University of Virginia Library

At once to raise our Rev'rence, and Delight
To elevate the Mind, and please the Sight,
To pour in Virtue at the attentive Eye,
And waft the Soul on Wings of Extasie;
For this the Painter's Art with Nature vies,
And bids the visionary Saint arise.

Who views the sacred Form in Thought aspires,
Catches pure Zeal, and as he gazes fires;
Feels the same Ardour to his Breast convey'd,
Is, what he sees, and emulates the Shade.
Thy Strokes, great Artist, so sublime appear,
They check our Pleasure with an awful Fear:
While thro' the mortal Line the God you trace,
Author himself, and Heir of Jesse's Race;
In Raptures we admire the bold Design,
And as the Subject, own the Hand divine.
While thro' thy Work the rising Day shall stream,
So long shall last thy Honour, Praise, and Name;
And may thy Labour to the Muse impart
Some Emanation to its Sister Art,
To animate the Verse, and bid it shine
In Colours easy, strong, and bright as Thine.
Supine on Earth an awful Figure lies,
While softest Slumbers seem to seal his Eyes;
The hoary Sire Heav'n's guardian Care demands,
And at his Feet the watchful Angel stands:
Here Amnon glories, proud, incestuous Lord;
This Hand sustains the Robe, and that the Sword:
Frowning, and Fierce, with haughty Steps he tow'rs,
And on his horrid Brow Defiance low'rs.
There Absalom the ravish'd Sceptre sways,
And his stol'n Honour all his Shame displays;
The base usurping Youth, who joins in one
The rebel Subject, and ungrateful Son.
Amid the royal Race see Nathan stand,
Fervent he seems to speak, and lifts his Hand,
His looks th'Emotion of his Soul disclose,
And Eloquence from ev'ry Gesture flows.
Such, and so stern he came ordain'd to bring
The dreadful Mandate to the guilty King;
When, at his dreadful Voice, a sudden Smart
Shot thro' the trembling Monarch's conscious Heart,
From his own Lips condemn'd, severe Decree!
Had his God prov'd so stern a Judge as he:
But Man to frailty is ally'd by Birth;
Consummate Purity ne'er dwelt on Earth:
Thro' all his Soul, tho' Virtue hold her reign,
Beat at his Heart, and spring in ev'ry Vein;
Yet ever from the clearest Source have ran
Some gross Allay, some Tincture of the Man.
But who is he deep musing in his Mind,
Who seems to weigh in Reason's Scale Mankind?
Fix'd Contemplation holds his steady Eyes:
I know the Sage, the Wisest of the Wise;
Blest with all Man cou'd wish, or Prince obtain,
Yet his great Heart pronounce those Blessings vain.
And lo! bright glitt'ring in his sacred Hands
In miniature the glorious Temple stands.
Effulgent Frame! stupendous to behold,
Gold the strong Valves, the Roof of burnish'd Gold.
The wandring Ark, in that bright Dome enshrin'd,
Spreads the strong Light, eternal, unconfin'd;
Above that venerable Glory plays,
Presence divine! and the full streaming Rays
Pour thro' reluctant Clouds intollerable Blaze.
But stern Oppression rends Re'boam's Reign;
See the gay Prince, injurious, proud, and vain:
Th'imperial Sceptre totters in his Hand,
And proud rebellion triumphs o'er the Land;
Cur'st with Confusion's ever fruitful Spring
A beardless Senate, and a haughty King.
There Asa good, and great, the Sceptre bears;
Justice attends his Peace, Success his Wars.
While Virtue was his Sword, and Heav'n his Sheild,
Without Controul the Warrior swept the Field:
Loaded with Spoils, triumphant he return'd,
And half her Swarthy Sons sad Æthiopia mourn'd.
But since thy flagging Piety's decay'd,
And God's Defence exchang'd for human Aid,
See those fair Laurels wither on thy Brow,
Nor Herbs, nor healing Arts avail thee now.
Nor is Heav'n chang'd, apostate Prince but thou,
No mean Attonement does this Lapse require,
But see the Son, you must forgive the Sire.
He, the just Prince, with ev'ry Virtue blest,
He reign'd, and Goodness all the Man possest.
Around his Throne fair Happiness and Peace
Smooth'd ev'ry Brow, and smil'd in ev'ry Face.
As when along the burning Waste he stray'd
Where no pure Stream in bubling Mazes play'd,
Where Drought incumbent on the thirsty Ground,
Long since had breath'd her scorching Blasts around,
The Prophet calls; th'obedient Floods repair
To the parch'd Fields; for Josaphat was there.
The new sprung Waves in many a gurgling Vein
Trickle luxurious thro' the sucking Plain:
Fresh Honours the reviving Fields adorn,
And o'er the Desert Plenty pours her Horn.
So from his Throne his Influence he sheds,
And bids the Virtues raise their languid Heads.
Where're he goes attending Truth pervails,
Oppression flies, and Justice lifts the Scales.
See on his Arm the royal Eagle stand;
Great Type of Conquest, and supreme Command:
Th'exulting Bird distinguish'd Triumph brings,
And greets the Monarch with expanded Wings:
Fierce Moab's Sons prevent th'impending Blow,
Rush on themselves, and fall without a Foe.
The pious Heroe vanquish'd Heav'n by Pray'r
His Faith an Army, and his Vows the War.
Thee too Uriah Fate indulgent blest,
And thy Days shone in brightest Action drest,
Till that rash Hand by some blind Frenzy sway'd,
Unclean the sacred Office durst invade,
Quick o'er thy Limbs the scurvy Venom ran,
And hoary Filth besprinkled all the Man.
Transmissive worth adorns the pious Son,
The Fathers Virtue, with the Fathers Throne.
Lo there he stands; he who the Rage subdued
Of Amnon's Sons, and drenched his Sword in Blood.
And dost thou Ahaz, Judah's Scourge, disgrace
With thy vile Front the Glories of thy Race?
See the base King his iron Sceptre bear,
His only Praise attends his pious Heir.
He in whose Soul the Virtues all conspire,
The best good Son from the worst wicked Sire:
And, lo! in Hezekiah's golden Reign
Long exil'd piety returns again;
In genuine Purity again she shines,
And with her Presence gilds the long-neglected Shrines.
Ill-starr'd does proud Assyria's impious Lord
Bid Heav'n to Arms, and vaunt his dreadful Sword.
His own vain Threats th'insulting King o'erthrow,
And breath new Courage on the gen'rous Foe.
Th'avenging Angel, by divine Command,
The fiery Sword full blazing in his Hand,
Leapt down from Heav'n, amid the Storm he rode,
March'd Pestilence before him, as he trode
Pale Desolation bath his Steps in Blood.
Thick wrapt in Night thro' the proud Host he pass'd
Dispensing Death, and drove a furious Blast;
Nor bad Destruction give her Revels o'er,
Till the gorg'd Sword was drunk with human Gore.
But what avails thee, pious Prince, in vain
Thy Sceptre rescued, and Assyrians slain,
E'en now thy Soul maintains its latest Strife,
And Death's chill Grasp congeals the Font of Life;
Yet see kind Heav'n renews the brittle Thread,
And rolls full fifteen Summers o'er thy Head:
Lo! the receding Sun repeats his Way,
And like thyself, prolongs the falling Day.
Tho' Nature her inverted Course forgo,
The Day forget to rest, the Time to flow;
Yet shall Jehovah's Servants stand secure,
His Mercy fixt eternal shall endure,
On them for ever healing Rays shall shine,
More mild, more bright, more sure, O Sun, than thine.

