Thoughts Upon The Four Last Things Death; Judgment; Heaven; and Hell. A Poem In Four Parts. The Second Edition. To which are added, The I, CIV, and CXXXVII Psalms Paraphras'd [by Joseph Trapp] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
PARAPHRASE Upon Psalm CXXXVII. |
 | Thoughts Upon The Four Last Things |  |
131
PARAPHRASE Upon Psalm CXXXVII.
Upon the Banks which fam'd Euphrates laves
Pensive we sate, and swell'd with Tears the Waves;
When the Remembrance of our native Seat,
And Sion's lov'd Idea did create
Fresh Melancholy, and improv'd our Fate.
On the green Branches of the Trees which stood,
Rang'd on the Margin of the rolling Flood;
To whist'ling Winds our tuneless Harps we hung;
Our Souls were Discord, and our Lyres unstrung:
Then with keen Scoffs th'insulting Victors cry'd,
“Why is your Jewish Musick lay'd aside?
“Come sing some Hebrew Song, and let us hear
“How Sion's Harmony will please the Ear.
How shall we sing, at your absurd Command,
Jehovah's Song in this unhallow'd Land?
Our Notes shall ne'er in unbless'd Vales rebound,
Nor barb'rous Air prophane the sacred Sound.
Jerusalem, thou Solace of our Woe,
If I thy dear Remembrance e'er foregoe;
If thou e'er cease to be my darling Theme,
My Thought when waking, and in Sleep my Dream;
Then may my skilful Hand forget the Lyre,
Forget to tune the Strings, and strike the sounding Wire.
May e'vn my Tongue, when I this Subject leave,
Struck Speechless to my clammy Palate cleave:
By plaintive Songs no more afford Relief,
But lose the wretched Privilege of Grief.
Remember, Lord, how Edom's hostile Race
Urg'd on the Foes our Glory to deface:
How in Jerusalem's last Day they cry'd,
Raze her Foundations, crush her tow'ring Pride;
Lay wast her Buildings with devouring Fires,
And level with the Ground her glit'ring Spires.
And Thou who hast our shining Pomp consum'd,
Curs'd Babylon, to sure Destruction doom'd;
Blest shall He be, who all the Woes We mourn
Shall on Thy own devoted Head return:
Blest shall He be that splits thy Children's Bones,
And strikes their sprawling Limbs against the Stones;
Who all thy Streets with Slaughter covers o'er,
And daubs the rugged Flints with clotted Brains and Gore.
Pensive we sate, and swell'd with Tears the Waves;
When the Remembrance of our native Seat,
And Sion's lov'd Idea did create
Fresh Melancholy, and improv'd our Fate.
On the green Branches of the Trees which stood,
Rang'd on the Margin of the rolling Flood;
To whist'ling Winds our tuneless Harps we hung;
Our Souls were Discord, and our Lyres unstrung:
Then with keen Scoffs th'insulting Victors cry'd,
“Why is your Jewish Musick lay'd aside?
“Come sing some Hebrew Song, and let us hear
“How Sion's Harmony will please the Ear.
How shall we sing, at your absurd Command,
Jehovah's Song in this unhallow'd Land?
Our Notes shall ne'er in unbless'd Vales rebound,
Nor barb'rous Air prophane the sacred Sound.
Jerusalem, thou Solace of our Woe,
If I thy dear Remembrance e'er foregoe;
132
My Thought when waking, and in Sleep my Dream;
Then may my skilful Hand forget the Lyre,
Forget to tune the Strings, and strike the sounding Wire.
May e'vn my Tongue, when I this Subject leave,
Struck Speechless to my clammy Palate cleave:
By plaintive Songs no more afford Relief,
But lose the wretched Privilege of Grief.
Remember, Lord, how Edom's hostile Race
Urg'd on the Foes our Glory to deface:
How in Jerusalem's last Day they cry'd,
Raze her Foundations, crush her tow'ring Pride;
Lay wast her Buildings with devouring Fires,
And level with the Ground her glit'ring Spires.
And Thou who hast our shining Pomp consum'd,
Curs'd Babylon, to sure Destruction doom'd;
Blest shall He be, who all the Woes We mourn
Shall on Thy own devoted Head return:
Blest shall He be that splits thy Children's Bones,
And strikes their sprawling Limbs against the Stones;
Who all thy Streets with Slaughter covers o'er,
And daubs the rugged Flints with clotted Brains and Gore.
FINIS.
| Thoughts Upon The Four Last Things | |