FROM the bleak beach, and broad expanse of sea, To lofty Salem, Thought, direct thy way; Mount thy light chariot, move along the plains, And end thy flight when Hezekiah reigns.

How swiftly Thought has pafs'd from land to land,
And quite out-run Time's measuring-glass of fand!
Great Salem's walls appear, and I refort
To view the ftate of Hezekiah's court.
Well may.that king a pious verse inspire,
Who,cleans'd the temple, who reviv'd the choir,
Pleas'd with the fervice David fix'd before,
That heavenly mufic might on earth adore.
Deep-robid in white, he made the Levites ftand
With cymbals, harps, and psalteries in their hand;
He gave the priests their trumpets, prompt to raise
The tunefal foul, by force of found, to praife.
A fkilful mafter for the fong he chofe,

The fongs were David's these, and Asaph's those ;
Then burns their offering, all around rejoice,
Each tunes his inftrument to join the voice;
The trumpets founded, and the fingers sung,
The people worship'd, and the temple rung.
Each, while the victim burns, prefents his heart,
Then the priest bleffes, and the people part.
Hail! facred Mufic! fince you know to draw
The foul to heaven, the spirit to the law,

I

I come

I come to prove thy force, thy warbling ftring
May tune my foul to write what others fing.

But is this Salem? this the promis'd bliss,
These fighs and groans? what means the realm by this?
What folemn forrow dwells in every ftreet?

What fear confounds the downcaft looks I meet?
Alas! the king! whole nations fink with woe,
When righteous kings are fummon'd hence to goe;
The king lies fick; and thus, to speak his doom,
The Prophet, grave Isaiah, stalks the room:
Oh, Prince, thy fervant, fent from God, believe;
Set all in order, for thou canst not live.
Solemn he faid, and fighing left the place;
Deep prints of horror furrow'd every face;
Within their minds appear eternal glooms,
Black gaping marbles of their monarchs' tombs ;
A king belov'd deccas'd, his offspring none,
And wars destructive, ere they fix the throne.
Strait to the wall he turn'd, with dark despair,
('Twas tow'rds the temple, or for private prayer,)
And thus to God the pious monarch spoke,
Who burn'd the groves, the brazen ferpent broke :
Remember, Lord, with what a heart for right,
What care for truth, I walk'd within thy fight.
'Twas thus with terror, prayers, and tears, he tofs'd,
When the mid-court the grave Isaiah crofs'd,
Whom, in the cedar columns of the fquare,
Meets a fweet Angel, hung in glittering air.
Seiz'd with a trance, he stop'd, before his eye
Clears a rais'd arch of visionary sky,

Q3

Where

Where, as a minute pass'd, the greater light
Purpling appear'd, and south'd and set in night 3
A moon fucceeding leads the starry train,
She glides, and finks her filver horns again:
A fecond fancied morning drives the shades,
Clos'd by the dark, the second evening fades;
The third bright dawn awakes, and ftrait he fees
The temple rife, the monarch on his knees.
Pleas'd with the fcene, his inward thoughts rejoice,
When thus the Guardian Angel form'd a voice:
Now tow'rds the captain of my people go,
And, Seer, relate him what thy vifions fhow;
The Lord has heard his words, and feen his tears,
And through fifteen extends his future years.

Here, to the room prepar'd with dismal black, The Prophet turning, brought the comfort back. Oh, monarch, hail, he cry'd; thy words are heard, Thy virtuous actions meet a kind regard;

God gives thee fifteen years, when thrice a day
Shews the round fun, within the temple pray.

When thrice the day! furpriz'd, the monarch cries, When thrice the fun! what power have I to rife! But, if thy comfort's human or divine,

'Tis fhort to prove it-give thy prince a fign.

Behold, the Prophet cry'd, (and stretch'd his hands) Againft yon lattice, where the dial stands; Now fhall the fun a backward journey go Through ten drawn lines, or leap to ten below. 'Tis eafier pofting Nature's airy track,

Replies the monarch: let the fun

go back.

Attentiv

Attentive here he gaz'd, the Prophet pray'd,
Back went the fun, and back purfued the fhade.
Chear'd by the fign, and by the Prophet heal'd,
What facred thanks his gratitude reveal'd !
As fickly fwallows, when a fummer ends,
Who mifs'd the paffage with their flying friends,
Take to a wall, there lean the languid head,
While all who find them think the fleepers dead;
If yet their warmth new days of fummer bring,
They wake, and joyful flutter up to fing :
So far'd the monarch, fick to death he lay,
His court defpair'd, and watch'd the laft decay;
At length new favour fhines, new life he gains,
And rais'd he fings; 'tis thus the fong remains;

I faid, my God, when in the loath'd difeafe
Thy Prophet's words cut off my future days,
Now to the grave, with mournful haste, I go,
Now death unbars his fable gates below.

How might my years by courfe of nature last!
But thou pronounc'd it, and the prospect pass'd.
-I faid, My God, thy fervant now no more
Shall in thy temple's facred courts adore;
No more on earth with living man converse,
Shrunk in a cold uncomfortable hearfe.

My life, like tents which wandering thepherds raife,
Proves a fhort dwelling, and removes at eafe.
My fins purfue me; fee the deadly band!

My God, who fees them, cuts me from the land;
As when a weaver finds his labour sped,

Swift from the beam he parts the faftening thread.

With pining fickness all from night to day,
From day to night, he makes my strength decay.:
Reckoning the time, I roll with restless groans,
Till, with a lion's force, he crush my bones;
New morning dawns, but, like the morning past,.
'Tis day, 'tis night, and still my forrows last.
Now, fcreaming like the crane, my words I spoke,
Now, like the fwallow, chattering quick, and brokę;
Now, like the doleful dove, when on the plains
Her mourning tone affects the liftening fwains.
To heaven, for aid, my wearying eyes I throw,
At length they 're weary'd quite, and fink with woe.
From Death's arreft, for fome delays, I fue;
Thou, Lord, who judg'd me, thou reprieve me, too.
Rapture of joy! what can thy fervant say?

He fent his Prophet to prolong my day;

Through my glad limbs I feel the wonder run,
Thus faid the Lord, and this Himfelf has done.
Soft fhall I walk, and, well fecur'd from fears,
Poffefs the comforts of my future years.

Keep foft, my heart, keep humble, while they roll,
Nor e'er forget my bitterness of foul.
'Tis by the means thy facred words fupply,
That mankind live, but in peculiar I;
A fecond grant thy mercy pleas'd to give,
And my rais'd fpirits doubly seem to live.
Behold the time! when peace adorn'd my reign,
'Twas then I felt my stroke of humbling pain;
Corruption dug her pit, I fear'd to fink,

God lov'd my foul, and snatch'd me from the brink.

He