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Hail, happy saint, on thine immortal throne,
Possest of glory, life, and bliss unknown;
We hear no more the music of thy tongue,
Thy wonted auditories cease to throng.
Thy sermons in unequall’d accents flow’d,
And ev’ry ***** with devotion glow’d;
Thou didst in strains of eloquence refin’d
Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind.
Unhappy we the setting sun deplore,
So glorious once, but ah! it shines no more.
  Behold the prophet in his tow’ring flight!
He leaves the earth for heav’n’s unmeasur’d height,
And worlds unknown receive him from our sight.
There Whitefield wings with rapid course his way,
And sails to Zion through vast seas of day.
Thy pray’rs, great saint, and thine incessant cries
Have pierc’d the ***** of thy native skies.
Thou moon hast seen, and all the stars of light,
How he has wrestled with his God by night.
He pray’d that grace in ev’ry heart might dwell,
He long’d to see America excell;
He charg’d its youth that ev’ry grace divine
Should with full lustre in their conduct shine;
That Saviour, which his soul did first receive,
The greatest gift that ev’n a God can give,
He freely offer’d to the num’rous throng,
That on his lips with list’ning pleasure hung.
  “Take him, ye wretched, for your only good,
“Take him ye starving sinners, for your food;
“Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream,
“Ye preachers, take him for your joyful theme;
“Take him my dear Americans, he said,
“Be your complaints on his kind ***** laid:
“Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you,
“Impartial Saviour is his title due:
“Wash’d in the fountain of redeeming blood,
“You shall be sons, and kings, and priests to God.”
  Great Countess, we Americans revere
Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere;
New England deeply feels, the Orphans mourn,
Their more than father will no more return.
  But, though arrested by the hand of death,
Whitefield no more exerts his lab’ring breath,
Yet let us view him in th’ eternal skies,
Let ev’ry heart to this bright vision rise;
While the tomb safe retains its sacred trust,
Till life divine re-animates his dust.
Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,
He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks;
News from all nations lumb'ring at his back.
True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind,
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn:
And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some;
To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy.
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet
With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charg'd with am'rous sighs of absent swains,
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect
His horse and him, unconscious of them all.
But oh th' important budget! usher'd in
With such heart-shaking music, who can say
What are its tidings? have our troops awak'd?
Or do they still, as if with ***** drugg'd,
Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantic wave?
Is India free? and does she wear her plum'd
And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace,
Or do we grind her still? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the **** reply,
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh--I long to know them all;
I burn to set th' imprison'd wranglers free,
And give them voice and utt'rance once again.
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups,
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.
Not such his ev'ning, who with shining face
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeez'd
And bor'd with elbow-points through both his sides,
Out-scolds the ranting actor on the stage:
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb,
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath
Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage,
Or placemen, all tranquility and smiles.
This folio of four pages, happy work!
Which not ev'n critics criticise; that holds
Inquisitive attention, while I read,
Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair,
Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break;
What is it, but a map of busy life,
Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?...


Oh winter, ruler of th' inverted year,
Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ashes fill'd,
Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks
Fring'd with a beard made white with other snows
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds,
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels,
But urg'd by storms along its slipp'ry way,
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st,
And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun
A pris'ner in the yet undawning east,
Short'ning his journey between morn and noon,
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay,
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still
Compensating his loss with added hours
Of social converse and instructive ease,
And gath'ring, at short notice, in one group
The family dispers'd, and fixing thought,
Not less dispers'd by day-light and its cares.
I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted ev'ning, know.
No rattling wheels stop short before these gates;
No powder'd pert proficient in the art
Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors
Till the street rings; no stationary steeds
Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound,
The silent circle fan themselves, and quake:
But here the needle plies its busy task,
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flow'r,
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn,
Unfolds its *****; buds, and leaves, and sprigs,
And curling tendrils, gracefully dispos'd,
Follow the nimble finger of the fair;
A wreath that cannot fade, or flow'rs that blow
With most success when all besides decay.
The poet's or historian's page, by one
Made vocal for th' amusement of the rest;
The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds
The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out;
And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct,
And in the charming strife triumphant still;
Beguile the night, and set a keener edge
On female industry: the threaded steel
Flies swiftly, and, unfelt, the task proceeds.
The volume clos'd, the customary rites
Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal;
Such as the mistress of the world once found
Delicious, when her patriots of high note,
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors,
And under an old oak's domestic shade,
Enjoy'd--spare feast!--a radish and an egg!
Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull,
Nor such as with a frown forbids the play
Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth:
Nor do we madly, like an impious world,
Who deem religion frenzy, and the God
That made them an intruder on their joys,
Start at his awful name, or deem his praise
A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone,
Exciting oft our gratitude and love,
While we retrace with mem'ry's pointing wand,
That calls the past to our exact review,
The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare,
The disappointed foe, deliv'rance found
Unlook'd for, life preserv'd and peace restor'd--
Fruits of omnipotent eternal love.
Oh ev'nings worthy of the gods! exclaim'd
The Sabine bard. Oh ev'nings, I reply,
More to be priz'd and coveted than yours,
As more illumin'd, and with nobler truths.
That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy....
ConnectHook Jul 2021
Michael Wigglesworth (1631–1705)

