fatal, but happy Place that, where did grow
Midst whole Woods, no less beauteous, but one Tree,
That even, by Wilfulness alone, could be
The occasion of our Misery;
But in all else, more secret Snares than we
Till by them Caught, shall ever know!
From this to clear it, and restore
To th' Garden, what it had before,
And perfect Innocence add, one Beauty more;
As there fall'n Man his Life first forfeited,
There, to Redeem him, first the Blood of God was shed.
VI.
How grievous were his Pains there, and how great?Burning, tho in the frosty shades of Night:
Shivering with Cold, but in a Bloody Sweat;
And all dissolv'd, at his approaching Passions Sight?
Thrice did He his Disciples leave,
And thrice to his Great Father pray'd,
Thrice to himself He answer made,
And by an Angel did support receive;
But, (O!) th' Assaults that were within,
Compar'd with which his Bodies Flame,
Was temperate heat, and scarce deserv'd the Name,
When in his Soul the Burning did begin,
And Hell to 'encrease the Fire, did Mines of Brimstone bring!
A thousand Fiends about him flew,
And Coals, and bailful Firebrand; threw,
That seiz'd at length the noblest Part,
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And unconsum'd, did only leave the Heart.
VII.
The Heart did unconsum'd remain,By the Arch-Fiend
With its own Grief to burst design'd,
When in the Judgment Hall again,
He should the Charge renew, but all in vain.
Thither betray'd by 'a Kiss the Traytors bring,
With Fetters bound, Heav'ns Sacred King;
Where being Cited, and Blasphem'd,
Flouted, Scourg'd, Spat upon,
Derided, and Contemn'd,
By them Revil'd, deny'd by 'His own,
A Reed in 'his Hand, his Head with Thorns they Crown,
And lead to Golgotha their God, whom they 'had Condemn'd:
VIII.
Follow, Muse, if thou hast the heart, and seeWhat other Torments they prepare;
I know the utmost of their Cruelty,
And from thy Mouth had rather hear,
The sad Report, than a Spectator be.
Yet, that thou mayst not stand thy self surpriz'd,
Stript off his Clothes, in Nakedness disguiz'd,
To th' Cross they'll nail his Hands, 'tis said,
And bore with Nails his tender Feet;
Then, all his Sufferings to upbraid,
“Cry, If Thou art the Son of God, let's see't,
“Now from the Tree triumphantly come down,
“Or reign thence, like Thy self alone,
“Or any other Wonder show,
“Whereby Thy De'ity may be known,
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As if there greater Miracle could be,
Than all that Patience, which they do, but will not see.
IX.
Nor is this all, but when He's Dead,His Side they'll open with a Spear;
Approach the Wound, and look what Blood is shed,
For it Mysterious will appear,
And be another Argument for thee next Year!
A better Spring will thence arise,
Than Helicon, so Fam'd of old,
There bath thy self, if thou art wise,
Nor fear in those chast Streams to be too bold.
But see, be sure too long thou dost not stay,
For all the while Thou art away,
Tears only from these Eyes will flow,
And in my Fancy I shall double o're
All that I have told thee now before,
And all that thou return'd will'st tell again, and more,
Beside my Verse will fetter'd be, and slow,
And want both Wings to flie, and Feet to go.
10. Martii 1667–8.
| A paraphrase upon the canticles | |