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 | The complete works, poetry and prose, of the Rev. Edward Young prefixed, a life of the author, by John Doran ... With eight illustrations on steel, and a portrait. In two volumes |  |
“There's nought,” thou say'st, “but one eternal flux
Of feeble essences, tumultuous driven
Through Time's rough billows into Night's abyss.”
Say, in this rapid tide of human ruin,
Is there no rock on which man's tossing thought
Can rest from terror, dare his fate survey,
And boldly think it something to be born?
Amid such hourly wrecks of being fair,
Is there no central, all-sustaining base,
All-realizing, all-connecting power,
Which, as it call'd forth all things, can recall,
And force Destruction to refund her spoil?
Command the Grave restore her taken prey?
Bid Death's dark vale its human harvest yield,
And Earth, and Ocean, pay their debt of man,
True to the grand deposit trusted there?
Is there no Potentate, whose out-stretch'd arm,
When ripening Time calls forth the' appointed hour,
Pluck'd from foul Devastation's famish'd maw,
Binds Present, Past, and Future to his throne?
His throne, how glorious, thus divinely graced,
By germinating beings clustering round!
A garland worthy the Divinity!
A throne, by Heaven's omnipotence in smiles,
Built (like a Pharos towering in the waves)
Amidst immense effusions of His love,
An ocean of communicated bliss!
Of feeble essences, tumultuous driven
138
Say, in this rapid tide of human ruin,
Is there no rock on which man's tossing thought
Can rest from terror, dare his fate survey,
And boldly think it something to be born?
Amid such hourly wrecks of being fair,
Is there no central, all-sustaining base,
All-realizing, all-connecting power,
Which, as it call'd forth all things, can recall,
And force Destruction to refund her spoil?
Command the Grave restore her taken prey?
Bid Death's dark vale its human harvest yield,
And Earth, and Ocean, pay their debt of man,
True to the grand deposit trusted there?
Is there no Potentate, whose out-stretch'd arm,
When ripening Time calls forth the' appointed hour,
Pluck'd from foul Devastation's famish'd maw,
Binds Present, Past, and Future to his throne?
His throne, how glorious, thus divinely graced,
By germinating beings clustering round!
A garland worthy the Divinity!
A throne, by Heaven's omnipotence in smiles,
Built (like a Pharos towering in the waves)
Amidst immense effusions of His love,
An ocean of communicated bliss!
| The complete works, poetry and prose, of the Rev. Edward Young prefixed, a life of the author, by John Doran ... With eight illustrations on steel, and a portrait. In two volumes | |