 | Poems (1791) |  |
53
HYMN TO THE SUPREME BEING,
ON Recovery from a dangerous Fit of Illness.
By CHRISTOPHER SMART, M. A.
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To DOCTOR JAMES.
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I
When Israel's ruler on the royal bedIn anguish and in perturbation lay,
The down reliev'd not his anointed head,
And rest gave place to horror and dismay.
Fast flow'd the tears, high heav'd each gasping sigh
When God's own prophet thunder'd—Monarch, thou must die.
II
And must I go, th'illustrious mourner cry'd,I who have serv'd thee still in faith and truth,
Whose snow-white conscience no foul crime has died
From youth to manhood, infancy to youth,
Like David, who have still rever'd thy word
The sovereign of myself and servant of the Lord!
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III
The judge Almighty heard his suppliant's moan,Repeal'd his sentence, and his health restor'd;
The beams of mercy on his temples shone,
Shot from that heaven to which his sighs had soar'd;
The sun retreated at his maker's nod
And miracles confirm the genuine work of God.
IV
But, O immortals! What had I to pleadWhen death stood o'er me with his threat'ning lance,
When reason left me in the time of need,
And sense was lost in terror or in trance,
My sinking soul was with my blood inflam'd,
And the celestial image sunk, defac'd and maim'd,
V
I sent back memory, in heedful guise,To search the records of preceding years;
Home, like the raven to the ark, she flies,
Croaking bad tidings to my trembling ears.
O sun, again that thy retreat was made,
And threw my follies back into the friendly shade!
VI
But who are they, that bid affliction cease!—Redemption and forgiveness, heavenly sounds!
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Behold the balm that heals the gaping wounds—
Vengeance divine's by penitence supprest—
She struggles with the angel, conquers, and is blest.
VII
Yet hold, presumption, nor too fondly climb,And thou too hold, O horrible despair!
In man humility's alone sublime,
Who diffidently hopes he's Christ's own care—
O all-sufficient Lamb! in death's dread hour
Thy merits who shall slight, or who can doubt thy power?
VIII
But soul-rejoicing health again returns,The blood meanders gentle in each vein,
The lamp of life renew'd with vigour burns,
And exil'd reason takes her seat again—
Brisk leaps the heart, the mind's at large once more,
To love, to praise, to bless, to wonder and adore.
IX
The virtuous partner of my nuptial bands,Appear'd a widow to my frantic sight;
My little prattlers lifting up their hands,
Beckon me back to them, to life, and light;
I come, ye spotless sweets! I come again,
Nor have your tears been shed, nor have ye knelt in vain.
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X
All glory to th'eternal, to th'immense,All glory to th'omniscient and good,
Whose power's uncircumscrib'd, whose love's intense;
But yet whose justice ne'er could be withstood.
Except thro' him—thro' him, who stands alone,
Of worth, of weight allow'd for all Mankind t'atone!
XI
He rais'd the lame, the lepers he made whole,He fix'd the palsied nerves of weak decay,
He drove out Satan from the tortur'd soul,
And to the blind gave or restor'd the day,—
Nay more,—far more unequal'd pangs sustain'd,
Till his lost fallen flock his taintless blood regain'd.
XII
My feeble feet refus'd my body's weight,Nor wou'd my eyes admit the glorious light,
My nerves convuls'd shook fearful of their fate,
My mind lay open to the powers of night.
He pitying did a second birth bestow
A birth of joy—not like the first of tears and woe.
XIII
Ye strengthen'd feet, forth to his altar move;Quicken, ye new-strung nerves, th'enraptur'd lyre;
Ye heav'n-directed eyes, o'erflow with love;
Glow, glow, my soul, with pure seraphic sire;
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But to his endless glory work, conceive, and speak.
XIV
O! penitence, to virtue near allied,Thou can'st new joys e'en to the blest impart;
The list'ning angels lay their harps aside
To hear the musick of thy contrite heart;
And heav'n itself wears a more radiant face,
When charity presents thee to the throne of grace.
XV
Chief of metallic forms is regal gold;Of elements, the limpid fount that flows;
Give me 'mongst gems the brilliant to behold;
O'er Flora's flock imperial is the rose:
Above all birds the sov'reign eagle soars;
And monarch of the field the lordly lion roars.
XVI
What can with great Leviathan compare,Who takes his pastime in the mighty main?
What, like the Sun, shines thro' the realms of air,
And gilds and glorifies th'ethereal plain—
Yet what are these to man, who bears the sway;
For all was made for him—to serve and to obey.
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XVII
Thus in high heaven charity is great,Faith, hope, devotion hold a lower place;
On her the cherubs and the seraphs wait,
Her, every virtue courts, and every grace;
See! on the right, close by th'Almighty's throne,
In him she shines confest, who came to make her known.
XVIII
Deep-rooted in my heart then let her grow,That for the past the future may atone;
That I may act what thou hast giv'n to know,
That I may live for thee and thee alone,
And justify those sweetest words from heav'n,
“That he shall love thee most to whom thou'st most forgiven.
| Poems (1791) | |