Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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The Rich Man's Sabbath.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
The Rich Man's Sabbath.
“Alas! that man hath so profaned
The sacred day by heaven ordain'd!”
The sacred day by heaven ordain'd!”
The venal bard, who hangs upon the great
For patronage to aid a hapless muse,
Must squallid vice on virtue's throne instate,
And screen their impious deeds with shades profuse;
But me no servile mercenary views
Inspire, to mount, with Pegasian wing,
Gilding with varnish-wit the nauseous stews:
I ask no grace of noble peer or king;
Then 'wake, unfavour'd muse—the Rich Man's Sabbath sing.
For patronage to aid a hapless muse,
Must squallid vice on virtue's throne instate,
And screen their impious deeds with shades profuse;
But me no servile mercenary views
Inspire, to mount, with Pegasian wing,
Gilding with varnish-wit the nauseous stews:
I ask no grace of noble peer or king;
Then 'wake, unfavour'd muse—the Rich Man's Sabbath sing.
Who has the bold effrontery to say
That Popish despotism in Britain reigns?
When her obscurest subject may pourtray
The sacrilegious conduct of her thanes?
Woe to the land that God's own day profanes!
For her Destruction's furbish'd sword doth gleam;
For this did Judah's children doleful strains
Pour forth, while captives by Euphrates' stream,
And pine “in servile chains,” uncheer'd by hope's fair beam.
That Popish despotism in Britain reigns?
When her obscurest subject may pourtray
The sacrilegious conduct of her thanes?
Woe to the land that God's own day profanes!
For her Destruction's furbish'd sword doth gleam;
For this did Judah's children doleful strains
Pour forth, while captives by Euphrates' stream,
And pine “in servile chains,” uncheer'd by hope's fair beam.
The bells toll twelve: the theatre is shut,
And mirthful crowds now from the farce home hie;
But, 'mong these sons of pleasure, there is not
One soul now thinking of the misery
Awaiting vice in dread eternity,
When life's grand drama's o'er, and every soul
Stands naked at the bar of Deity!
Ah, pois'nous pleasure! which infects the bowl
Where lurks deception sly, and lords without control!
And mirthful crowds now from the farce home hie;
But, 'mong these sons of pleasure, there is not
One soul now thinking of the misery
Awaiting vice in dread eternity,
When life's grand drama's o'er, and every soul
Stands naked at the bar of Deity!
Ah, pois'nous pleasure! which infects the bowl
Where lurks deception sly, and lords without control!
210
Sad, sad! such prelude to the day of rest!
To store the brain with such fantastic toys
Ferments the soul with an unhallow'd yeast,
That prayer or praise the mental palate cloys.
Thus wealth, allured by such delusive joys,
Sinks down to sleep upon his downy bed;
But direful dreaming all his rest destroys:
He tosses to and fro till night be fled,
And Sol o'ertop the hills, gilding the clouds with red.
To store the brain with such fantastic toys
Ferments the soul with an unhallow'd yeast,
That prayer or praise the mental palate cloys.
Thus wealth, allured by such delusive joys,
Sinks down to sleep upon his downy bed;
But direful dreaming all his rest destroys:
He tosses to and fro till night be fled,
And Sol o'ertop the hills, gilding the clouds with red.
Unwelcome shines the morn to him whose eye
Is unprepared to stand the silver light;
Unwelcome sounds the matin-bell hard bye,
That doth his dronish doseing fairly blight—
While he, perchance, on fancy's vagrant flight,
The nightmare vision sees of awful death,
And starts, with terror paralysed white,
Sore struggling, for a while, to draw his breath,
To hear the spectre groan—Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!
Is unprepared to stand the silver light;
Unwelcome sounds the matin-bell hard bye,
That doth his dronish doseing fairly blight—
While he, perchance, on fancy's vagrant flight,
The nightmare vision sees of awful death,
And starts, with terror paralysed white,
Sore struggling, for a while, to draw his breath,
To hear the spectre groan—Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!
Oh how unlike the Sabbath morn of him
Whom calm sobriety doth daily guide;
Whose mind for duty ne'er is out of trim,
Nor e'er for sport religion lays aside!