At length the long expected Prince behold,
The last good King, in ancient Days foretold;
When Bethel's Altar spake his future Fame,
Rent to its Base at good Josiah's Name.
Blest happy Prince, o'er whose lamented Urn
In plaintive Song all Judah's Daughters mourn:
For when sad Sion's softest Sorrows flow,
And Jeremiah pours his sweet melodious Woe.
But now fall'n Sion, once the Fair, and Great,
Sits deep in Dust, abandon'd, desolate.
Bleeds her sad Heart, and ever stream her Eyes,
And Anguish tears her with convulsive Sighs.
The mournful Captive spreads her Hands in vain,
Her Hands that rattle with the servile Chain;
Till the great Chief, in Heav'ns appointed Time,
Leads back her Children to their native Clime:
Fair Liberty revives, with all her Joys,
And bids her envy'd Walls securely rise.
And thou great hollow Dome in Ruin spread,
Again shalt raise sublime thy sacred Head:
But, ah! with weeping Eyes the Ancients view
A faint Resemblance of the old in you.
No more th'effulgent Glory of the God
Speak awful answers from the mystick Cloud:
No more the Altars blaze with Fire divine,
And Heav'n has left thy solitary Shrine.
Yet in thy Courts hereafter shalt thou see
Presence immediate of the Deity:
The Light himself reveal'd, the God confest in thee.

And now, at length, the fated Term of Years
The World's Desire hath brought; and, lo! the God appears.
The heav'nly Babe the Virgin Mother bears,
And her fond Looks confess the Parents Cares.
The pleasing Burden on her Breast she lays,
Hangs o'er his Charms, and with a Smile surveys.
The Infant smiles, to her fond Bosom prest
And wantons sportive in the Mother's Breast.
A radiant Glory speaks him all divine,
And in the Child the Beams of Manhood shine.
But now, alass! far other Views disclose
The blackest, comprehensive Scene of Woes.
See where Man's voluntary Sacrifice
Bows his meek Head, and God eternal dies:
Fix'd to the Cross his healing Arms are bound,
While copious Mercy streams from ev'ry Wound.
Mark the Blood drops that Life exhausting Roll,
And the strong Pangs that rend the strugling Soul,
As all Death's Tortures, with severe Delay,
Exult, and Riot in their noblest prey.
And canst thou, stupid Man, those Horrors see,
Nor share the Auguish which he bears for thee?
Canst thou? while Nature smarts in ev'ry Wound,
And each Pang cleaves the Sympathetic Ground,
Thy Sins for which his sacred Flesh is torn,
Point ev'ry Nail, and sharpen ev'ry Thorn.
Lo! the black Sun his Chariot backward driv'n
Blots out the Day, and perishes from Heav'n:
Earth trembling from her Entrails bears her Part
And the rent Rocks upbraid Man's stubborn Heart.
The yawning Grave reveals her gloomy Reign,
And the cold clay-clad Dead start into Life again.
And thou, O Tomb, once more shalt wide display
Thy satiate Joys, and give up all their prey.
Thou Earth shalt heave absorb'd in Floods of Flame
As the last Pangs convulse thy lab'ring Frame,
When the same God unshrouded thou shalt see,
Wrapt in full Blaze of Power, and Majesty,
Ride on the Clouds, while as his Chariot flies;
The bright Effusion streams thro' all the skies:
Then shall the proud, dissolving Mountains glow,
And yielding Rocks in fiery Rivers flow.
The molten Deluge round the Globe shall roar,
And all Mens Arts, and Labours be no more.
Then shall the splendour of th'enliven'd Glass
Sink undistinguish'd in the burning Mass;
And oh! till Earth, and Sea, and Heav'n decay,
Ne'er may that fair Creation fade away:
May Winds and Storms those beauteous Colours spare
Sill may they last, as permanent, as fair.
And the vain Rage of wasting Time repel,
And his Tribunal see, whose Cross they paint so well.

A Humorous Friend of the physical Tribe,
For a funeral Sermon, a Parson would bribe.
Talk'd of Gloves, and of Scarfs, and of Rings, and a Will,
In which he should find a Reward for his Skill.
So my Domine Doctor, says he, when I die,
Get into your Tub, and say something that's high.
To be high, quoth the Priest, on a Subject so low,
Is a difficult Task brother Doctor, you know,
Of a Creature so odd, O what can I say,
Or how earn what I want, and you proffer to pay:
O where is your Merit, good Nature, or Grace,
Or for what are you known but for playing a Farce.
You've Letters, 'tis true, and the Honours possess,
Of L. M. or M. D. or perhaps F. R. S.
But what are all these for a pulpit Oration,
Which after you're gone may travel the Nation.
For where is the Man that a Tester won't pay,
To see what of you, I could possibly say?
Live or die, then my Friend, think no more of this Matter,
Unmerited Praise is the keenest of Satyr,
Nor oblige me to rail, nor tempt me to flatter.