Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham Part 35

[1] 'Prophesied can do': Isaiah xl. 4.

CANTO VI.

Though the creation (so divinely taught!) Prints such a lively image on our thought, That the first spark of new-created light, From Chaos struck, affects our present sight: Yet the first Christians did esteem more bless'd The day of rising, than the day of rest, 260 That every week might new occasion give, To make His triumph in their mem'ry live.

Then let our Muse compose a sacred charm, To keep His blood among us ever warm, And singing as the blessed do above, With our last breath dilate this flame of love.

But on so vast a subject who can find Words that may reach th'idea of his mind?

Our language fails; or, if it could supply, What mortal thought can raise itself so high? 270 Despairing here, we might abandon art, And only hope to have it in our heart.

But though we find this sacred task too hard, Yet the design, th'endeavour, brings reward.

The contemplation does suspend our woe, And makes a truce with all the ills we know.

As Saul's afflicted spirit from the sound Of David's harp, a present solace found;[1]

So, on this theme while we our Muse engage, No wounds are felt, of fortune or of age. 280 On divine love to meditate is peace, And makes all care of meaner things to cease.

Amazed at once, and comforted, to find A boundless power so infinitely kind, The soul contending to that light to flee From her dark cell, we practise how to die; Employing thus the poet's winged art, To reach this love, and grave it in our heart.

Joy so complete, so solid, and severe, Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there; 290 Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone, When from the East the rising sun comes on.

[1] 'Solace found': 1 Sam. xvi. 23.

OF THE FEAR OF G.o.d.

IN TWO CANTOS.

CANTO I.

The fear of G.o.d is freedom, joy, and peace, And makes all ills that vex us here to cease.

Though the word fear some men may ill endure, 'Tis such a fear as only makes secure.

Ask of no angel to reveal thy fate; Look in thy heart, the mirror of thy state.

He that invites will not th'invited mock, Opening to all that do in earnest knock.

Our hopes are all well-grounded on this fear; All our a.s.surance rolls upon that sphere. 10 This fear, that drives all other fears away, Shall be my song, the morning of our day; Where that fear is, there's nothing to be fear'd; It brings from heaven an angel for a guard.

Tranquillity and peace this fear does give; h.e.l.l gapes for those that do without it live.

It is a beam, which He on man lets fall, Of light, by which He made and governs all.

'Tis G.o.d alone should not offended be; But we please others, as more great than He. 20 For a good cause, the sufferings of man May well be borne; 'tis more than angels can.

Man, since his fall, in no mean station rests, Above the angels, or below the beasts.

He with true joy their hearts does only fill, That thirst and hunger to perform His will.

Others, though rich, shall in this world be vex'd, And sadly live in terror of the next.

The world's great conqu'ror[1] would his point pursue, And wept because he could not find a new; 30 Which had he done, yet still he would have cried, To make him work until a third he spied.

Ambition, avarice, will nothing owe To Heaven itself, unless it make them grow.

Though richly fed, man's care does still exceed; Has but one mouth, yet would a thousand feed.

In wealth and honour, by such men possess'd, If it increase not, there is found no rest.

All their delight is while their wish comes in; Sad when it stops, as there had nothing been. 40 'Tis strange men should neglect their present store, And take no joy but in pursuing more; No! though arrived at all the world can aim; This is the mark and glory of our frame, A soul capacious of the Deity, Nothing but He that made can satisfy.

A thousand worlds, if we with Him compare, 47 Less than so many drops of water are.

Men take no pleasure but in new designs; And what they hope for, what they have outshines.

Our sheep and oxen seem no more to crave, With full content feeding on what they have; Vex not themselves for an increase of store, But think to-morrow we shall give them more.

What we from day to day receive from Heaven, They do from us expect it should be given.

We made them not, yet they on us rely, More than vain men upon the Deity; More beasts than they! that will not understand That we are fed from His immediate hand. 60 Man, that in Him has being, moves, and lives, What can he have, or use, but what He gives?

So that no bread can nourishment afford, Or useful be, without His sacred Word.

[1] 'Great conqueror': Alexander.

CANTO II.

Earth praises conquerors for shedding blood, Heaven those that love their foes, and do them good.

It is terrestrial honour to be crown'd For strewing men, like rushes, on the ground.

True glory 'tis to rise above them all, Without th'advantage taken by their fall. 70 He that in sight diminishes mankind, Does no addition to his stature find; But he that does a n.o.ble nature show, Obliging others, still does higher grow; For virtue practised such a habit gives, That among men he like an angel lives; Humbly he doth, and without envy, dwell, Loved and admired by those he does excel.

Fools anger show, which politicians hide; 79 Bless'd with this fear, men let it not abide.

The humble man, when he receives a wrong, Refers revenge to whom it doth belong; Nor sees he reason why he should engage, Or vex his spirit for another's rage.

Placed on a rock, vain men he pities, toss'd On raging waves, and in the tempest lost.

The rolling planets, and the glorious sun, Still keep that order which they first begun; They their first lesson constantly repeat, Which their Creator as a law did set. 90 Above, below, exactly all obey; But wretched men have found another way; Knowledge of good and evil, as at first, (That vain persuasion!) keeps them still accursed!

The Sacred Word refusing as a guide, Slaves they become to luxury and pride.

As clocks, remaining in the skilful hand Of some great master, at the figure stand, But when abroad, neglected they do go, At random strike, and the false hour do show; 100 So from our Maker wandering, we stray, Like birds that know not to their nests the way.

In Him we dwelt before our exile here, And may, returning, find contentment there: True joy may find, perfection of delight, Behold his face, and shun eternal night.

Silence, my Muse! make not these jewels cheap, Exposing to the world too large a heap.

Of all we read, the Sacred Writ is best, Where great truths are in fewest words express'd. 110

Wrestling with death, these lines I did indite; No other theme could give my soul delight.

Oh that my youth had thus employ'd my pen! 113 Or that I now could write as well as then!

But 'tis of grace, if sickness, age, and pain, Are felt as throes, when we are born again; Timely they come to wean us from this earth, As pangs that wait upon a second birth.

OF DIVINE POESY.

TWO CANTOS.

Occasioned upon sight of the 53d chapter of Isaiah turned into verse by Mrs. Wharton

CANTO I.

Poets we prize, when in their verse we find Some great employment of a worthy mind.

Angels have been inquisitive to know The secret which this oracle does show.

What was to come, Isaiah did declare, Which she describes as if she had been there; Had seen the wounds, which, to the reader's view, She draws so lively that they bleed anew.

As ivy thrives which on the oak takes hold, So, with the prophet's, may her lines grow old! 10 If they should die, who can the world forgive, (Such pious lines!) when wanton Sappho's live?

Who with His breath His image did inspire, Expects it should foment a n.o.bler fire; Not love which brutes as well as men may know, But love like His, to whom that breath we owe.