The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ An Heroic Poem: Dedicated to Her Most Sacred Majesty. In Ten Books. Attempted by Samuel Wesley ... Each Book illustrated by necessary Notes, explaining all the more difficult Matters in the whole History: Also a Prefatory Discourse concerning Heroic Poetry. With Sixty Copper-Plates |
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
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| X. |
 | The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ |  |
Thus Hymning, by degrees they leave our sight
And hitherward direct their parting Light.
Here, Father, we arriv'd—
On that bright Babe desire to feast our Eyes,
The subject of so many prophesies!
They said, to their request consent I gave
And introduc'd 'em to the well known Cave;
With greedy Eyes when his lov'd Face they spy'd,
On his lov'd Face they gaz'd unsatisfi'd;
Sill more surpriz'd more miracles behold!
Each humble Straw indues the form of Gold.
Thro' the dark Cave they see new day arise,
Projected round from his illustrious Eyes;
These o'er the Gates their rustic Garlands hung,
These Flow'rs and Herbs around profusely flung;
And these the Child and these the Mother sung:
While others from the Rock live Hony bear,
Or fragrant Balms inestimable Tear:
Their humble presents paid, they part again,
And spred the joyful news o'er all the Plain.
And hitherward direct their parting Light.
Here, Father, we arriv'd—
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The subject of so many prophesies!
They said, to their request consent I gave
And introduc'd 'em to the well known Cave;
With greedy Eyes when his lov'd Face they spy'd,
On his lov'd Face they gaz'd unsatisfi'd;
Sill more surpriz'd more miracles behold!
Each humble Straw indues the form of Gold.
Thro' the dark Cave they see new day arise,
Projected round from his illustrious Eyes;
These o'er the Gates their rustic Garlands hung,
These Flow'rs and Herbs around profusely flung;
And these the Child and these the Mother sung:
While others from the Rock live Hony bear,
Or fragrant Balms inestimable Tear:
Their humble presents paid, they part again,
And spred the joyful news o'er all the Plain.
Sev'en times bright Hesper now had clos'd the Day,
As oft sweet Phosphor warn'd the Stars away:
The eighth glad morn arising, when we bear
The Holy Infant to the House of Pray'r;
Whence, as the Law directs, that mark he wore
On all our pious Fathers stampt before;
Inscrib'd in Blood upon his tender skin,
Altho' he knew no stain of guilt or sin,
And the next Moon elaps'd, as custom calls,
Agen we speed for antient Salems walls;
Our dear first born, so Holy rites require
To dedicate to his immortal Sire.
Nor sooner to the Temple Gates we came
But th' Incense with a clear and generous flame
Shot strait to Heav'n.—The pious Mother went
Her off'ring to his Father to present;
And her two Turtles, innocent as they,
Did near the Sacred Altar trembling lay:
But scarce the double Sacrifice was done,
To purge the Mother and present the Son;
When thro' the admiring Croud old Simeon came
Of noted Virtue and umblemisht Fame;
To whom when cold decrepid Age had spred
The Snow of fourscore Winters on his head,
As he one Evening in the Temple stay'd
And for sad Israel's wish'd redemption pray'd,
A Heav'nly Youth of those who waited there
Indues a thin-spun Robe of ambient Air
And bids the aged Father not despair,
For tho' too short his Thread of Life were spun
Too many precious Sands already run,
Him vainly threatning Death shou'd not surprize
Till the Messia blest his longing Eyes:
The same bright Form appear'd this happy day
As on his face in pray'r he prostrate lay;
And from his Closet beckon'd him away:
With Joy the good old man the signal takes,
And, all extatick, to the Temple makes:
In hast he chearful came, erect, alone,
His useless Crutches now aside were thrown:
Thro' all the crowd of Priests and suppliants press'd,
Then seiz'd the Child and laid him at his Breast;
With his dear burden to the Altar ran
And thus, with sacred rage inspir'd, began.
As oft sweet Phosphor warn'd the Stars away:
The eighth glad morn arising, when we bear
The Holy Infant to the House of Pray'r;
Whence, as the Law directs, that mark he wore
On all our pious Fathers stampt before;
Inscrib'd in Blood upon his tender skin,
Altho' he knew no stain of guilt or sin,
And the next Moon elaps'd, as custom calls,
Agen we speed for antient Salems walls;
Our dear first born, so Holy rites require
To dedicate to his immortal Sire.
Nor sooner to the Temple Gates we came
But th' Incense with a clear and generous flame
Shot strait to Heav'n.—The pious Mother went
Her off'ring to his Father to present;
And her two Turtles, innocent as they,
Did near the Sacred Altar trembling lay:
But scarce the double Sacrifice was done,
To purge the Mother and present the Son;
When thro' the admiring Croud old Simeon came
Of noted Virtue and umblemisht Fame;
To whom when cold decrepid Age had spred
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As he one Evening in the Temple stay'd
And for sad Israel's wish'd redemption pray'd,
A Heav'nly Youth of those who waited there
Indues a thin-spun Robe of ambient Air
And bids the aged Father not despair,
For tho' too short his Thread of Life were spun
Too many precious Sands already run,
Him vainly threatning Death shou'd not surprize
Till the Messia blest his longing Eyes:
The same bright Form appear'd this happy day
As on his face in pray'r he prostrate lay;
And from his Closet beckon'd him away:
With Joy the good old man the signal takes,
And, all extatick, to the Temple makes:
In hast he chearful came, erect, alone,
His useless Crutches now aside were thrown:
Thro' all the crowd of Priests and suppliants press'd,
Then seiz'd the Child and laid him at his Breast;
With his dear burden to the Altar ran
And thus, with sacred rage inspir'd, began.
| The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ | |