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And inquisition of the forge.—We know,
Th' illustrious Deliverer of mankind,
The Son Of God, thee foil'd.—Him in thy pow'r
Thou could'st not hold:—self-vigorous he rose,
And, shaking off thy setters, soon retook
Those spoils his voluntary yielding lent;
(Sure pledge of our releasement from thy thrall;)
Twice twenty days he sojourn'd here on earth,
And shew'd himself alive to chosen Witnesses,
By proof so strong, that the most slow assenting
Had not a scruple left.—This having done,
He mounted up do heav'n.—Methinks I see him
Climb the ærial heights, and glide along
Athwart severing clouds; but the faint eye,
Flung backwards in the chace, soon drops its hold;
Disabled quite, and jaded with pursuing.
Heav'n's portals wide expand to let him in;
Nor are his friends shut out; as some great Prince
Not for himself alone procures admission,
But for his train;—It was his Royal will,
That where he is, there should his followers be.
Death only lies between—a gloomy path!
Made yet more gloomy by our coward fears;
But not untrod, nor tedious; the fatigue
Will soon go off. Besides there's no by-road
To bliss.—Then why, like ill-condition'd children,
Start we at transient hardships in the way
That leads to purer air, and softer skies,
And a ne'er setting sun!—Fools that we are!
We wish to be, where Sweets unwithering, bloom;
But straight our wish revoke, and will not go.
So have I seen upon a summer's ev'n,
Fast by the riv'let's brink, a Youngster play;
How wishfully he looks to stem the tide!
This moment resolute, next unresolv'd;
At last he dips his foot; but as he dips,
His fears redouble, and he runs away