STILL was the night, serene and bright,
  When all men sleeping lay;
Calm was the season, and carnal reason
  Thought so ’t would last for aye.
Soul, take thine ease, let sorrow cease,         5
  Much good thou hast in store:
This was their song, their cups among,
  The evening before.

Wallowing in all kind of sin,
  Vile wretches lay secure:         10
The best of men had scarcely then
  Their lamps kept in good ure.
Virgins unwise, who through disguise
  Amongst the best were number’d,
Had clos’d their eyes; yea, and the wise         15
  Through sloth and frailty slumber’d.

Like as of gold, when men grow bold
  God’s threat’nings to contemn,
Who stop their ear, and would not hear;
  When mercy warned them:         20
But took their course, without remorse,
  Till God began to pour
Destruction the world upon
  In a tempestuous shower.

They put away the evil day,         25
  And drown’d their care and fears,
Till drown’d were they, and swept away
  By vengeance unawares:
So at the last, whilst men sleep fast
  In their security,         30
Surpris’d they are in such a snare
  As cometh suddenly.

For at midnight break forth a light,
  Which turn’d the night to day,
And speedily an hideous cry         35
  Did all the world dismay.
Sinners awake, their hearts do ache,
  Trembling their ***** surpriseth;
Amaz’d with fear, by what they hear,
  Each one of them ariseth.         40

They rush from beds with giddy heads,
  And to their windows run,
Viewing this light, which shines more bright
  Than doth the noonday sun.
Straightway appears (they see ’t with tears,)         45
  The Son of God most dread;
Who with his train comes on amain
  To judge both quick and dead.

Before his face the heavens gave place,
  And skies are rent asunder,         50
With mighty voice, and hideous noise,
  More terrible than thunder.
His brightness damps heaven’s glorious lamps,
  And makes them hide their heads,
As if afraid and quite dismay’d,         55
  They quit their wonted steads.

Ye sons of men that durst contemn
  The threat’nings of God’s word,
How cheer you now? your hearts I trow,
  Are thrill’d as with a sword.         60
Now atheist blind, whose brutish mind
  A God could never see,
Dost thou perceive, dost now believe
  That Christ thy judge shalt be?

Stout courages, (whose hardiness         65
  Could death and hell outface,)
Are you as bold now you behold
  Your judge draw near apace?
They cry, “no, no: alas! and wo!
  Our courage is all gone:         70
Our hardiness (fool hardiness)
  Hath us undone, undone.”

No heart so bold, but now grows cold
  And almost dead with fear:
No eye so dry, but now can cry,         75
  And pour out many a tear.
Earth’s potentates and powerful states,
  Captains and men of might,
Are quite abash’d, their courage dash’d
  At this most dreadful sight.         80

Mean men lament, great men do rent
  Their robes, and tear their hair:
They do not spare their flesh to tear
  Through horrible despair.
All kindreds wail: all hearts do fail:         85
  Horror the world doth fill
With weeping eyes, and loud outcries,
  Yet knows not *******.

Some hide themselves in caves and delves
  In places under ground:         90
Some rashly leap into the deep,
  To ’scape by being drown’d:
Some to the rocks (O senseless blocks!)
  And woody mountains run,
That there they might this fearful sight,         95
  And dreaded presence shun.

In vain do they to mountains say,
  Fall on us and us hide
From judge’s ire, more hot than fire,
  For who may it abide?         100
No hiding place can from his face,
  Sinners at all conceal,
Whose flaming eye hid things doth spy,
  And darkest things reveal.

Then were brought in, and charg’d with sin.         105
  Another company,
Who by petition obtain’d permission,
  To make apology:
They argued, “We were misled,
  As is well known to thee,         110
By their example, that had more ample
  Abilities than we:

Such as profess’d they did detest
  And hate each wicked way:
Whose seeming grace whilst we did trace,         115
  Our souls were led astray.
When men of parts, learning and arts.
  Professing piety,
Did thus and thus, it seem’d to us
  We might take liberty.         120

The judge replies, “I gave you eyes,
  And light to see your way,
Which had you lov’d, and well improv’d,
  You had not gone astray.
My word was pure, the rule was sure,         125
  Why did you it forsake,
Or thereon trample, and men’s example,
  Your directory make?

This you well knew, that God is true,
  And that most men are liars,         130
In word professing holiness,
  In deed thereof deniers.
O simple fools! that having rules
  Your lives to regulate,
Would them refuse, and rather choose         135
  Vile men to imitate.”

“But Lord,” say they, “we went astray,
  And did more wickedly,
By means of those whom thou hast chose
  Salvation heirs to be.”         140
To whom the judge; “what you allege,
  Doth nothing help the case;
But makes appear how vile you were,
  And rendereth you more base.

You understood that what was good         145
  Was to be followed,
And that you ought that which was naught
  To have relinquished.
Contrary ways, it was your guise,
  Only to imitate         150
Good men’s defects, and their neglects
  That were regenerate.

But to express their holiness,
  Or imitate their grace,
You little car’d, nor once prepar’d         155
  Your hearts to seek my face.
They did repent, and truly rent
  Their hearts for all known sin:
You did offend, but not amend,
  To follow them therein.”         160

“We had thy word,” say some, “O Lord,
  But wiser men than we
Could never yet interpret it,
  But always disagree.
How could we fools be led by rules,         165
  So far beyond our ken,
Which to explain did so much pain,
  And puzzle wisest men.”

“Was all my word abstruse and hard?”
  The judge then answered:         170
“It did contain much truth so plain,
  You might have run and read.
But what was hard you never car’d
  To know nor studied.
And things that were most plain and clear         175
  You never practised.

The mystery of piety
  God unto babes reveals;
When to the wise he it denies,
  And from the world conceals.         180
If to fulfil God’s holy will
  Had seemed good to you
You would have sought light as you ought,
  And done the good you knew.”

Then at the bar arraigned are         185
  An impudenter sort,
Who to evade the guilt that’s laid
  Upon them thus retort;
“How could we cease thus to transgress?
  How could we hell avoid,         190
Whom God’s decree shut out from thee,
  And sign’d to be destroy’d?

Whom God ordains to endless pains,
  By law unalterable,
Repentance true, obedience new,         195
  To save such are unable:
Sorrow for sin, no good can win,
  To such as are rejected:
Nor can they grieve, nor yet believe,
  That never were elected.         200

Of man’s fall’n race who can true grace
  Or holiness obtain?
Who can convert or change his heart,
  If God withhold the same?
Had we applied ourselves and tried         205
  As much as who did most
God’s love to gain, our busy pain
  And labor had been lost.

Christ readily makes this reply;
  “I **** you not because         210
You are rejected or not elected,
  But you have broke my laws:
It is but vain your wits to strain
  The end and means to sever:
Men fondly seek to part or break         215
  What God hath link’d together.

Whom God will save such will he have
  The means of life to use:
Whom he ’ll pass by, shall choose to die,
  And ways of life refuse.         220
He that foresees, and foredecrees,
  In wisdom order’d has,
That man’s free will electing ill,
  Shall bring his will to pass.

High God’s decree, as it is free,         225
  So doth it none compel
Against their will to good or ill,
  It forceth none to hell.
They have their wish whose souls perish
  With torments in hell fire,         230
Who rather chose their souls to lose,
  Than leave a loose desire.

Then to the bar, all they drew near
  Who died in infancy,
And never had or good or bad         235
  Effected personally,
But from the womb unto the tomb
  Were straightway carried,
(Or at the last ere they transgress’d)
  Who thus began to plead:         240

“If for our own transgression,
  Or disobedience,
We here did stand at thy left hand,
  Just were the recompense:
But Adam’s guilt our souls hath spilt,         245
  His fault is charged on us;
And that alone hath overthrown,
  And utterly undone us.

Not we, but he ate of the tree,
  Whose fruit was interdicted:         250
Yet on us all of his sad fall,
  The punishment ’s inflicted.
How could we sin that had not been,
  Or how is his sin our
Without consent, which to prevent,         255
  We never had a power?

O great Creator, why was our nature
  Depraved and forlorn?
Why so defil’d, and made so vild
  Whilst we were yet unborn?         260
If it be just and needs we must
  Transgressors reckon’d be,
Thy mercy, Lord, to us afford,
  Which sinners hath set free.

Behold we see Adam set free,         265
  And sav’d from his trespass,
Whose sinful fall hath split us all,
  And brought us to this pass.
Canst thou deny us once to try,
  Or grace to us to tender,         270
When he finds grace before thy face,
  That was the chief offender?”

Then answered the judge most dread,
  “God doth such doom forbid,
That men should die eternally         275
  For what they never did.
But what you call old Adam’s fall,
  And only his trespass,
You call amiss to call it his,
  Both his and yours it was.         280

He was design’d of all mankind
  To be a public head,
A common root, whence all should shoot,
  And stood in all their stead.
He stood and fell, did ill or well,         285
  Not for himself alone,
But for you all, who now his fall
  And trespass would disown.

