Buds forth a precious Gem of Purple Gore.
How ftrange the Power of Afflictions Rod
When in the Hand of an Incensed God!
Like the Commanding Wand
In Mofes's Hand,
It works a Miracle, and turns the Flood
Of Tears into a Sea of Blood.
See with what Pomp Sorrow does now appear!
How Proud She is of being Seated here!
So Rich a Dye before.
Long was he willing to decline
Th' Encounter of the Wrath Divine.
Thrice he fent for his Release
Pathetick Embaffies of Peace:
At length, his Courage overcame his Doubt,
Refolv'd he was, and fo the Bloody Flag hung out.
III.
And now the Tragic Scene's display'd,
Where drawn in full Battalia are laid
That Numerous Hoft of Mileries
He must withstand, that Map of Woe
Which he must undergo.
That heavy Wine-prefs which muft by him be Trod,
The whole Artillery of God.
He faw that Face, whofe very Sight
Chears Angels with its Beatific Light,
Contracted now into a dreadful Frown,
All Cloath'd with Thunder, Big with Death
And fhowers of hot burning Wrath,
Which shortly must be poured down.
He faw a Black and Difmal Scroll,
Of Sins paft, prefent, and to come,
With their intolerable Doom
Which would the more Opprefs his fpotlefs Soul;
As th' Elements are Weighty proved,
When from their Native Station they're removed.
He faw the Foul Ingratitude of those,
Who would the Labours of his Love oppofe;
And reap no Benefit by all his Agonies.
He faw all this,
And as he faw, to Waver he began,
And almost to Repent of his great Love for Man.
When lo, a Heavenly Form all Bright and Fair,
Swifter than Thought, fhot through th' enlighten'd Air.
He who fat next th' Imperial Throne,
And read the Counfels of the Great Three-One,
Who in Eternity's Myfterious Glafs,
Saw both what was, what is, and what must come to pass;
He came with Reverence profound,
And rais'd his proftrate Maker from the Ground;
Wiped off the Bloody Sweat
With which his Face and Garments too were Wet:
And comforted his Dark benighted Mind,
With Sovereign Cordials of Light refin'd.
This done, in foft Addreffes he began
To Fortifie his kind Defigns for Man:
Unfeal'd to him the Book of God's Decree,
And fhew'd him what must be:
Alledg'd the Truth of Prophefies,
Types, Figures, and Myfteries;
How needful it was to fupply,
With Humane Race, the Ruins of the Sky.
How this would new Acceffion bring
To the Celestial Quire;
And how withall, it would infpire
New Matter for the Praise of the great King.
How he should fee the Travail of his Soul, and Blefs
Thofe Sufferings, which had fo good Succefs..
How great the Triumphs of his Victory,
How glorious his Afcent would be,
What weighty Bliis in Heaven he fhould obtain
By a few Hours of Pain;
Where to Eternal Ages he thould Reign.
He fpake, Confirm'd in Mind the Champion flood;
A Spirit Divine
Through the Thick Veil of Flesh did fhine:
All-over Powerful he was, All-over Good.
Pleas'd with his fuccefsful Flight,
The Officious Angel Pofts away
To the bright Regions of Eternal Day;
Departing in a Track of Light.
In hafte for News, the Heavenly People ran,
And joy'd to hear the hopeful State of Man.
And now that strange prodigious hour, When God muft Subject be to Humane Power; That Hour is come,
Th' unerring Clock of Fate has Struck; 'Twas heard below down to Hell's lowest Room, And ftrait th' Infernal Powers th' appointed Signal took. Open the Scene, my Mufe, and fee
Wonders of Impudence and Villany;
How wicked Mercenary Hands,
Dare to Invade him whom they fhould Adore;
With Swords and Staves, encompafs'd round he ftands,
Who knew no other Guards but thofe of Heaven before.
Once with his Powerful Breath, he did repell
The Rude Affaults of Hell.
A Ray of his Divinity
Shot forth with that bold Anfwer, I am He:
They Reel and Stagger, and Fall to the Ground
For God was in the Sound.
The Voice of God was once again,
Walking in the Garden, heard:
And once again, was by the Guilty Hearers fear'd
Trembling feiz'd every Joint, and Chilnefs every
This little Victory he won,
Shew'd what he could have done.
But He to whom as Chief was given,
The whole Militia of Heaven,
But that of his infeparable Innocence;
And quietly gives up his Liberty.
He's Seiz'd on by the Military Bands,
With Cords they Bind his Sacred Hands:
But ah! how Weak, What Nothings would they prove, Were he not held by ftronger Ones of Love.
Once more, my weary'd Mufe, thy Pinions Try,
And reach the Top of Calvary.
A Steep Afcent: But most to him who bore
The Burthen of a Crofs this Way before.
(The Crofs Afcends, there's fomething in it fure
That Moral is and Myftical;
No Heights of Fortune are from thee fecure,
Afflictions fometimes Climb, as well as Fall.)
Here Breathe a while, and view
The dolefull'ft Picture Sorrow ever Drew:
The Lord of Life, Heavens Darling Son,
The Great, th' Almighty One,
With out-ftretch'd Arms, Nail'd to a Curfed Tree,
Crown'd with Sharp Thorns, Cover'd with Infamy:
He who before
So many Miracles had done,
The Lives of Others to Rettore,
Does with a greater, lofe his Own.
Full Three long Hours his Tender Body did fuftain,
Moft exquifite and poignant Pain.
So long the Sympathizing Sun his Light withdrew,
And wonder'd how the Stars their dying Lord could View.
This ftrange Defect of Light,
Does all the Sages in Aftronomy Affright,
With Fears of an Eternal Night.
Th' Intelligences in their Courfes Stray,
And Travellers below mistake their Way;
Wond'ring to be benighted in the midft of Day.
Each Mind is feiz'd with Horror and Defpair,
And more o'refpread with Darknets than the Air.
Fear on, 'tis Wondrous all, and New;
'Tis what paft Ages never knew.
Fear on, but yet you'll find,
The great Eclipfe is ftill behind.
The Luftre of the Face Divine,
Does on the Mighty Sufferer no longer fhine.
God hides his Glories from his Sight,
With a Thick Skreen made of Hell's groffeft Night.
Clofe-wrought it was, and Solid, all
Compacted and Substantial;
Impenetrable to the Beatifick Light:
Without Complaint, He bore
The Tortures he endur'd before;
But now, no longer able to Contain,
Under the great Hyperbole of Pain,
He Mourns, and with a strong Pathetick Cry,
Laments the fad Defertion of the Deity.
Here Stop, my Mufe, Stop and Admire,
The Breather of all Life does now Expire:
His Milder Father Summons Him away;
His Breath Obediently he does Refign:
Angels to Paradife his Soul convey;
And Calm the Relicts of his Grief with Hymns Divine.
His Ode is after the Pindarick Way; which is the
Verfe; and confequently, fit only for great and noble Subjects; fuch as are as Boundlefs as its own Numbers: The Nature of which is to be Loofe and Free; and net to keep one fettled Pace; but fometimes like a gentle Stream, to glide along Peaceably within its own Channel; and fometimes, like an impetuous Torrent, to Roll on Extravagantly, and carry all before it. Agree able to that Defcription of Horace :
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