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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| THOUGHTS AND MEDITATIONS IN A LONG SICKNESS. |
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 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
568
THOUGHTS AND MEDITATIONS IN A LONG SICKNESS.
1712 AND 1713.
The Hurry of the Spirits, in a Fever and Nervous Disorders.
1712 AND 1713.
My frame of nature is a ruffled sea,
And my disease the tempest. Nature feels
A strange commotion to her inmost centre;
The throne of reason shakes. ‘Be still, my thoughts;
‘Peace and be still.’ In vain my reason gives
The peaceful word, my spirit strives in vain
To calm the tumult and command my thoughts.
This flesh, this circling blood, these brutal powers,
Made to obey, turn rebels to the mind,
Nor hear its laws. The engine rules the man.
Unhappy change! When nature's meaner springs,
Fir'd to impetuous ferments, break all order;
When little restless atoms rise and reign
Tyrants in sov'reign uproar, and impose
Ideas on the mind; confus'd ideas
Of non-existents and impossibles,
Who can describe them? Fragments of old dreams,
Borrow'd from midnight, torn from fairy fields
And fairy skies, and regions of the dead,
Abrupt, ill-sorted! O 'tis all confusion!
If I but close my eyes, strange images
In thousand forms and thousand colours rise,
Stars, rainbows, moons, green dragons, bears and ghosts,
An endless medley rush upon the stage,
And dance and riot wild in reason's court
Above control. I'm in a raging storm,
Where seas and skies are blended, while my soul
Like some light worthless chip of floating cork
Is tost from wave to wave: Now overwhelm'd
With breaking floods, I drown, and seem to lose
All being: Now high-mounted on the ridge
Of a tall foaming surge, I'm all at once
Caught up into the storm, and ride the wind,
The whistling wind; unmanageable steed,
And feeble rider! Hurried many a league
Over the rising hills of roaring brine,
Thro' airy wilds unknown, with dreadful speed
And infinite surprise; till some few minutes
Have spent the blast, and then perhaps I drop
Near to the peaceful coast; some friendly billow
Lodges me on the beach, and I find rest:
Short rest I find; for the next rolling wave
Snatches me back again; then ebbing far
Sets me adrift, and I am borne off to sea,
Helpless, amidst the bluster of the winds,
Beyond the ken of shore.
And my disease the tempest. Nature feels
A strange commotion to her inmost centre;
The throne of reason shakes. ‘Be still, my thoughts;
‘Peace and be still.’ In vain my reason gives
The peaceful word, my spirit strives in vain
To calm the tumult and command my thoughts.
This flesh, this circling blood, these brutal powers,
Made to obey, turn rebels to the mind,
Nor hear its laws. The engine rules the man.
Unhappy change! When nature's meaner springs,
Fir'd to impetuous ferments, break all order;
When little restless atoms rise and reign
Tyrants in sov'reign uproar, and impose
Ideas on the mind; confus'd ideas
Of non-existents and impossibles,
Who can describe them? Fragments of old dreams,
Borrow'd from midnight, torn from fairy fields
And fairy skies, and regions of the dead,
Abrupt, ill-sorted! O 'tis all confusion!
If I but close my eyes, strange images
In thousand forms and thousand colours rise,
Stars, rainbows, moons, green dragons, bears and ghosts,
An endless medley rush upon the stage,
And dance and riot wild in reason's court
Above control. I'm in a raging storm,
Where seas and skies are blended, while my soul
Like some light worthless chip of floating cork
Is tost from wave to wave: Now overwhelm'd
With breaking floods, I drown, and seem to lose
All being: Now high-mounted on the ridge
Of a tall foaming surge, I'm all at once
Caught up into the storm, and ride the wind,
The whistling wind; unmanageable steed,
And feeble rider! Hurried many a league
Over the rising hills of roaring brine,
Thro' airy wilds unknown, with dreadful speed
And infinite surprise; till some few minutes
Have spent the blast, and then perhaps I drop
Near to the peaceful coast; some friendly billow
Lodges me on the beach, and I find rest:
Short rest I find; for the next rolling wave
Snatches me back again; then ebbing far
Sets me adrift, and I am borne off to sea,
Helpless, amidst the bluster of the winds,
Beyond the ken of shore.
Ah, when will these tumultuous scenes be gone?
When shall this weary spirit, tost with tempests,
Harass'd and broken, reach the port of rest,
And hold it firm? When shall this wayward flesh
With all th'irregular springs of vital movement
Ungovernable, return to sacred order,
And pay their duties to the ruling mind?
