The mourning earth was waste; Soft Mercies urg'd their haste, And o'er the bleeding world the sacred mantle cast. III. Beyond created sense Mysterious goodness, hid in deepest night! Would pierce the gloom, O mighty Providence! Beneath thy awful throne no eye hath seen, And Hope be lost in Truth's wide-bursting ray? O haste to light on earth Great Nature's second birth i New inmate of the skies, When man renew'd shall shine With innocence divine! And blest Obedience rise To snatch the palm that crowns her faithful victories. ODE XIII. THE CURE OF SAUL. COMPOSED FOR MUSIC. BY JOHN BROWN, D.D. VENGEANCE, arise from thy infernal bed, "And pour thy tempest on his guilty head!" Thus Heav'n's decree, in thunder's sound, Shook the dark abyss profound.— The unchain'd Furies come! Pale Melancholy stalks from hell: Th' abhortive offspring of her womb, Deep feels the fiend within his tortur'd breast. Before his eyes In troops they rise; And seas of horror overwhelm his soul. Haste! to Jesse's son repair : On every string soft-breathing raptures dwell, Sunk on his couch, and loathing day, Thy pitying aid, O God, impart ! The mighty song from chaos rose.— Around his throne the formless atoms sleep, And drowzy Darkness broods upon the deep.Confusion, wake! Bid the realms of Chaos shake! Rouse him from his dread repose! Hark! loud Discord breaks her chain: The hostile atoms clash with deaf'ning roar: "Tumult cease! "Sink to peace! "Let there be light!"-th' Almighty said: And lo, the radiant Sun, Flaming from his orient bed, Thy glories, too, refulgent moon, he sung; Thy solemn orb of light Guides the triumphant car of Night O'er silver clouds, and sheds a softer day! Ye planets, and each circling constellation, To heavenly sounds; And sooth his song-enchanted ears In dumb surprise the list'ning monarch lay; (His woe suspended by sweet Music's sway ;) And awe-struck, with uplifted eye Mus'd on the new-born wonders of the sky. Lead the soothing verse along: He feels, he feels the power of song Ocean hastens to his bed: The lab'ring mountain rears his rock-encumber'd head : Down his steep and shaggy side The torrent rolls his thundering tide: Then smooth and clear, along the fertile plain The lark, high-soaring, hails the morn. Warbles to the woodland dale. See, descending Angels shower Joys divine in circles move, Link'd with Innocence and Love. They paus'd :—the monarch, prostrate on his bed, Ador'd the works of boundless Power divine: |