 | Bersaba |  |
Immortal Parent of the world and Me,
Author of all that is, or is to be;
Hear me implore: Thee let no Passions move,
Nor heavy Justice so out-weigh thy love.
Let no ungodlike Rage begin to rise,
Unworthy the Commander of the Skies.
If we should shoot as oft as Man shall sin,
How soon (alas!) our Quivers would be thin!
Soon would our Lightning and our Shafts be spent,
No Thunder rowling in the Firmament.
Unbottom'd Hell; tho' large and unconfin'd,
Would scarce contain a part of Humankind.
Myriads and Myriads would unburied go,
And crouded Ghosts lament for room below.
Diminish'd Nature would begin to dye,
And Earth, unpeopled like a Desart lye.
Author of all that is, or is to be;
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Nor heavy Justice so out-weigh thy love.
Let no ungodlike Rage begin to rise,
Unworthy the Commander of the Skies.
If we should shoot as oft as Man shall sin,
How soon (alas!) our Quivers would be thin!
Soon would our Lightning and our Shafts be spent,
No Thunder rowling in the Firmament.
Unbottom'd Hell; tho' large and unconfin'd,
Would scarce contain a part of Humankind.
Myriads and Myriads would unburied go,
And crouded Ghosts lament for room below.
Diminish'd Nature would begin to dye,
And Earth, unpeopled like a Desart lye.
| Bersaba | |