When shall this weary spirit, tost with tempests,
Harass'd and broken, reach the port of rest,
And hold it firm? When shall this wayward flesh
With all th'irregular springs of vital movement
Ungovernable, return to sacred order,
And pay their duties to the ruling mind?
Peace of Conscience and Prayer for Health.
Yet gracious God, amidst these storms of nature,
Thine eyes beheld a sweet and sacred calm
Reign thro' the realms of conscience: All within
Lies peaceful, and compos'd. 'Tis wondrous grace
Keeps off thy terrors from this humble bosom,
Tho' stain'd with sins and follies, yet serene
In penitential peace and cheerful hope,
Sprinkled and guarded with atoning blood.
Thy vital smiles amidst this desolation
Like heav'nly sun-beams hid behind the clouds,
Break out in happy moments, with bright radiance
Cleaving the gloom; the fair celestial light
Softens and gilds the horrors of the storm,
And richest cordials to the heart conveys.
Thine eyes beheld a sweet and sacred calm
Reign thro' the realms of conscience: All within
Lies peaceful, and compos'd. 'Tis wondrous grace
Keeps off thy terrors from this humble bosom,
Tho' stain'd with sins and follies, yet serene
In penitential peace and cheerful hope,
Sprinkled and guarded with atoning blood.
Thy vital smiles amidst this desolation
Like heav'nly sun-beams hid behind the clouds,
Break out in happy moments, with bright radiance
Cleaving the gloom; the fair celestial light
Softens and gilds the horrors of the storm,
And richest cordials to the heart conveys.
569
O glorious solace of immense distress,
A conscience and a God! A friend at home,
And better friend on high! This is my rock
Of firm support, my shield of sure defence
Against infernal arrows. Rise, my soul,
Put on thy courage: Here's the living spring
Of joys divinely sweet and ever new,
‘A peaceful conscience and a smiling heaven.’
A conscience and a God! A friend at home,
And better friend on high! This is my rock
Of firm support, my shield of sure defence
Against infernal arrows. Rise, my soul,
Put on thy courage: Here's the living spring
Of joys divinely sweet and ever new,
‘A peaceful conscience and a smiling heaven.’
My God, permit a creeping worm to say,
‘Thy Spirit knows I love thee.’ Worthless wretch,
To dare to love a God! But grace requires,
And grace accepts. Thou seest my labouring soul:
Weak as my zeal is, yet my zeal is true;
It bears the trying furnace. Love divine
Constrains me; I am thine. Incarnate love
Has seiz'd and holds me in almighty arms:
Here's my salvation, my eternal hope,
Amidst the wreck of worlds and dying nature,
‘I am the Lord's, and he for ever mine.’
‘Thy Spirit knows I love thee.’ Worthless wretch,
To dare to love a God! But grace requires,
And grace accepts. Thou seest my labouring soul:
Weak as my zeal is, yet my zeal is true;
It bears the trying furnace. Love divine
Constrains me; I am thine. Incarnate love
Has seiz'd and holds me in almighty arms:
Here's my salvation, my eternal hope,
Amidst the wreck of worlds and dying nature,
‘I am the Lord's, and he for ever mine.’
O thou all-powerful Word, at whose first call
Nature arose; this earth, these shining heavens,
These stars in all their ranks came forth, and said,
‘We are thy servants:’ Didst thou not create
My frame, my breath, my being, and bestow
A mind immortal on thy feeble creature
Who faints before thy face? Did not thy pity
Dress thee in flesh to die, that I might live,
And with thy blood redeem this captive soul
From guilt and death? O thrice adored name,
My King, my Saviour, my Immanuel, say,
Have not thy eyelids mark'd my painful toil,
The wild confusions of my shatter'd powers,
And broken fluttering thoughts? Hast thou not seen
Each restless atom, that with vexing influence
Works thro' the mass of man? Each noxious juice,
Each ferment that infects the vital humours,
That heaves the veins with huge disquietude
And spreads the tumult wide? Do they not lie
Beneath thy view, and all within thy reach?
Yes, all at thy command, and must obey
Thy sovereign touch: Thy touch is health and life,
And harmony to nature's jarring strings.
Nature arose; this earth, these shining heavens,
These stars in all their ranks came forth, and said,
‘We are thy servants:’ Didst thou not create
My frame, my breath, my being, and bestow
A mind immortal on thy feeble creature
Who faints before thy face? Did not thy pity
Dress thee in flesh to die, that I might live,
And with thy blood redeem this captive soul
From guilt and death? O thrice adored name,
My King, my Saviour, my Immanuel, say,
Have not thy eyelids mark'd my painful toil,
The wild confusions of my shatter'd powers,
And broken fluttering thoughts? Hast thou not seen
Each restless atom, that with vexing influence
Works thro' the mass of man? Each noxious juice,
Each ferment that infects the vital humours,
That heaves the veins with huge disquietude
And spreads the tumult wide? Do they not lie
Beneath thy view, and all within thy reach?
Yes, all at thy command, and must obey
Thy sovereign touch: Thy touch is health and life,
And harmony to nature's jarring strings.
When shall my midnight-sighs and morning groans
Rise thro' the heights of heaven, and reach thy ear
Propitious? See, my spirit's feeble powers
Exhal'd and breathing upward to thy throne,
Like early incense climbing thro' the sky
From the warm altar. When shall grace and peace
Descend with blessings, like an evening shower
On the parch'd desert, and renew my bloom?
Or must thy creature breathe his soul away
In fruitless groans, and die?
Come, blest physician, come attend the moan
Of a poor suffering wretch, a plaintive worm,
Crush'd in the dust and helpless. O descend,
Array'd in power and love, and bid me rise.
Incarnate goodness, send thy influence down
To these low regions of mortality
Where thou hast dwelt, and clad in fleshly weeds
Learnt sympathetic sorrows; send and heal
My long and sore distress. Ten thousand praises
Attend thee: David's harp is ready strung
For the Messiah's name: A winged flight
Of songs harmonious, and new honours wait
The steps of moving mercy.
Rise thro' the heights of heaven, and reach thy ear
Propitious? See, my spirit's feeble powers
Exhal'd and breathing upward to thy throne,
Like early incense climbing thro' the sky
From the warm altar. When shall grace and peace
Descend with blessings, like an evening shower
On the parch'd desert, and renew my bloom?
Or must thy creature breathe his soul away
In fruitless groans, and die?
Come, blest physician, come attend the moan
Of a poor suffering wretch, a plaintive worm,
Crush'd in the dust and helpless. O descend,
Array'd in power and love, and bid me rise.
Incarnate goodness, send thy influence down
To these low regions of mortality
Where thou hast dwelt, and clad in fleshly weeds
Learnt sympathetic sorrows; send and heal
My long and sore distress. Ten thousand praises
Attend thee: David's harp is ready strung
For the Messiah's name: A winged flight
Of songs harmonious, and new honours wait
The steps of moving mercy.
At this time my Imitation of David's Psalms in christian language was not half done: As fast as I recovered strength after this long illness, I applied myself by degrees to finish it.
Encouraged to hope for Health in May.
DECEMBER 1712.
Confin'd to sit in silence, here I waste
The golden hours of youth. If once I stir,
And reach at active life, what sudden tremors
Shake my whole frame, and all the poor machine
Lies fluttering? What strange wild convulsive force
O'erpowers at once the members and the will;
Here am I bound in chains, a useless load
Of breathing clay, a burthen to the seat
That bears these limbs, a borderer on the grave.
Poor state of worthless being! While the lamp
Of glimmering life burns languishing and dim,
The flame just hovering o'er the dying snuff
With doubtful alternations, half disjoin'd,
And ready to expire with every blast.
The golden hours of youth. If once I stir,
And reach at active life, what sudden tremors
Shake my whole frame, and all the poor machine
Lies fluttering? What strange wild convulsive force
O'erpowers at once the members and the will;
Here am I bound in chains, a useless load
Of breathing clay, a burthen to the seat
That bears these limbs, a borderer on the grave.
Poor state of worthless being! While the lamp
Of glimmering life burns languishing and dim,
The flame just hovering o'er the dying snuff
With doubtful alternations, half disjoin'd,
And ready to expire with every blast.
Yet my fond friends would speak a word of hope:
Love would forbid despair: ‘Look out,’ they cry,
‘Beyond these glooming damps, while winter hangs
‘Heavy on nature, and congeals her powers:
‘Look cheerful forward to the vital influence
‘Of the returning spring!’ I rouse my thoughts
At friendship's sacred voice, I send my soul
To distant expectation, and support
The painful interval with poor amusements.
Love would forbid despair: ‘Look out,’ they cry,
‘Beyond these glooming damps, while winter hangs
‘Heavy on nature, and congeals her powers:
‘Look cheerful forward to the vital influence
‘Of the returning spring!’ I rouse my thoughts
At friendship's sacred voice, I send my soul
To distant expectation, and support
The painful interval with poor amusements.
