 | The Works of Mr. Henry Needler |  |
On the Prodigies, which attended our Blessed Saviour's Crucifixion.
Aspice convexo nutantem pondere mundum,
Terrasque, tractusque maris, cœlumque profundum.
Virg.
Terrasque, tractusque maris, cœlumque profundum.
Virg.
See! how the Globe heaves with convulsive Throes,
Whilst gaping Sepulchres their Wombs disclose.
From their sound Sleep the Rising Dead awake,
And the dark Mansions of the Grave forsake;
Gaz'd at, in Publick Streets they walk along,
And mix promiscuous with th' astonish'd Throng.
Whilst gaping Sepulchres their Wombs disclose.
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And the dark Mansions of the Grave forsake;
Gaz'd at, in Publick Streets they walk along,
And mix promiscuous with th' astonish'd Throng.
Well may'st Thou quake, O Earth! and Agonize,
And with thy Dying Maker Sympathize;
For Never, since his first Omnific Call
Produce'd from Nothing thy Capacious Ball;
Since Rolling Time began his Infant Age,
So dire a Scene was acted on thy Stage!
Well may'st Thou tremble, and thy Ruin fear,
When Him, whose Pow'r upholds thy pond'rous Sphere,
(Horrid, Amazing View!) Thou see'st expire,
Beneath the Weightier Load of his Great Father's Ire!
And with thy Dying Maker Sympathize;
For Never, since his first Omnific Call
Produce'd from Nothing thy Capacious Ball;
Since Rolling Time began his Infant Age,
So dire a Scene was acted on thy Stage!
Well may'st Thou tremble, and thy Ruin fear,
When Him, whose Pow'r upholds thy pond'rous Sphere,
(Horrid, Amazing View!) Thou see'st expire,
Beneath the Weightier Load of his Great Father's Ire!
The sickly Sun, grown Dim with pale Affright,
Refuses to dispense his wonted Light,
And threatens to the World an Everlasting Night!
No Beam of Glory now his Head adorns,
In sable Shades his Maker's Death he mourns;
To such a Deed, he dares not lend a Ray,
But turns, Aghast, his lucid Eye away.
This strange Eclipse, against Heav'n's sacred Laws,
Astronomers admire, but little dream the Cause.
Refuses to dispense his wonted Light,
And threatens to the World an Everlasting Night!
No Beam of Glory now his Head adorns,
In sable Shades his Maker's Death he mourns;
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But turns, Aghast, his lucid Eye away.
This strange Eclipse, against Heav'n's sacred Laws,
Astronomers admire, but little dream the Cause.
Nature in gloomy Weeds her self arrays,
And Homage due, to her Great Author pays.
His Fall, she fears, portends her Obsequies,
And shudders with Chill Horror, when he dies.
O Nature! Lay thy Causeless Fears aside;
To Save, and not Destroy the World, He di'd!
And Homage due, to her Great Author pays.
His Fall, she fears, portends her Obsequies,
And shudders with Chill Horror, when he dies.
O Nature! Lay thy Causeless Fears aside;
To Save, and not Destroy the World, He di'd!
And when the Hour, prefix'd by Fate, shall come,
At which Thou must receive thy Final Doom;
When wasteful Flames thy Massy Spheres shall burn,
And to rude Chaos All again return;
As Chymists purge by Fire the Bullion Oar,
He'll raise thy ruin'd Frame, more Beauteous than before.
At which Thou must receive thy Final Doom;
When wasteful Flames thy Massy Spheres shall burn,
And to rude Chaos All again return;
As Chymists purge by Fire the Bullion Oar,
He'll raise thy ruin'd Frame, more Beauteous than before.
| The Works of Mr. Henry Needler | |