60
The Complaint.
Night 4.
With Pangs, strange Pangs! deliver'd of her Dead?
Hell howl'd; and Heav'n that Hour let fall a Tear:
Heav'n wept, that Men might smile! Heav'n bled, that Man
Might never die!
And is Devotion Vitue? 'Tis compell'd:
What Heart of Stone, but glows at Thoughts like These?
Such Contemplations mount us; and should mount
The Mind still higher; nor ever glance on Man,
Unraptur'd, uninflam'd.—Where roll my Thoughts
To rest from Wonders? Other Wonders rise;
And strike where-e'er they roll: My Soul is caught:
Heav'n's sov'reign Blessings, clust'ring from the Cross,
Rush on her, in a Throng, and close her round,
The Pris'ner of Amaze!—In His blest Life,
I see the Path, and, in His Death, the Price,
And in His great Ascent, the Proof Supreme
Of Immortality.—And did He rise?
Hear, O ye Nations! hear it, O ye Dead!
He rose! He rose! He burst the Bars of Death.
Lift up your Heads, ye everlasting Gates!
And give the King of Glory to come in:
Who is the King of Glory? He who left
His Throne of Glory, for the Pang of Death:
Lift up your Heads, ye everlasting Gates!
And give the King of Glory to come in.
Who is the King of Glory? He who flew
The rav'nous Foe, that gorg'd all human Race!
The King of Glory, He, whose Glory fill'd
Heav'n with Amazement at his Love to Man;
And with Divine Complacency beheld
Pow'rs most illumin'd, wilder'd in the Theme.
The Theme, the Joy, how then shall Man sustain?
Oh the burst Gates! crush'd Sting! demolish'd Throne!
Last Gasp! of vanquish'd Death. Shout Earth and Heav'n!
This Sum of Good, to Man. Whose Nature, then,
Hell howl'd; and Heav'n that Hour let fall a Tear:
Heav'n wept, that Men might smile! Heav'n bled, that Man
Might never die!
And is Devotion Vitue? 'Tis compell'd:
What Heart of Stone, but glows at Thoughts like These?
Such Contemplations mount us; and should mount
The Mind still higher; nor ever glance on Man,
Unraptur'd, uninflam'd.—Where roll my Thoughts
To rest from Wonders? Other Wonders rise;
And strike where-e'er they roll: My Soul is caught:
Heav'n's sov'reign Blessings, clust'ring from the Cross,
Rush on her, in a Throng, and close her round,
The Pris'ner of Amaze!—In His blest Life,
I see the Path, and, in His Death, the Price,
And in His great Ascent, the Proof Supreme
Of Immortality.—And did He rise?
Hear, O ye Nations! hear it, O ye Dead!
He rose! He rose! He burst the Bars of Death.
Lift up your Heads, ye everlasting Gates!
And give the King of Glory to come in:
Who is the King of Glory? He who left
His Throne of Glory, for the Pang of Death:
Lift up your Heads, ye everlasting Gates!
And give the King of Glory to come in.
Who is the King of Glory? He who flew
The rav'nous Foe, that gorg'd all human Race!
The King of Glory, He, whose Glory fill'd
Heav'n with Amazement at his Love to Man;
And with Divine Complacency beheld
Pow'rs most illumin'd, wilder'd in the Theme.
The Theme, the Joy, how then shall Man sustain?
Oh the burst Gates! crush'd Sting! demolish'd Throne!
Last Gasp! of vanquish'd Death. Shout Earth and Heav'n!
This Sum of Good, to Man. Whose Nature, then,
Took
