THE PRAYER OF SOLOMON, AND THE ANSWER.
It haply be Thy will, that I should know
Glimpse of delight, or pause from anxious woe;
From now, from instant now, Great Sire! dispel
The clouds that press my soul; from now reveal
A gracious beam of light; from now inspire
My tongue to sing, my hand to touch the lyre;
My open'd thought to joyous prospects raise,
And, for Thy mercy, let me sing Thy praise.
Or, if Thy will ordains, I still shall wait
Some new hereafter, and a future state,
Permit me strength, my weight of woe to bear,
And raise my mind superior to my care.
Let me, howe'er unable to explain
The secret lab'rinths of Thy ways to man,
With humble zeal confess Thy awful power,
Still weeping, hope; and wondering, still adore.
So in my conquest be Thy might declared,
And, for Thy justice, be Thy name rever'd."
My prayer scarce ended, a stupendous gloom Darkens the air; loud thunder shakes the dome; To the beginning miracle succeed
An awful silence, and religious dread.
Sudden breaks forth a more than common day;
The sacred wood, which on the altar lay,
Untouch'd, unlighted, glows
Ambrosial odour, such as never flows
From Arab's gum, or the Sabæan rose,
Does round the air revolving scents diffuse;
The holy ground is wet with heavenly dews;
And lo! what sees my ravish'd eye? what feels
My wondering soul? an opening cloud reveals
A heavenly form embodied, and array'd
With robes of light. I heard; the angel said:
"Cease, man of woman born, to hope relief From daily trouble and continu'd grief,
THE PRAYER OF SOLOMON, AND THE ANSWER.
Thy hope of joy deliver to the wind;
Suppress thy passions; and prepare thy mind.
Free and familiar with misfortune grow:
Be used to sorrow, and inur'd to woe.
And from thy race distinguish'd, One shall spring,
Greater in act than victor, more than king
In dignity and power, sent down from Heaven,
To succour earth. To Him, to Him 'tis given,
Passion, and care, and anguish to destroy;
Through Him soft peace, and plenitude of joy
Perpetual o'er the world redeem'd shall flow,
No more may man inquire, nor angel know."
With upward speed his agile wings he spread ;
Whilst on the holy ground I prostrate lay,
By various doubts impell'd, or to obey,
Or to object at length (my mournful look
Heavenward erect) determin'd, thus I spoke :
"Supreme, All-wise, Eternal Potentate!
Sole Author, sole disposer of our fate!
Enthron'd in light, and immortality!
Whom no man fully sees, and none can see!
Original of beings! Power Divine!
Since that I live, and that I think, is Thine;
Benign Creator, let Thy plastic hand
Dispose its own effect. Let Thy command
Restore, Great Father, Thy instructed son,
And in my act may Thy great will be done."
METHINKS the world is oddly made, And every thing's amiss,
A dull presuming Atheist said,
As stretch'd he lay beneath a shade, And instanced it in this :
THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORN.
Behold, quoth he, that mighty thing,
A pumpkin large and round,
Is held but by a little string,
Which upwards cannot make it spring,
Or bear it from the ground.
While on this oak an acorn small,
So disproportion'd grows;
That who with sense surveys this all,
This universal casual ball,
Its ill contrivance knows.
My better judgment could have hung
The pumpkin on the tree,
And left the acorn, lightly strung,
'Mongst things which on the surface sprung, And small and feeble be.
No more the caviller could say,
Nor further faults descry;
For as he upwards gazing lay,
An acorn, loosen'd from its stay,
Fell down upon his eye.
The wounded part with tears ran o'er,
As punish'd for the sin;
Fool! had that bough a pumpkin bore,
Thy whimsies would have worked no more,
Nor skull have kept them in.
Anne, Countess of Winchelsea.
How are Thy servants blest, O Lord!
How sure is their defence!
Eternal Wisdom is their guide;
Their help, Omnipotence.
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