EPISTLE TO THE REV. W. BULL. Or whether, which is like enough, His highness may have taken huff; So seldom sought by invocation, Since it has been the reigning fashion To disregard his inspiration,
I seem no brighter in my wits, For all the radiance he emits, Than if I saw through midnight vapour The glimmering of a farthing taper. Oh, for a succedaneum then T'accelerate a creeping pen; Oh, for a ready succedaneum, Quod caput, cerebrum et cranium Pondere liberet exoso,
Et morbo jam caliginoso!
'Tis here; this oval box well fill'd With best tobacco, finely mill'd, Beats all Antycira's pretences To disengage th' encumber'd senses. Oh Nymph of Transatlantic fame, Where'er thine haunt, whate'er thy name, Whether reposing on the side
Of Oroonoko's spacious tide, Or listening with delight not small To Niagara's distant fall,
"Tis thine to cherish and to feed The pungent nose-refreshing weed; Which, whether pulveriz'd it gain A speedy passage to the brain, Or whether touch'd with fire, it rise In circling eddies to the skies, Does thought more quicken and refine Than all the breath of all the nine- Forgive the bard, if bard he be, Who once too wantonly made free
On one of his visits to the poet, Mr. Bull had accidentally
left his box behind him, filled with Oreonoko tobacco.
To touch with a satiric wipe That symbol of thy power, the PIPE. So may no blight infect thy plains, And no unseasonable rains;
And so may smiling peace once more Visit America's sad shore.
And then secure from all alarms
Of thundering drums and glitt'ring arms, Rove unconfin'd beneath the shade Thy wide expanded leaves have made. So may thy votaries increase And fumigation never cease;
May Newton with renewed delights Perform thine odoriferous rites; While clouds of incense, half divine, Involve thy disappearing shrine; And so may smoke-inhaling Bull Be always filling, never full.
Olney, June 22, 1782.
THE ENCHANTMENT DISSOLVED. BLINDED in youth by Satan's arts, The world to our unpractised hearts A flattering prospect shows; Our fancy forms a thousand schemes Of gay delights, and golden dreams, And undisturbed repose.
So in the desert's dreary waste, By magic power produced in haste
(As ancient fables say),
Castles, and groves, and music sweet,
The senses of the traveller meet,
And stop him in his way.
Rev. J. Newton late of Saint Mary's Woolnoth, London, but then of Olney.
LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. But while he listens with surprise, The charm dissolves, the vision dies, "Twas but enchanted ground: Thus if the Lord our spirit touch, The world, which promised us so much, A wilderness is found.
At first we start, and feel distressed, Convinced we never can have rest In such a wretched place;
But He whose mercy breaks the charm, Reveals his own almighty arm,
And bids us seek his face.
Then we begin to live indeed,
When from our sin and bondage freed By this beloved Friend;
We follow him from day to day, Assured of grace through all the way,
And glory at the end.
LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS.
GOD moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break, In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter tastė, But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err And scan his work in vain ; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.
TEMPTATION.
THE billows swell, the winds are high, Clouds overcast my wintry sky; Out of the depths to thee I call, My fears are great, my strength is small.
O Lord, the pilot's part perform,
And guide and guard me through the storm; Defend me from each threatening ill, Control the waves, say, "Peace, be still."
Amidst the roaring of the sea,
My soul still hangs her hope on thee; Thy constant love, thy faithful care, Is all that saves me from despair.
Dangers of every shape and name Attend the followers of the Lamb, Who leave the world's deceitful shore, And leave it to return no more.
Though tempest-tossed and half a wreck, My Saviour through the floods I seek; Let neither winds nor stormy main Force back my shattered bark again..
SUBMISSION.
O LORD, my best desire fulfil,
And help me to resign
Life, health, and comfort to thy will, And make thy pleasure mine..
Why should I shrink at thy command,. Whose love forbids my fears? Or tremble at the gracious hand That wipes away my tears?
No, let me rather freely yield What most I prize to Thee; Who never hast a good withheld, Or wilt withhold from me.
Thy favour, all my journey through Thou art engaged to grant; What else I want, or think I do, "Tis better still to want.
Wisdom and mercy guide my way, Shall I resist them both?
A poor blind creature of a day, And crushed before the moth!
But ah! my inward spirit cries, Still bind me to thy sway; Else the next cloud that veils my skies, Drives all these thoughts away.
C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.
« 前へ次へ » |