University of Virginia Library

The Story of St. Paul and Barnabas at Lystra.

How soon the various Many change their Mind,
As Waves unstable, fickle as the Wind?
Those they condemn'd as impious just before,
As Gods in Humane Shape they now adore.

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453

So was the Saviour us'd, one Day the Sky
Their loud Hosannahs fill, the next they cry
Seize Him, the vile Blasphemer crucify!
They call'd th' Apostles Mercury and Jove,
Arriv'd on Earth from their blest Seats above;
To these suppos'd Celestial Strangers they
Honours Divine and Adoration pay.

Mark with Attention how the zealous Throng,
Inspir'd with wild Devotion, shove along
Their Ox, with flow'ry Superstition crown'd,
You'll think they shout, and that you hear the Sound.
With impious Clamours to the Altar they
The Beast, less stupid than themselves, convey.
The brawny Priest do's by the Victim stand,
His fatal Ax uplifted in his Hand.
Observe the sleek and pamper'd Glutton, see
His Skin, that shines with holy Luxury.
See how th' Apostles, fir'd with Zeal divine,
Run in to stop th' Idolatrous Design.

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454

What strong Confusion, what a mighty Dread
Of undue Worship, in their Looks are read?
What great Disorder, how disturb'd an Air,
What just Abhorrence do their Faces wear?
Their Anger, how unfeign'd? their Trouble, how sincere?
None Honour e'er pursu'd with greater Zeal,
Than these blest Men, in shunning it, reveal.
So high their swelling Tides of Passion rise,
Such holy Fury flashes in their Eyes,
They so detest the barb'rous Crowd's Intent,
And show such Care their Purpose to prevent,
That Lookers-on have oft a doubtful Strife,
If 'tis the Picture, or the the real Life.

One would expect their Lips should Silence break;
But, if they can't, their Looks and Gestures speak,
By which expressive Language they reveal
What inwardly they think, as well as feel.
If they had Voice, you would such Accents hear,
Mistaken Men, your mad Design forbear;

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455

To us your Adoration is not due,
We are but Men, as mortal Men, as you.
We can of no Divine Extraction boast,
We are but breathing Clay, and mould'ring Dust;
Weak Flesh and Blood like you, like your's our Frame
Is brittle, and our Passions are the same.
The Power, by which this Miracle is done,
We grant Divine, but know, 'tis not our own.
We give, blest Jesus, in Thy Pow'rful Name,
Ease to the Sick, and Vigour to the Lame.
The Worship, you intend us, we abhor,
You must the God, that made the World, adore.
If we the Lame restore, and cure the Blind,
'Tis to enlighten, and confirm the Mind.
Our mighty Works, that so much Wonder move,
Show that we bring our Doctrine from above,
And these Credentials our Commission prove.