TH' historic Muse, from age to age,
Thro' many a waste heart-sickening page
Hath trac'd the works of Man:
But a celestial call to-day
Stays her, like Moses, on her way,
The works of GOD to scan.
Far seen across the sandy wild,
Where, like a solitary child,
He thoughtless roam'd and free,
One towering thorn was wrapt in flame;
Bright without blaze it went and came:
Who would not turn and see?
Along the mountain ledges green
The scatter'd sheep at will may glean
The Desert's spicy stores:
The while, with undivided heart,
The shepherd talks with God apart,
And, as he talks, adores.
Ye too, who tend Christ's wildering flock,
Well may ye gather round the rock
That once was Sion's hill;
To watch the fire upon the mount
Still blazing, like the solar fount,
Yet unconsuming still.
Caught from that blaze by wrath divine,
Lost branches of the once-lov'd vine,
Now wither'd, spent, and sear,
See Israel's sons, like glowing brands,
Tost wildly o'er a thousand lands
For twice a thousand year.
God will not quench nor slay them quite,
But lifts them like a beacon light
Th'apostate Church to scare:
Or like pale ghosts that darkling roam,
Hovering around their ancient home,
But find no refuge there.
Ye blessed Angels! if of you
There be, who love the ways to view
Of Kings and Kingdoms here;
(And sure, 'tis worth an Angel's gaze,
To see, throughout that dreary maze,
God teaching love and fear:)
Oh say, in all the bleak expanse,
Is there a spot to win your glance,
So bright, so dark as this?
A hopeless faith, a homeless race,
Yet seeking the most holy place,
And owning the true bliss?
Salted with fire they seem, to shew
How spirits lost in endless woe
May undecaying live.
Oh sickening thought! yet hold it fast
Long as this glittering world shall last,
Or sin at heart survive.
And hark! amid the flashing fire,
Mingling with tones of fear and ire,
Soft Mercy's undersong‹
'Tis Abraham's God who speaks so loud,
His people's cries have pierc'd the cloud,
He sees, He sees their wrong;
He is come down to break their chain;
Though never more on Sion¹s fane
His visible ensign wave;
'Tis Sion, wheresoe'er they dwell,
Who, with His own true Israel,
Shall own Him strong to save.
He shall redeem them one by one,
Where'er the world-encircling sun
Shall see them meekly kneel:
All that He asks on Israel's part,
Is only, that the captive heart
Its woe and burthen feel.
Gentiles! with fix'd yet awful eye
Turn ye this page of mystery,
Nor slight the warning sound:
"Put off thy shoes from off thy feet‹
"The place where man his God shall meet,
"Be sure, is holy ground."
With thanks to the Project Canterbury