A stranger quite to all the pomp of pride,
He treads humility's sequester'd road;
He dares not, cannot anything deride
That bears the sanction of the word of God:
He counts this world a tent, and not his fix'd abode.
Whom calm sobriety doth daily guide;
Whose mind for duty ne'er is out of trim,
Nor e'er for sport religion lays aside!
A stranger quite to all the pomp of pride,
He treads humility's sequester'd road;
He dares not, cannot anything deride
That bears the sanction of the word of God:
He counts this world a tent, and not his fix'd abode.
But should no theatre or masquerade
Intrude upon the Rich Man's Sabbath morn,
What hallow'd preparations are display'd
That mark a soul to heavenly pleasures born?
Say, does the sound of praise his house adorn?
Or bends the knee in penitential prayer?
Or does his brow treat scandal's tale with scorn?
Or dares he trust in God to slake his care?
Or list the orphan's wail, or widow's burden share?
Intrude upon the Rich Man's Sabbath morn,
What hallow'd preparations are display'd
That mark a soul to heavenly pleasures born?
Say, does the sound of praise his house adorn?
Or bends the knee in penitential prayer?
Or does his brow treat scandal's tale with scorn?
Or dares he trust in God to slake his care?
Or list the orphan's wail, or widow's burden share?
His actions best can render the response:
The tree we judge just as we find its fruit;
Be 't sweet or bitter, we decide at once
What is the nature of both branch and root.
All morn throughout is heard th' incessant bruit
Of week-day talk and culinary toil,
The menials' laugh, and clamorous dispute
'Bout dresses, sweethearts, and such topics vile,
Unmeet for holy morn—wherewith they time beguile.
The tree we judge just as we find its fruit;
Be 't sweet or bitter, we decide at once
What is the nature of both branch and root.
All morn throughout is heard th' incessant bruit
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The menials' laugh, and clamorous dispute
'Bout dresses, sweethearts, and such topics vile,
Unmeet for holy morn—wherewith they time beguile.
No check receive these sons and daughters rude
From master or from mistress; who likewise,
In their own way, as far aloof from good,
The duties of the Sabbath day despise:
As far their conduct from religion flies;
As low their converse, only more polite;
As heedless to obey the gospel ties;
As prone the good man's piety to slight;
And every way as far from duty's path upright.
From master or from mistress; who likewise,
In their own way, as far aloof from good,
The duties of the Sabbath day despise:
As far their conduct from religion flies;
As low their converse, only more polite;
As heedless to obey the gospel ties;
As prone the good man's piety to slight;
And every way as far from duty's path upright.
But here the close analogy must end:
Mammon his ne plus ultra fixes sure;
The slavish servant must his toil attend,
Or page behind his lord, with air demure;
While he, a name and notice to secure,
Rolls off to church, with family elate,
Nor ever fails most copiously to pour
The minted metal in the clanging plate,
Which gains the obsequious bow of wardens at the gate.
Mammon his ne plus ultra fixes sure;
The slavish servant must his toil attend,
Or page behind his lord, with air demure;
While he, a name and notice to secure,
Rolls off to church, with family elate,
Nor ever fails most copiously to pour
The minted metal in the clanging plate,
Which gains the obsequious bow of wardens at the gate.
Oh cursed leaven of the Pharisees,
Which penetrates the heart with snaky wiles,
And taints the soul with ruinous disease,
And cheats the world with fair external smiles!
Ah me! what crowds the demon sly beguiles,
With glossing falsehood, into ruin's slough;
Then at the last their folly sore reviles,
When sunk in the abyss of endless woe;
And only then appears their worst though hidden foe.
Which penetrates the heart with snaky wiles,
And taints the soul with ruinous disease,
And cheats the world with fair external smiles!
Ah me! what crowds the demon sly beguiles,
With glossing falsehood, into ruin's slough;
Then at the last their folly sore reviles,
When sunk in the abyss of endless woe;
And only then appears their worst though hidden foe.
With pompous air he decks the gay front pew,
To catch the observation of the throng;
But ne'er in church his jolly face doth show
To join the worship's introductive song,
Or hear if prayers be orthodox or wrong:
'Twould seem too servile thus to honour God;
'Twere an intrusion rash upon bon ton,
Which would not miss just censure's smarting rod,
For bearing, in this age, religion's cumbrous load.