If he had stood, then all his brood
  Had been established         290
In God’s true love never to move,
  Nor once awry to tread:
Then all his race, my Father’s grace,
  Should have enjoy’d for ever,
And wicked sprites by subtle sleights         295
  Could then have harmed never.

Would you have griev’d to have receiv’d
  Through Adam so much good,
And had been your for evermore,
  If he at first had stood?         300
Would you have said, ‘we ne’er obey’d,
  Nor did thy laws regard;
It ill befits with benefits,
  Us, Lord, so to reward.’

Since then to share in his welfare,         305
  You could have been content,
You may with reason share in his treason,
  And in the punishment.
Hence you were born in state forlorn,
  With nature so deprav’d:         310
Death was your due, because that you
  Had thus yourselves behav’d.

You think, ‘if we had been as he,
  Whom God did so betrust,
We to our cost would ne’er have lost         315
  All for a paltry lust.’
Had you been made in Adam’s stead,
  You would like things have wrought,
And so into the selfsame wo,
  Yourselves and yours have brought.         320

I may deny you once to try,
  Or grace to you to tender,
Though he finds grace before my face,
  Who was the chief offender:
Else should my grace cease to be grace;         325
  For it should not be free,
If to release whom I should please,
  I have no liberty.

If upon one what’s due to none
  I frankly shall bestow,         330
And on the rest shall not think best,
  Compassion’s skirts to throw,
Whom injure I? will you envy,
  And grudge at others’ weal?
Or me accuse, who do refuse         335
  Yourselves to help and heal.

Am I alone for what’s my own,
  No master or no Lord?
O if I am, how can you claim
  What I to some afford?         340
Will you demand grace at my hand,
  And challenge what is mine?
Will you teach me whom to set free,
  And thus my grace confine?

You sinners are, and such a share         345
  As sinners may expect,
Such you shall have; for I do save
  None but my own elect.
Yet to compare your sin with their
  Who liv’d a longer time,         350
I do confess yours is much less,
  Though every sin’s a crime.

A crime it is, therefore in bliss
  You may not hope to dwell
But unto you I shall allow         355
  The easiest room in hell.”
The glorious king thus answering,
  They cease, and plead no longer:
Their consciences must needs confess
  His reasons are the stronger.         360

Thus all men’s pleas the judge with ease
  Doth answer and confute.
Until that all, both great and small,
  Are silenced and mute.
Vain hopes are crop’d, all mouths are stop’d,         365
  Sinners have nought to say,
But that ’tis just, and equal most
  They should be ****’d for aye.

Now what remains, but that to pains
  And everlasting smart,         370
Christ should condemn the sons of men,
  Which is their just desert;
Oh rueful plights of sinful wights!
  Oh wretches all forlorn:
’T had happy been they ne’er had seen         375
  The sun, or not been born.

The saints behold with courage bold,
  And thankful wonderment,
To see all those that were their foes
  Thus sent to punishment:         380
Then do they sing unto their king
  A song of endless praise:
They praise his name and do proclaim
  That just are all his ways.

Thus with great joy and melody         385
  To heaven they all ascend,
Him there to praise with sweetest lays,
  And hymns that never end.
Where with long rest they shall be blest,
  And nought shall them annoy:         390
Where they shall see as seen they be,
  And whom they love enjoy.
Martin Vanický Mar 2019
Over the sea and endless woods,
Through crimson sunset's light,
A lonely mountain, men in hoods,
Brown feathered sparrow - fresh aflight!

Towards the mountains foot they went,
Long processions form'd,
Blades shining, hearts to mend,
The mountain they had storm'd!

The foe beyond the stony gates,
Terrible was in his wrath,
Inside a deadly horde awaits,
Guards the only narrow path.

Ruthless, bravely they had fought,
For the liberation of their home,
Without a second thought,
Fading like the ocean's foam.

The battle had seemed lost,
Till Goren blew his horn,
Evil plans now they had cross'd,
With renewed vigor they were born.

The foe now trembled in his lair,
When Men had charg'd the door,
A punishment now coming, fair,
At its end the prolonged war.

Slain by Goren's mighty hand,
The foe now bloodied lies,
His life has come to end,
His corpse will feed the flies.

The mountain stands reclaimed,
And Goren rules as king,
Untold riches they had claim'd,
White flowers brought by spring.

The untamed woods around are still,
As sinister as ever,
The savage wolves they will,
Again come trodding hither!

And when war comes here once again,
Goren's folk will take up arms,
Surely, they won't waver then,
They'll protect their people's farms

— The End —