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And when I saw, my soul with grief was cleft,
For sinful man, to Heaven's displeasure left;
And low to earth, I bent my mournful head,
Like one who mourns his dearest comfort dead.
"My God! I cry'd, my God! arise and see
Thy judgments, and thy people's misery;
The sick land mourns, the haughty sinners pine,
Thy wrath devours without, and guilt within.
Ah! who shall now their wasted strength repair,
If thou hast cast them, ever from thy care?"
An answering voice was heard—it spake to me;
God spake from Heav'n—"This judgment shall not be."
I rose with transport from my deep distress,
And as I journey'd on, his name did bless.
Soon nature's languid form, reviving fair,
Sang praises to the God who answers prayer;
The host of worms, that cover'd all the ground,
Vanish'd away, no longer to be found;
Spread forth each curling leaf, and withering stem,
The faded bud disclos'd its secret gem;
The naked earth her vivid robes assum'd,
And fragrant scents the summer gales perfum'd.
But yet a little while the glittering blade,
Of Heavn's displeasure, in its sheath was stay'd,
A flame succeeds, its furious ravage spread,