To catch the observation of the throng;
But ne'er in church his jolly face doth show
To join the worship's introductive song,
Or hear if prayers be orthodox or wrong:
'Twould seem too servile thus to honour God;
'Twere an intrusion rash upon bon ton,
Which would not miss just censure's smarting rod,
For bearing, in this age, religion's cumbrous load.
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What charity can judge his heart sincere,
Although he sit with solemn air, demure?
Alas! his soul religion comes not near,
But wanders o'er the fields of sense impure:
Here Satan spreads his sacrilegious lure
To wile his thoughtless mind from peace astray;
Till, tangled in his silken gin secure,
The hapless victim deem the hallow'd day
The most obstructive pest that lies in pleasure's way.
Although he sit with solemn air, demure?
Alas! his soul religion comes not near,
But wanders o'er the fields of sense impure:
Here Satan spreads his sacrilegious lure
To wile his thoughtless mind from peace astray;
Till, tangled in his silken gin secure,
The hapless victim deem the hallow'd day
The most obstructive pest that lies in pleasure's way.
Then roll the preacher's periods dully on,
Like plaintive murmur of the distant stream;
Meanwhile the pompous hearer's mind is gone
Far out of reach, and traffic is the theme:
Or, ruminating on some sensual dream,
The pleasing phantom lulls him o'er asleep:
Thus, on his callous mind, no dazzling gleam
Of sharp conviction's sword can make him weep,
Of carnal pleasure's cup his soul hath drunk so deep.
Like plaintive murmur of the distant stream;
Meanwhile the pompous hearer's mind is gone
Far out of reach, and traffic is the theme:
Or, ruminating on some sensual dream,
The pleasing phantom lulls him o'er asleep:
Thus, on his callous mind, no dazzling gleam
Of sharp conviction's sword can make him weep,
Of carnal pleasure's cup his soul hath drunk so deep.
What call ye this, ye theologians? tell
If 'tis not warfare 'gainst the Holy Spirit?
And what, but the profoundest gulf of hell,
Can such a soul at last think to inherit?
The torment due, what sin-steel'd mind can bear it?
Seal'd by that Word which shall for aye abide:
Alas! while doom'd to suffer for demerit,
'Twill wish its exit lay in suicide,
And 'neath the pond'rous hills from God's ire seek to hide.
If 'tis not warfare 'gainst the Holy Spirit?
And what, but the profoundest gulf of hell,
Can such a soul at last think to inherit?
The torment due, what sin-steel'd mind can bear it?
Seal'd by that Word which shall for aye abide:
Alas! while doom'd to suffer for demerit,
'Twill wish its exit lay in suicide,
And 'neath the pond'rous hills from God's ire seek to hide.
“Avaunt! ye dull suggestions of the brain,
That sour life's cup!” the rich man inly cries;
Yawns, rubs his eyes, and looks his watch again,
And every art to murder time he tries:
The sermon ended, joy illumes his eyes;
Work more congenial soon his senses greets;
The well-cull'd dinner party, rich and wise,
Concentre from their several retreats,
To exile sober thought with bounteous nature's sweets.
That sour life's cup!” the rich man inly cries;
Yawns, rubs his eyes, and looks his watch again,
And every art to murder time he tries:
The sermon ended, joy illumes his eyes;
Work more congenial soon his senses greets;
The well-cull'd dinner party, rich and wise,
Concentre from their several retreats,
To exile sober thought with bounteous nature's sweets.
Eigh! what a blithe suffusion warms the heart,
Expands the mind, and animates the frame!
Conviviality can charms impart
For which dry language hath not found a name:
The heaped board vends no sensations tame,
But greets the tingling senses with delight;
While wine the jocund fancy doth inflame,
And wit bursts forth, in corruscations bright,
To gild the solemn lour that dulls the Sabbath night.
Expands the mind, and animates the frame!
Conviviality can charms impart
For which dry language hath not found a name:
The heaped board vends no sensations tame,
213
While wine the jocund fancy doth inflame,
And wit bursts forth, in corruscations bright,
To gild the solemn lour that dulls the Sabbath night.
