 | The Works of Mr. John Oldham |  |
34
A Sunday-Thought in Sickness.
45
And (lo!) an Angel-Post comes hast'ning down:
From Heav'n I see him cut the yielding Air;
So swift, he seems at once both there and here;
So quick, my sight in the pursuit was slow,
And Thought could scarce so soon the Journey go.
No angry Message in his Look appears,
His Face no signs of threatning Vengeance wears.
Comly his shape, of Heavenly Meen and Air,
Kinder than Smiles of beauteous Virgins are.
Such he was seen by the blest Maid of Old
When he th' Almighty Infant's Birth foretold.
A mighty Volume in one hand is born,
Whose open'd Leaves the other seems to turn:
Vast Annals of my Sins in Scarlet writ,
But now eras'd, blot out, and cancell'd quite.
46
Mortal, behold thy Crimes all pardon'd here!
Hail Sacred Envoy of th' Eternal King!
Welcom as the blest Tidings thou dost bring.
Welcom as Heav'n from whence thou cam'st but now,
Thus low to thy great God and mine I bow,
And might I here, O might I ever grow,
Fix'd an unmov'd and endless Monument
Of Gratitude to my Creator sent.
| The Works of Mr. John Oldham | |