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The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake,
Pleas'd, the green lustre of the scales survey,
And with their forky tongue shall innocently play.
Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise!
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes !
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sons and daughters yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies !
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy.light, and in thy temple bend!
See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate kings,
And heap'd with products of Sabæan springs!
For thee Idumea's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See Heaven its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day!
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn;
But lost, dissolv'd in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze
O'erflow thy courts: the Light bimself shall shine
Reveald, and God's eternal day be thine!
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fix'd his word, his saving pow'r remains ;-
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns !
When man had disobey'd his Lord,
Vindictive Justice drew the sword;
The rebel and his race shall die,'
He spake, and thunders burst the sky.
Lo! Jesus pard’ning grace displays,
Nor thunders roll
, nor lightnings blaze.
Jesus, the Saviour, stands confest,
In rays of mildest glories drest.
As round him press th' angelic crowd,
Mercy and Truth he calls aloud ;
The smiling cherub's wing'd to view,
Their pinions sounded as they flew:
“Ye favourites of the throne, arise,
Bear the strange tidings through the skies!
Say, man, th' apostate rebel, lives,
Say, Jesus bleeds, and Heav'n forgives.'
* In pity to the fallen race,
I'll take their nature and their place;
I'll bleed, their pardon to procure;
I'll die, to make that pardon sure.'
Now Jesus leaves his bless'd abode,
A virgin's womb receives the God.
When the tenth moon had wan'd on Earth,
A virgin's womb disclos'd the birth.
New praise employs th’ ethereal throng,
Their golden harps repeat the song;
And angels waft th' immortal strains
To humble Bethl'em's happy plains.
While there the guardians of the sheep
By night their faithful vigils keep,
Celestial notes their ears delight,
And floods of glory drown their sight.
When Gabriel thus, 'Exult, ye swains,
Jesus, your own Messiah, reigns!
Arise, the royal babe behold,
Jesus, by ancient bards foretold.
"To David's town direct your way,
And shout, Salvation's born to-day!
There, in a manger's mean disguise,
You'll find the Sovereign of the skies.'
What joy Salvation's sound imparts,
You best can tell, ye guileless hearts,
Whom no vain science led astray,
Nor taught to scorn Salvation's way.
Though regal purple spurns these truths,
Maintain your ground, ye chosen youths ;
Brave the stern tyrant's lifted rod,
Nor blush to own a dying God.
What! though the sages of the Earth
Proudly dispute this wondrous birth;
Though learning mocks Salvation's voice,
Know, Heav'n applauds your wiser choice.
Oh, be this wiser choice my own!
Bear me, some seraph, to his throne;
Where the rapt soul dissolves away
m visions of eternal day.
CHRIST'S PASSION, FROM A GREEK ODE BY MR.
MASTERS, FORMERLY OF NEW COLLEGE.
No more of earthly subjects sing:
To Heaven, my muse, aspire;
To raise the song, charge every string,
And strike the living lyre.
Begin; in lofty numbers show
Th' Eternal King's unfathom'd love,
Who reigns the sovereign God above,
And suffers on the cross below.
Prodigious pile of wonders ! rais'd too high
For the dim ken of frail mortality.
What numbers shall I bring along?
From whence shall I begin the song ?
The mighty mystery I'll sing, inspir'd,
Beyond the reach of human wisdom wrought,
compass of an angel's thought,
How by the rage of man his God expir'd!
I'll make the trackless depths of mercy known,
How to redeem his foe God render'd his Son;
I'll raise my voice to tell mankind
The victor's conquest o'er his doom, How in the grave he lay confin'd,
To seal more sure the ravenous tomb. Three days th’infernal empire to subdue, He pass'd triumphant through the coasts of wo; With his own dart the tyrant Death he slew, And led Hell captive through her realms below, A mingled sound from Calvary I hear, And the loud tunults thicken on my ear,
The shouts of murderers that insult the slain,
The voice of torment, and the shrieks of pain.
I cast my eyes with horror up
To the curs’d mountain's guilty top;
See there! whom hanging in the midst I view!
Ah! how unlike the other two!
I see him high above his foes,
And gently bending to the wood
His head in pity down to those,
Whose guilt conspires to shed his blood.
His wide-extended arms I see,
Transfix'd with nails, and fasten'd to the tree.
Man! senseless man! canst thou look on?
Nor make thy Saviour's pains thy own.
of all thy pain exert,
Rend thy garments and thy heart:
Beat thy breast, and grovel low,
Beneath the burden of thy wo: Bleed through thy bowels, tear thy hairs, Breathe gales of sighs, and weep a flood of tears. Behold thy King with purple cover'd round,
Not in the Tyrian tincture dy'd, Nor dipp'd in poison of Sidonian pride, But in his own rich blood, that streams from every
wound. Dost thou not see the thorny circle red ? The guilty wreath that blushes round his head ? And with what rage the bloody scourge applied, Curls round his limbs, and ploughs into his side?
At such a sight let all thy anguish rise,
the fountains of thy eyes. Here bid thy tears in gushing torrents flow, Indulge thy grief, and give a loose to wo.