But should Episcopalian customs loose
Have form'd his manners southward of the Tweed,
The hallow'd day meets more avow'd abuse,
Approaching nearer Rome's infernal creed:
'Twere then no marvel though he forth should lead
The yelling kennel 'mong the woods and rocks,
And thus profane Jehovah's gracious meed
By clam'rous pursuit of the hare or fox:
Such sacrilegious work heaven's Legislator mocks!
Have form'd his manners southward of the Tweed,
The hallow'd day meets more avow'd abuse,
Approaching nearer Rome's infernal creed:
'Twere then no marvel though he forth should lead
The yelling kennel 'mong the woods and rocks,
And thus profane Jehovah's gracious meed
By clam'rous pursuit of the hare or fox:
Such sacrilegious work heaven's Legislator mocks!
When night's dark veil o'er hill and dale is spread,
And home he gallops from his rural sport,
To banish dreary slumbers from his head,
The fiddle, haply, is his next resort;
Or cards, accursed, time's burden may support,
While wife and children in the pastime join:
With all the modish sweetness of the court
On sin's soft couch they heedlessly recline,
Spurning, 'mid clearest light, God's overture divine.
And home he gallops from his rural sport,
To banish dreary slumbers from his head,
The fiddle, haply, is his next resort;
Or cards, accursed, time's burden may support,
While wife and children in the pastime join:
With all the modish sweetness of the court
On sin's soft couch they heedlessly recline,
Spurning, 'mid clearest light, God's overture divine.
Thus tort'ring time is murder'd, till the call
Of Epicurus' supper soon produce;
Afresh boon joy pervades the festive hall,
Roused by the fragrance of a roasted goose
Or turkey—better far than bitter grouse
For satiating the keen edge of appetite—
With store of spirits, and the grape's sweet juice,
That on the palate tell with true delight,
To cheer the soul if sad, and fancy to excite.
Of Epicurus' supper soon produce;
Afresh boon joy pervades the festive hall,
Roused by the fragrance of a roasted goose
Or turkey—better far than bitter grouse
For satiating the keen edge of appetite—
With store of spirits, and the grape's sweet juice,
That on the palate tell with true delight,
To cheer the soul if sad, and fancy to excite.
Jejunely trolls the dull routine of talk,
In which devotion dares not show her face;
Yet in society's sublimest walk
These sentimentalists hold highest place;
Too proud to pray for God's redeeming grace,
Or render thanks for temp'ral wants supplied,
Where can we aught like true religion trace,
That may with love's fair robe defection hide,
Or show that in their souls doth heavenly grace reside?
In which devotion dares not show her face;
Yet in society's sublimest walk
These sentimentalists hold highest place;
Too proud to pray for God's redeeming grace,
Or render thanks for temp'ral wants supplied,
Where can we aught like true religion trace,
That may with love's fair robe defection hide,
Or show that in their souls doth heavenly grace reside?
214
Poor preparation for the couch of rest
A day thus spent in sense's regions rude,
In broad defiance of that high behest
Promulged on Sinai for man's greatest good!
Alas! the soul that thus loathes heavenly food
At last must starve in want's profoundest woe,
When the vain call of keen solicitude
Can never melt Jehovah, now its foe,
To quench the flames intense, that sting with endless throe.
A day thus spent in sense's regions rude,
In broad defiance of that high behest
Promulged on Sinai for man's greatest good!
Alas! the soul that thus loathes heavenly food
At last must starve in want's profoundest woe,
When the vain call of keen solicitude
Can never melt Jehovah, now its foe,
To quench the flames intense, that sting with endless throe.
Return, while mercy calls, ye rich, ye great!
The work requires your most energic power;
“The way is narrow, and the gate is strait,”
And countless snares beset you every hour:
But not on you alone shall vengeance shower
His coals of juniper, of awful sting;
For dread Omnipotence will all devour
Who seek not shelter 'neath Immanuel's wing:
Then kneel both rich and poor to heaven's triumphant King!
The work requires your most energic power;
“The way is narrow, and the gate is strait,”
And countless snares beset you every hour:
But not on you alone shall vengeance shower
His coals of juniper, of awful sting;
For dread Omnipotence will all devour
Who seek not shelter 'neath Immanuel's wing:
Then kneel both rich and poor to heaven's triumphant King!
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |