The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ An Heroic Poem: Dedicated to Her Most Sacred Majesty. In Ten Books. Attempted by Samuel Wesley ... Each Book illustrated by necessary Notes, explaining all the more difficult Matters in the whole History: Also a Prefatory Discourse concerning Heroic Poetry. With Sixty Copper-Plates |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
 | The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ |  |
He said, when strait to bliss his soul retir'd,
And slumb'ring soft he with a smile expir'd.
And slumb'ring soft he with a smile expir'd.
New wonders still arise as these are past,
Like Waves, the first confounded in the last.
Each Sex, as well as Age, their Lord confess,
A Prophet first, and now a Prophetess.
Anna, a Matron Sage, and whilst a Wife
For spotless Faith renown'd, and holy Life;
Old Phanuels Heir, of Asher's fruitful Race
Fam'd in her Youth for matchless Mind and Face,
Sought by a hundred Woers, nor deny'd,
To bless the happiest by the name of Bride:
Seven years they liv'd and no Dissension knew;
Tho' One at first, yet still more one they grew:
Their Thoughts, their Wishes, nay their Souls the same,
In nought they differ'd but in Sex and Name:
So intimately close the knot was ty'd,
That Death it self cou'd hardly them divide:
And when th' untimely Grave had him receiv'd,
And her of more than her own Life bereav'd,
She wonder'd how, and scarce believ'd she liv'd;
All thoughts of any second Love defies,
And to all worldly Joy and Pleasure dies;
Within the Temple waiting the blest hour,
Which her might to her much-lov'd Lord restore:
Her earthly Frame by Fasts so far refin'd,
That little now was left but perfect mind:
Oft her pure Soul to Heav'n wou'd take its flight
Lost and absorpt in Glory infinite:
Retir'd as oft, no Look, no Thought abroad,
Nothing she knew besides her self and God;
Nay sometimes scarce distinct her self cou'd call;
Abstracted from her self, for God was all.
What darling Visions, not to be exprest,
Her constant fervent pure Devotions blest!
What Beatific Glories warm'd her Breast!
What crowds of beautious Seraphs left the Choir,
At once, to imitate her and admire!
What mystic Truths by them to her reveal'd,
To all, but them and Heav'n it self, conceal'd!
From these she learns what strikes weak Reason dumb,
What tries ev'n Faith, that God shou'd Man become:
She learn'd the time, the day, the hour precise,
When we approach'd to bring our Sacrifice:
What Joy, what Exultation she express'd,
And hail'd her Saviour at the Virgins breast?
Nor half content that him her self she h'd found;
How gladly spred she the glad News around
To all the Just, by her and Heav'n approv'd,
To all who a Redeemer wish'd and lov'd?
This much, tho' what remains did more surprize,
For Fame reports three Princes great and wise,
Were late arriv'd, from near the Suns uprise;
From the fair Fields of happy Araby,
Judea's strange expected Prince to see;
Conducted safely by a wondrous Star
Cross all those sandy Worlds, outstretching far
Thro' the wide Wilderness, until at last,
To Moab's pleasant Plains and Hills they past;
Near Edom's Mount to Jordan's doubtful Brim,
'Twixt Selah and the cloudy Abarim:
Crossing the Flood, as it by Gilgal falls,
They soon arriv'd at antient Salems Walls;
And boldly for the new born King enquire,
The hope of Isr'el, and the Worlds desire!
Proud Herod heard, and trembled at the news,
Whose heavy Tyranny the injur'd Jews
So long had sighing born; nor they alone,
His very Friends beneath his Axes groan,
With his own blood he dyes his slipp'ry Throne.
Not all his sordid Flatt'rers now avail'd;
Their Hearts, as well as their fierce Tyrants fail'd;
Tho' him so late they their Messia hail'd:
Howe'er that Savage Wolf the Fox indu'd,
Awkwardly pious seem'd, and strangely good:
The Sages to his stately Palace brings,
And plac'd 'em in Apartments fit for Kings:
Dissembling Hospitable Piety,
Aloud he prais'd their Zeal and Industry:
Blest be th' unutterable Name! Said he,
Who ev'n to Gentile Worlds, so long conceal'd,
At last has our great promis'd Prince reveal'd!
O might we but the Royal Infant greet,
And throw our Crowns and Scepters at his Feet?
How much, how infinitely blest we were,
If to his Fathers House we him might bear?
How happy, might we wait and serve him there?
Thus close his Nets the sanguine Tyrant plac'd,
(For when our humble Roof the Sages grac'd,
They all repeated,) thus did them deceive,
So easily will Innocence believe;
So firmly on his Royal word they lean'd;
Who instantly the Sanhedrim conven'd:
Sollicitous he askt that happy place,
Which the Messia's glorious birth shou'd grace?
If it their antient Sacred Books declare;
—As I remember, you, learn'd Sir, was there,
Fair Rama's Lord to wise Gamaliel cry'd,
When this propos'd—'Tis true, the Sage reply'd;
That morning in the Sanhedrim I sate,
And 'twas by all resolv'd, on the debate,
That humble Bethle'm, David's antient seat,
Must by his God-like Off-springs birth be great:
As thus, inspir'd, the fam'd Morasthite sung,
While with his lofty sounds fair Salems Mountains rung.
Like Waves, the first confounded in the last.
Each Sex, as well as Age, their Lord confess,
A Prophet first, and now a Prophetess.
Anna, a Matron Sage, and whilst a Wife
For spotless Faith renown'd, and holy Life;
Old Phanuels Heir, of Asher's fruitful Race
Fam'd in her Youth for matchless Mind and Face,
57
To bless the happiest by the name of Bride:
Seven years they liv'd and no Dissension knew;
Tho' One at first, yet still more one they grew:
Their Thoughts, their Wishes, nay their Souls the same,
In nought they differ'd but in Sex and Name:
So intimately close the knot was ty'd,
That Death it self cou'd hardly them divide:
And when th' untimely Grave had him receiv'd,
And her of more than her own Life bereav'd,
She wonder'd how, and scarce believ'd she liv'd;
All thoughts of any second Love defies,
And to all worldly Joy and Pleasure dies;
Within the Temple waiting the blest hour,
Which her might to her much-lov'd Lord restore:
Her earthly Frame by Fasts so far refin'd,
That little now was left but perfect mind:
Oft her pure Soul to Heav'n wou'd take its flight
Lost and absorpt in Glory infinite:
Retir'd as oft, no Look, no Thought abroad,
Nothing she knew besides her self and God;
Nay sometimes scarce distinct her self cou'd call;
Abstracted from her self, for God was all.
What darling Visions, not to be exprest,
Her constant fervent pure Devotions blest!
What Beatific Glories warm'd her Breast!
What crowds of beautious Seraphs left the Choir,
At once, to imitate her and admire!
What mystic Truths by them to her reveal'd,
To all, but them and Heav'n it self, conceal'd!
From these she learns what strikes weak Reason dumb,
What tries ev'n Faith, that God shou'd Man become:
She learn'd the time, the day, the hour precise,
When we approach'd to bring our Sacrifice:
What Joy, what Exultation she express'd,
And hail'd her Saviour at the Virgins breast?
Nor half content that him her self she h'd found;
How gladly spred she the glad News around
To all the Just, by her and Heav'n approv'd,
To all who a Redeemer wish'd and lov'd?
58
For Fame reports three Princes great and wise,
Were late arriv'd, from near the Suns uprise;
From the fair Fields of happy Araby,
Judea's strange expected Prince to see;
Conducted safely by a wondrous Star
Cross all those sandy Worlds, outstretching far
Thro' the wide Wilderness, until at last,
To Moab's pleasant Plains and Hills they past;
Near Edom's Mount to Jordan's doubtful Brim,
'Twixt Selah and the cloudy Abarim:
Crossing the Flood, as it by Gilgal falls,
They soon arriv'd at antient Salems Walls;
And boldly for the new born King enquire,
The hope of Isr'el, and the Worlds desire!
Proud Herod heard, and trembled at the news,
Whose heavy Tyranny the injur'd Jews
So long had sighing born; nor they alone,
His very Friends beneath his Axes groan,
With his own blood he dyes his slipp'ry Throne.
Not all his sordid Flatt'rers now avail'd;
Their Hearts, as well as their fierce Tyrants fail'd;
Tho' him so late they their Messia hail'd:
Howe'er that Savage Wolf the Fox indu'd,
Awkwardly pious seem'd, and strangely good:
The Sages to his stately Palace brings,
And plac'd 'em in Apartments fit for Kings:
Dissembling Hospitable Piety,
Aloud he prais'd their Zeal and Industry:
Blest be th' unutterable Name! Said he,
Who ev'n to Gentile Worlds, so long conceal'd,
At last has our great promis'd Prince reveal'd!
O might we but the Royal Infant greet,
And throw our Crowns and Scepters at his Feet?
How much, how infinitely blest we were,
If to his Fathers House we him might bear?
How happy, might we wait and serve him there?
Thus close his Nets the sanguine Tyrant plac'd,
(For when our humble Roof the Sages grac'd,
They all repeated,) thus did them deceive,
59
So firmly on his Royal word they lean'd;
Who instantly the Sanhedrim conven'd:
Sollicitous he askt that happy place,
Which the Messia's glorious birth shou'd grace?
If it their antient Sacred Books declare;
—As I remember, you, learn'd Sir, was there,
Fair Rama's Lord to wise Gamaliel cry'd,
When this propos'd—'Tis true, the Sage reply'd;
That morning in the Sanhedrim I sate,
And 'twas by all resolv'd, on the debate,
That humble Bethle'm, David's antient seat,
Must by his God-like Off-springs birth be great:
As thus, inspir'd, the fam'd Morasthite sung,
While with his lofty sounds fair Salems Mountains rung.
| The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ | |