The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
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| III. | THE THIRD PART: OR,
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 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
III. THE THIRD PART: OR,
The Account balanced.
I.
Should sov'reign love before me stand,With all his train of pomp and state,
And bid the daring muse relate
His comforts and his cares;
Mitio, I would not ask the sand
For metaphors t'express their weight,
Nor borrow numbers from the stars.
Thy cares and comforts, sov'reign love,
Vastly out-weigh the sand below,
And to a larger audit grow
Than all the stars above.
Thy mighty losses and thy gains
Are their own mutual measures;
Only the man that knows thy pains
Can reckon up thy pleasures.
II.
Say, Damon, say, how bright the scene,Damon is half-divinely blest,
Leaning his head on his Florella's breast,
Without a jealous thought, or busy care between:
Then the sweet passions mix and share;
Florella tells thee all her heart,
Nor can thy soul's remotest part
Conceal a thought or wish from the beloved fair.
Say, what a pitch thy pleasures fly,
When friendship all-sincere grows up to ecstasy
Nor self contracts the bliss, nor vice pollutes the joy,
While thy dear offspring round thee sit,
Or sporting innocently at thy feet
Thy kindest thoughts engage:
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What pretty toys of youth they be,
And growing props of age!
III.
But short is earthly bliss! The changing windBlows from the sickly south, and brings
Malignant fevers on its sultry wings.
Relentless death sits close behind:
Now gasping infants, and a wife in tears,
With piercing groans salutes his ears,
Thro' every vein the thrilling torments roll:
While sweet and bitter are at strife
In those dear miseries of life,
Those tenderest pieces of his bleeding soul.
The pleasing sense of love awhile
Mixt with the heart-ache may the pain beguile,
And make a feeble fight:
Till sorrows like a gloomy deluge rise,
Then every smiling passion dies,
And hope alone with wakeful eyes
Darkling and solitary waits the slow-returning light.
IV.
Here then let my ambition rest,May I be moderately blest
When I the laws of love obey:
Let but my pleasure and my pain
In equal balance ever reign,
Or mount by turns and sink again,
And share just measures of alternate sway.
So Damon lives, and ne'er complains;
Scarce can we hope diviner scenes
On this dull stage of clay:
The tribes beneath the northern bear
Submit to darkness half the year,
Since half the year is day.
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |