The Christian Triumph.
63
Thou Prostitute! to thy first Love return,
Thy first, thy greatest, once unrival'd Theme.
There flow redundant; like Meander flow,
Back to thy Fountain; to that Parent Pow'r,
Who gives the Tongue to sound, the Thought to soar,
The Soul to be. Men Homage pay to Men,
Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful Eye they bow
In mutual Awe profound, of Clay to Clay,
Of Guilt to Guilt; and turn their Backs on Thee,
Great Sire! whom Thrones celestial ceaseless sing;
To prostrate Angels, an amazing Scene!
O the Presumption of Man's Awe for Man!———
Man's Author! End! Restorer! Law! and Judge!
Thine, All; Day thine, and thine this Gloom of Night,
With all her Wealth, with all her radiant Worlds:
What, Night eternal, but a Frown from Thee?
What, Heav'n's meridian Glory, but thy Smile?
And shall not Praise be Thine? Not Human Praise?
While Heav'n's high Host on Hallelujabs live?
O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe
My Soul in Praise to Him, who gave my Soul,
And all her Infinite of Prospect fair,
Cut thro' the Shades of Hell, great Love! by Thee,
Oh most adorable! most unador'd!
Where shall that Praise begin, which ne'er should end?
Where-e'er I turn, what Claim on all Applause!
How is Night's sable Mantle labour'd o'er,
How richly wrought, with Attributes divine!
What Wisdom shines! what Love! This Midnight Pomp,
This gorgeous Arch, with golden Worlds inlay'd!
Built with divine Ambition! nought to Thee;
For Others this Profusion: Thou, Apart,
Above! Beyond! Oh tell me, mighty Mind!
Where art thou? Shall I dive into the Deep?
Call to the Sun, or ask the roaring Winds,
Thy first, thy greatest, once unrival'd Theme.
There flow redundant; like Meander flow,
Back to thy Fountain; to that Parent Pow'r,
Who gives the Tongue to sound, the Thought to soar,
The Soul to be. Men Homage pay to Men,
Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful Eye they bow
In mutual Awe profound, of Clay to Clay,
Of Guilt to Guilt; and turn their Backs on Thee,
Great Sire! whom Thrones celestial ceaseless sing;
To prostrate Angels, an amazing Scene!
O the Presumption of Man's Awe for Man!———
Man's Author! End! Restorer! Law! and Judge!
Thine, All; Day thine, and thine this Gloom of Night,
With all her Wealth, with all her radiant Worlds:
What, Night eternal, but a Frown from Thee?
What, Heav'n's meridian Glory, but thy Smile?
And shall not Praise be Thine? Not Human Praise?
While Heav'n's high Host on Hallelujabs live?
O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe
My Soul in Praise to Him, who gave my Soul,
And all her Infinite of Prospect fair,
Cut thro' the Shades of Hell, great Love! by Thee,
Oh most adorable! most unador'd!
Where shall that Praise begin, which ne'er should end?
Where-e'er I turn, what Claim on all Applause!
How is Night's sable Mantle labour'd o'er,
How richly wrought, with Attributes divine!
What Wisdom shines! what Love! This Midnight Pomp,
This gorgeous Arch, with golden Worlds inlay'd!
Built with divine Ambition! nought to Thee;
For Others this Profusion: Thou, Apart,
Above! Beyond! Oh tell me, mighty Mind!
Where art thou? Shall I dive into the Deep?
Call to the Sun, or ask the roaring Winds,
For
