The history of The Old Testament In verse With One Hundred and Eighty sculptures: In Two Volumes. Vol. I. From the Creation to the Revolt of the Ten Tribes from the House of David. Vol. II. From that Revolt to the End of the Prophets. Written by Samuel Wesley ... The Cuts done by J. Sturt |
 | I, II. |
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| XXX. |
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| LXX. |
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| LXXVII. |
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| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
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| LXXXVI. |
| LXXXVII. |
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| CXXXIX. |
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| CL. |
| CLI. |
| CLII. |
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| CLIV. |
| CLV. |
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| CLVII. |
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| CLIX. |
| CLX. |
| CLXI. |
| CLXII. |
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| CLXV. |
| CLXVI. |
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| CLXIX. |
| CLXX. |
| CLXXI. |
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| CLXXVII. |
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| CLXXIX. |
| CLXXX. |
| CLXXXI. |
| CLXXXII. |
| CLXXXIII. |
| CLXXXIV. |
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| CCX. |
| CCXI. |
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| CCXIV. |
| CCXV. |
| CCXVI. |
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| CCXVIII. |
| CCXIX. |
| CCXX. |
| CCXXI. |
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 | CCXXIII. |
| CCXXIV. |
| CCXXV. |
| CCXXVI. |
| CCXXVII. |
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| CCXXIX. |
| CCXXX. |
| CCXXXI. |
| CCXXXII. |
| CCXXXIII. |
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| CCXXXVII. |
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| CCL. |
| CCLI. |
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| CCLIV. |
| CCLV. |
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| CCLVII. |
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| CCLIX. |
| CCLX. |
| CCLXI. | CCLXI. NAHUM.
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| CCLXII. |
| CCLXIII. |
| CCLXIV. |
| CCLXV. |
| CCLXVI. |
| CCLXVII. |
 | The history of The Old Testament In verse |  |
CCLXI. NAHUM.
Proud
Nineveh's just Doom by Heav'n is seal'd,
By Heav'n to favour'd Nahum thus reveal'd:
By Heav'n to favour'd Nahum thus reveal'd:
The Lord is jealous; If his Anger rise,
Wo, wo to his unequal Enemies?
Yet slow to Wrath, unwillingly severe,
His Pow'r can reach, tho' long his Goodness spare.
Before his Face tempestuous Whirlwinds meet,
The Clouds like Dust flie swift beneath his Feet.
He dries the Seas, he dries fair Jordan's Bed,
Sweet Carmel languishes, and droops its Head,
And, whither Lebanon! are all thy Glories fled?
Tall Mountains shake, their mouldring Tops retire,
And run a dreadful Stream of liquid Fire.
Wo, wo to his unequal Enemies?
Yet slow to Wrath, unwillingly severe,
His Pow'r can reach, tho' long his Goodness spare.
Before his Face tempestuous Whirlwinds meet,
The Clouds like Dust flie swift beneath his Feet.
He dries the Seas, he dries fair Jordan's Bed,
Sweet Carmel languishes, and droops its Head,
And, whither Lebanon! are all thy Glories fled?
Tall Mountains shake, their mouldring Tops retire,
And run a dreadful Stream of liquid Fire.
Who can before his Indignation stand,
Or bear the Weight of his avenging Hand?
Yet Mild and Good! a Fortress to the Just,
He favours all who in his Promise trust;
But in a wrathful Deluge pours on those,
Whose desp'rate Madness dares his Strength oppose;
With utter Darkness over-whelms his Foes.
Or bear the Weight of his avenging Hand?
Yet Mild and Good! a Fortress to the Just,
He favours all who in his Promise trust;
639
Whose desp'rate Madness dares his Strength oppose;
With utter Darkness over-whelms his Foes.
Prepare, O Nineveh! with speed prepare!
Thy Passes guard, and meet the coming War!
Behold thy Streets with crowding Warriors spred,
Red are their Shields, their dreadful Arms are red:
Behold thy glitt'ring Chariots scowr along
On brazen Wheels, and jostle in the Throng;
Arm'd with keen Death, a dreadful-comly Sight,
Like flaming Torches seen thro' gloomy Night.
So roars the Thunder which vex'd Ether drives,
So Lightning flashes when the Clouds it rives.
Muster thy Strength in vain, thy Warriors call!
In vain they march to guard thy tott'ring Wall,
With luckless haste, they stumble and they fall.
The Rivers ample Gates are open flown,
The Street's a Pool, thy Palace over-thrown:
Proud Nineveh's no more, they run, they fly,
Her Tow'rs are won—stand! stand! in vain they cry,
The base and brave alike inglorious die.
How infinite the Spoil! what Sums untold!
What Mines of Silver, and what Loads of Gold!
How empty now, how waste her Streets appear!
Tremble the Knees, and melts the Heart for fear;
All Loins are pain'd, and every ghastly Face
The depth of Horror and Despair betrays.
No more is heard the kingly Lions roar,
His Whelps must range the Forest now no more:
No more he for his Lioness shall slay,
Or fill his Dens with Ravine and with Prey:
The Lion's Whelps shall by the Sword expire,
The Chariots all consum'd in Clouds of Smoak and Fire.
Thy Passes guard, and meet the coming War!
Behold thy Streets with crowding Warriors spred,
Red are their Shields, their dreadful Arms are red:
Behold thy glitt'ring Chariots scowr along
On brazen Wheels, and jostle in the Throng;
Arm'd with keen Death, a dreadful-comly Sight,
Like flaming Torches seen thro' gloomy Night.
640
So Lightning flashes when the Clouds it rives.
Muster thy Strength in vain, thy Warriors call!
In vain they march to guard thy tott'ring Wall,
With luckless haste, they stumble and they fall.
The Rivers ample Gates are open flown,
The Street's a Pool, thy Palace over-thrown:
Proud Nineveh's no more, they run, they fly,
Her Tow'rs are won—stand! stand! in vain they cry,
The base and brave alike inglorious die.
How infinite the Spoil! what Sums untold!
What Mines of Silver, and what Loads of Gold!
How empty now, how waste her Streets appear!
Tremble the Knees, and melts the Heart for fear;
All Loins are pain'd, and every ghastly Face
The depth of Horror and Despair betrays.
No more is heard the kingly Lions roar,
His Whelps must range the Forest now no more:
No more he for his Lioness shall slay,
Or fill his Dens with Ravine and with Prey:
The Lion's Whelps shall by the Sword expire,
The Chariots all consum'd in Clouds of Smoak and Fire.
| The history of The Old Testament In verse | |