LYRIC POEMS. 309 Sharp as the spear, and balmy as the blood. In his discourse divine Afresh the purple fountain flow'd ; Our falling tears kept sympathetic time, And trickled to the ground, While ev'ry accent gave a doleful sound, Sad as the breaking heart- strings of th' expiring God: 13 Down to the mansions of the dead, With tremblingjoy our souls are led, The captives of his tongue; There the dear Prince of Light re- clines his head. Darkness and shades among. With pleasing horror we survey The caverns of the tomb, Where the belov'd Redeemer lay, And shed a sweet perfume. Hark ! the old earthquake roars again [chain In Gouge's voice, and breaks the Of heavy death, and rends the tombs: The rising God! he comes, he comes, With throngs of waking saints, a long 'triumphing train. 14 Seethe brightsquadrons of the sky, Downward on wings of joy and haste they fly, Meet their returning Sovereign, and attend him high. A shining car the Conqueror fills, Form'd of a golden cloud; Slowly the pdmp moves up the azure hills, Old Satan foams and yells aloud, And gnaws th' eternal brass that binds him to the wheels. The opening gates of bliss receive their King, The Father God smiles on his Son, Pays him the honours he has won, The lofty thrones adore, and little cherubs sing. Behold bins owing native throne, Glory sits fast upon his head Dress'd in new light, and beamy robes, His hand rolls on the seasons, and the shining globes, And sways the living worlds, and re- gions of the dead. 15 Gouge was his envoy to the realms below, Vast was his trust and great bis skill, Bright the credentials he could show, And thousands own'd the seal. His hallow'd lips could well impart The grace, the promise, and com- mand : He knew the pityof Immamiel's heart, Anchterrors of Jehovah's hand. How did our souls start out to hear The embassies of love he bare, , While every ear in rapture hone, Upon the charming wonders of his tongue. Life's busycares a sacred silence bonrid, Attention Stood with all herpowers, With fixed eyes and awe profound, Chain'd to the pleasure of the sound, Nor knew the flying hours.. le But O my everlasting grief! Heav'n has recall'd his envoy from our: eyes, Hence deluges of sorrow,rise, Nor hope th' impossible relief. Ye remnants of the sacred tribe e Who feel the loss, come share the smart, And mix your groans with mine Where is the tongue that can describe Infinite things with equal art, Or language so divine ? Our passions want the heav'nly flame, [songe, Almighty love breathes faintly in our And awful threat'nings languish on our tongues; Howls a great but single name: Amidst the crowd he stands alone ; Stands yet, but with his starry pinions on, [gone. Drest for the flight, and ready to be Eternal God, command his stay, Stretchthe dear monthsof Ins delay ; O we could wish his age were one ins- mortal day! But when the flamingchariots comer And shining guards, t' attend thy prophet home, Amidst a thousand weeping eyes, Send an Elisha down, a soul of equal size, [us to the skies, Or burn this worthless globe, and take
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