A Paraphrase on Psalm 114.

This and the following Psalm were don
by the Author at fifteen years old.

WHEN the blest seed of Terah's faithfull Son,
After long toil their liberty had won,

And past from Pharian fields to Canaan Land,
Led by the strength of the Almighties hand,
Jehovah's wonders were in Israel shown,
His praise and glory was in Israel known.
That saw the troubl'd Sea, and shivering fled,
And sought to hide his froth-becurled head
Low in the earth, Jordans clear streams recoil,
As a faint host that hath receiv'd the foil.
The high, huge-bellied Mountains skip like Rams
Amongst their Ews, the little Hills like Lambs.
Why fled the Ocean? And why skipt the Mountains?
Why turned Jordan toward his Crystall Fountains?
Shake earth, and at the presence be agast

Of him that ever was, and ay shall last,

That glassy flouds from rugged rocks can crush,
And make soft rills from fiery flint-stones gush.

Psalm 136.

LET us with a gladsom mind
Praise the Lord, for he is kind,
For his mercies ay endure,
Ever faithfull, ever sure.

Let us blaze his Name abroad,

For of gods he is the God;
For, &c.

O let us his praises tell,

That doth the wrathfull tyrants quell.
For, &c.

That with his miracles doth make
Amazed Heav'n and Earth to shake.
For, &c.

Psalm 136. 10, 13 That] who 1673

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That by his wisdom did create

The painted Heav'ns so full of state.
For, &c.

That did the solid Earth ordain
To rise above the watry plain.
For, &c.

That by his all-commanding might,
Did fill the new-made world with light.
For, &c.

And caus'd the Golden-tressed Sun,
All the day long his cours to run.
For, &c.

The horned Moon to shine by night,
Amongst her spangled sisters bright.
For, &c.

He with his thunder-clasping hand,
Smote the first-born of Egypt Land.
For, &c.

And in despight of Pharao fell,

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He brought from thence his Israel.
For, &c.

The floods stood still like Walls of Glass,

While the Hebrew Bands did pass.

For, &c.

But full soon they did devour

The Tawny King with all his power.
For, &c.

His chosen people he did bless

In the wastfull Wildernes.

For, &c.

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All living creatures he doth feed,
And with full hand supplies their need.
For, &c.

Let us therfore warble forth
His mighty Majesty and worth.
For, &c.

That his mansion hath on high
Above the reach of mortall ey.

For his mercies ay endure,
Ever faithfull, ever sure.

The Passion.

I

ERE-while of Musick, and Ethereal mirth,
Wherwith the stage of Ayr and Earth did ring,
And joyous news of heav'nly Infants birth,
My muse with Angels did divide to sing;
But headlong joy is ever on the wing,

In Wintry solstice like the shortn'd light
Soon swallow'd up in dark and long out-living night.

II

For now to sorrow must I tune my song,

And set my Harpe to notes of saddest wo,

Which on our dearest Lord did sease er'e long,

Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse then so, Which he for us did freely undergo.

Most perfect Heroe, try'd in heaviest plight

Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight.

III

He sovran Priest stooping his regall head

That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,
Poor fleshly Tabernacle entered,

His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies
O what a Mask was there, what a disguise!

;

Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his Brethrens side.

IV

These latter scenes confine my roving vers,
To this Horizon is my Phoebus bound,
His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
And former sufferings other where are found;
Loud o're the rest Cremona's Trump doth sound;
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings

Of Lute, or Viol still, more apt for mournful things,
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V

Befriend me night best Patroness of grief,
Over the Pole thy thickest mantle throw,
And work my flatter'd fancy to belief,

That Heav'n and Earth are colour'd with my wo;
My sorrows are too dark for day to know:

The leaves should all be black wheron I write, And letters where my tears have washt a wannish white.

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VI

See see the Chariot, and those rushing wheels,
That whirl'd the Prophet up at Chebar flood,
My spirit som transporting Cherub feels,
To bear me where the Towers of Salem stood,
Once glorious Towers, now sunk in guiltles blood;
There doth my soul in holy vision sit

In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatick fit.

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VII

Mine eye hath found that sad Sepulchral rock
That was the Casket of Heav'ns richest store,
And here though grief my feeble hands up-lock,
Yet on the softned Quarry would I score
My plaining vers as lively as before;

For sure so well instructed are my tears,
That they would fitly fall in order'd Characters.

VIII

Or should I thence hurried on viewles wing,
Take up a weeping on the Mountains wilde,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would soon unboosom all their Echoes milde,
And I (for grief is easily beguild)

Might think th'infection of my sorrows loud,
Had got a race of mourners on som pregnant cloud.

This Subject the Author finding to be above the yeers he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfi'd with what was begun, left it unfinisht.

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