My watch, the solitary kind companion
Of my imprisonment, my faithful watch
Hangs by; and with a short repeated sound
Beats like the pulse of time, and numbers off
My woes, a long succession; while the finger
Slow moving, points out the slow-moving minutes;
The slower hand, the hours. O thou dear engine,
Thou little brass accomptant of my life,
Would but the mighty wheels of heaven and nature
Once imitate thy movements, how my hand
Should drive thy dented pinions round their centres
With more than ten-fold flight, and whirl away
These clouded wintry suns, these tedious moons,
These midnights; every star should speed its race,
And the slow bears precipitate their way
Around the frozen pole: Then promis'd health
That rides with rosy cheek and blooming grace
On a May sun-beam should attend me here
Before to-morrow sheds its evening-dew.
Of my imprisonment, my faithful watch
Hangs by; and with a short repeated sound
570
My woes, a long succession; while the finger
Slow moving, points out the slow-moving minutes;
The slower hand, the hours. O thou dear engine,
Thou little brass accomptant of my life,
Would but the mighty wheels of heaven and nature
Once imitate thy movements, how my hand
Should drive thy dented pinions round their centres
With more than ten-fold flight, and whirl away
These clouded wintry suns, these tedious moons,
These midnights; every star should speed its race,
And the slow bears precipitate their way
Around the frozen pole: Then promis'd health
That rides with rosy cheek and blooming grace
On a May sun-beam should attend me here
Before to-morrow sheds its evening-dew.
Ah foolish ravings of a fruitless wish
And spirit too impatient! Know'st thou not,
My soul, the Power that made thee? He alone
Who form'd the spheres, rolls them in destin'd rounds
Unchangeable. Adore, and trust, and fear him:
He is the Lord of life. Address his throne,
And wait before his foot, with awful hope
Submissive; at his touch distemper flies:
His eyelids send beams of immortal youth
Thro' heaven's bright regions. His all-powerful word
Can create health, and bid the blessing come
Amid the wintry frost, when nature seems
Congeal'd in death; or with a sovereign frown
(Tho' nature blooms all round) he can forbid
The blessing in the spring, and chain thee down
To pains, and maladies, and grievous bondage
Thro' all the circling seasons.
And spirit too impatient! Know'st thou not,
My soul, the Power that made thee? He alone
Who form'd the spheres, rolls them in destin'd rounds
Unchangeable. Adore, and trust, and fear him:
He is the Lord of life. Address his throne,
And wait before his foot, with awful hope
Submissive; at his touch distemper flies:
His eyelids send beams of immortal youth
Thro' heaven's bright regions. His all-powerful word
Can create health, and bid the blessing come
Amid the wintry frost, when nature seems
Congeal'd in death; or with a sovereign frown
(Tho' nature blooms all round) he can forbid
The blessing in the spring, and chain thee down
To pains, and maladies, and grievous bondage
Thro' all the circling seasons.
The Wearisome Weeks of Sickness.
1712 OR 1713.
Thus pass my days away. The cheerful sun
Rolls round the gilds the world with lightsome beams,
Alas, in vain to me; cut off alike
From the bless'd labours, and the joys of life:
While my sad minutes in their tiresome train
Serve but to number out my heavy sorrows.
By night I count the clock; perhaps eleven,
Or twelve, or one; then with a wishful sigh
Call on the ling'ring hours, ‘Come two, come five:
‘When will the day-light come?’ Make haste, ye mornings,
Ye evening-shadows haste; wear out these days,
These tedious rounds of sickness, and conclude
The weary week for ever—
Then the sweet day of sacred rest returns,
Sweet day of rest, devote to God and heaven,
And heav'nly business, purposes divine,
Angelic work: But not to me returns
Rest with the day: Ten thousand hurrying thoughts
Bear me away tumultuous far from heaven
And heavenly work. In vain I heave, and toil,
And wrestle with my inward foes in vain,
O'erpower'd and vanquish'd still: They drag me down
From things celestial, and confine my sense
To present maladies. Unhappy state,
Where the poor spirit is subdu'd t'endure
Unholy idleness, a painful absence!
And bound to bear the agonies and woes
From God, and heaven, and angel's blessed work,
That sickly flesh on shatter'd nerves impose.
How long, O Lord, how long?
A Hymn of Praise for Recovery.
Happy for man, that the slow circling moons
And long revolving seasons measure out
The tiresome pains of nature! Present woes
Have their sweet periods. Ease and cheerful health
With slow approach (so Providence ordains)
Revisit their forsaken mansion here,
And days of useful life diffuse their dawn
O'er the dark cottage of my weary soul.
My vital powers resume their vigour now,
My spirit feels her freedom, shakes her wings,
Exults and spatiates o'er a thousand scenes,
Surveys the world, and with full stretch of thought
Grasps her ideas; while impatient zeal
Awakes my tongue to praise. What mortal voice
Or mortal hand can render to my God
The tribute due? What altars shall I raise?
