58
The Complaint.
Night 4.
Sensations new in Angels Bosoms rise;
Suspend their Song; and make a Pause in Bliss.
O for their Song to reach my lofty Theme!
Inspire me, Night! with all thy tuneful Spheres inspire;
Whilst I with Seraphs share seraphic Themes,
And shew to Men the Dignity of Man;
Lest I blaspheme my Subject with my Song.
Shall Pagan Pages glow celestial Flame,
And Christian languish? On our Hearts, not Heads,
Falls the foul Infamy: My Heart! awake.
What can awake thee, unawak'd by this,
"Expended Deity on human Weal?"
Feel the great Truths, which burst the tenfold Night
Of Heathen Error, with a golden Flood
Of endless Day: To feel, is to be fir'd;
And to believe, Lorenzo! is to feel.
Thou most indulgent, most tremendous Pow'r!
Still more tremendous, for thy wond'rous Love!
That arms, with Awe more aweful, thy Commands;
And foul Transgression dips in sev'nfold Night,
How our Hearts tremble at thy Love immense!
In Love immense, inviolably Just!
Thou, rather than thy Justice should be stain'd,
Didst stain the Cross; and, Work of Wonders far
The greatest, that thy Dearest far might bleed.
Bold Thought! Shall I dare speak it, or repress?
Should Man more execrate, or boast, the Guilt
Which rous'd such Vengeance? which such Love inflam'd?
O'er Guilt (how mountainous!) with out-stretcht Arms,
Stern Justice, and soft-smiling Love, embrace,
Supporting, in full Majesty, thy Throne,
When seem'd its Majesty to need Support,
Or That, or Man, inevitably lost.
What, but the Fathomless of Thought divine,
Could labour such Expedient from Despair,
Suspend their Song; and make a Pause in Bliss.
O for their Song to reach my lofty Theme!
Inspire me, Night! with all thy tuneful Spheres inspire;
Whilst I with Seraphs share seraphic Themes,
And shew to Men the Dignity of Man;
Lest I blaspheme my Subject with my Song.
Shall Pagan Pages glow celestial Flame,
And Christian languish? On our Hearts, not Heads,
Falls the foul Infamy: My Heart! awake.
What can awake thee, unawak'd by this,
"Expended Deity on human Weal?"
Feel the great Truths, which burst the tenfold Night
Of Heathen Error, with a golden Flood
Of endless Day: To feel, is to be fir'd;
And to believe, Lorenzo! is to feel.
Thou most indulgent, most tremendous Pow'r!
Still more tremendous, for thy wond'rous Love!
That arms, with Awe more aweful, thy Commands;
And foul Transgression dips in sev'nfold Night,
How our Hearts tremble at thy Love immense!
In Love immense, inviolably Just!
Thou, rather than thy Justice should be stain'd,
Didst stain the Cross; and, Work of Wonders far
The greatest, that thy Dearest far might bleed.
Bold Thought! Shall I dare speak it, or repress?
Should Man more execrate, or boast, the Guilt
Which rous'd such Vengeance? which such Love inflam'd?
O'er Guilt (how mountainous!) with out-stretcht Arms,
Stern Justice, and soft-smiling Love, embrace,
Supporting, in full Majesty, thy Throne,
When seem'd its Majesty to need Support,
Or That, or Man, inevitably lost.
What, but the Fathomless of Thought divine,
Could labour such Expedient from Despair,
And