What grand inscription to proclaim his mercy
In living lines? Where shall I find a victim
Meet to be offered to his sovereign love,
And solemnize the worship and the joy?
And long revolving seasons measure out
The tiresome pains of nature! Present woes
Have their sweet periods. Ease and cheerful health
With slow approach (so Providence ordains)
Revisit their forsaken mansion here,
And days of useful life diffuse their dawn
O'er the dark cottage of my weary soul.
My vital powers resume their vigour now,
My spirit feels her freedom, shakes her wings,
Exults and spatiates o'er a thousand scenes,
Surveys the world, and with full stretch of thought
Grasps her ideas; while impatient zeal
Awakes my tongue to praise. What mortal voice
Or mortal hand can render to my God
The tribute due? What altars shall I raise?
What grand inscription to proclaim his mercy
In living lines? Where shall I find a victim
Meet to be offered to his sovereign love,
And solemnize the worship and the joy?
Search well, my soul, thro' all the dark recesses
Of nature and self-love, the plies, the folds,
And hollow winding caverns of the heart,
Where flattery hides our sins; search out the foes
Of thy almighty friend; what lawless passions,
What vain desires, what vicious turns of thought
Lurk there unheeded: Bring them forth to view,
And sacrifice the rebels to his honour.
Well he deserves this worship at thy hands,
Who pardons thy past follies, who restores
Thy mouldring fabric, and withholds thy life
From the near borders of a gaping grave.
Of nature and self-love, the plies, the folds,
And hollow winding caverns of the heart,
Where flattery hides our sins; search out the foes
Of thy almighty friend; what lawless passions,
What vain desires, what vicious turns of thought
571
And sacrifice the rebels to his honour.
Well he deserves this worship at thy hands,
Who pardons thy past follies, who restores
Thy mouldring fabric, and withholds thy life
From the near borders of a gaping grave.
Almighty power, I love thee, blissful name,
My healer God; and may my inmost heart
Love and adore for ever! O 'tis good
To wait submissive at thy holy throne,
To leave petitions at thy feet, and bear
Thy frowns and silence with a patient soul.
The hand of mercy is not short to save,
Nor is the ear of heavenly pity deaf
To mortal cries. It notic'd all my groans,
And sighs, and long complaints, with wise delay,
Tho' painful to the sufferer, and thy hand
In proper moment brought desired relief.
My healer God; and may my inmost heart
Love and adore for ever! O 'tis good
To wait submissive at thy holy throne,
To leave petitions at thy feet, and bear
Thy frowns and silence with a patient soul.
The hand of mercy is not short to save,
Nor is the ear of heavenly pity deaf
To mortal cries. It notic'd all my groans,
And sighs, and long complaints, with wise delay,
Tho' painful to the sufferer, and thy hand
In proper moment brought desired relief.
Rise from my couch, ye late enfeebled limbs,
Prove your new strength, and show the effective skill
Of the divine physician; bear away
This tottering body to his sacred threshold:
There, laden with his honours, let me bow
Before his feet; let me pronounce his grace,
Pronounce salvation thro' his dying Son,
And teach this sinful world the Saviour's name.
Then rise, my hymning soul, on holy notes
Tow'rd his high throne; awake, my choicest songs,
Run echoing round the roof, and while you pay
The solemn vows of my distressful hours,
A thousand friendly lips shall aid the praise.
Prove your new strength, and show the effective skill
Of the divine physician; bear away
This tottering body to his sacred threshold:
There, laden with his honours, let me bow
Before his feet; let me pronounce his grace,
Pronounce salvation thro' his dying Son,
And teach this sinful world the Saviour's name.
Then rise, my hymning soul, on holy notes
Tow'rd his high throne; awake, my choicest songs,
Run echoing round the roof, and while you pay
The solemn vows of my distressful hours,
A thousand friendly lips shall aid the praise.
Jesus, great Advocate, whose pitying eye
Saw my long anguish, and with melting heart
And powerful intercession spread'st my woes
With all my groans before the Father-God,
Bear up my praises now; thy holy incense
Shall hallow all my sacrifice of joy,
And bring these accents grateful to his ear.
My heart and life, my lips and every power
Snatch'd from the grasp of death, I here devote
By thy bless'd hands an offering to his name.
Saw my long anguish, and with melting heart
And powerful intercession spread'st my woes
With all my groans before the Father-God,
Bear up my praises now; thy holy incense
Shall hallow all my sacrifice of joy,
And bring these accents grateful to his ear.
My heart and life, my lips and every power
Snatch'd from the grasp of death, I here devote
By thy bless'd hands an offering to his name.
Amen, Hallelujah.
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |