And mock the warring ocean. If, with hopes,
As fond as falfe, the darkness I expect
To hide, and wrap me in its mantling shade,
Vain were the thought for thy unbounded ken
Darts through the thickening gloom, and pries through all The palpable obfcure. Before thy eyes,
The vanquish'd night throws off her dusky shrowd,
And kindles into day: the fhade, and light,
To man ftill various, but the fame to thee.
On thee, is all the ftructure of my frame
Dependant. Lock'd within the filent womb,
Sleeping I lay, and ripening to my birth;
Yet, Lord, thy out-ftretch'd arm preferv'd me there;
Before I mov'd to entity, and trod
The verge of being. To thy hallow'd name
I'll pay due honours: for thy mighty hand
Built this corporeal fabrick, when it laid
The ground-work of existence. Hence, I read
The wonders of thy art. This frame I view
With terror and delight; and, wrapt in both,
I ftartle at myself. My bones, unform'd
As yet, nor hardening from the viscous parts,
But blended with th' unanimated mass,
Thy eye distinctly view'd; and, while I lay
Within the earth, imperfect, nor perceiv'd
The first faint dawn of life, with ease survey'd
The vital glimmerings of the active feeds,
Just kindling to existence; and beheld
My fubftance scarce material. In thy book,
Was the fair model of this structure drawn,
Where every part, in just connection join'd,
Compos'd and perfected th' harmonious piece,
Ere the dim fpeck of being learn'd to stretch
Its ductile form, or entity had known
To range and wanton in an ampler space.
How dear, how rooted in my inmost foul,
Are all thy counfels, and the various ways
Of thy eternal providence! The fum
So boundless and immenfe, it leaves behind
The low account of numbers; and out-flies
All that imagination e're conceiv'd,
Lefs numerous are the fands that crowd the shores,
The barriers of the ocean. When I rife
From my foft bed, and fofter joys of fleep,
I rife to thee. Yet lo! the impious flight
Thy mighty wonders. Shall the fons of vice
Elude the vengeance of thy wrathful hand,
And mock thy lingering thunder, which with-holds
Its forky terrors from their guilty heads?
Thou great tremendous God!-Avaunt, and fly,
All ye
who thirst for blocd.-For, fwoln with pride,
Each haughty wretch blafphemes thy facred name,
And bellows his reproaches to affront
Thy glorious Majefty. Thy foes I hate
Worfe than my own, O Lord! Explore my foul,
See if a flaw or ftain of fin infects
My guilty thoughts. Then, lead me in the way
That guides my feet to thy own heaven and thee.
PSALM CXLIV. PARAPHRASED..
Y foul, in raptures rife to bless the Lord,
Who taught my hands to draw the fatal fword;
Led by his arm, undaunted I appear
In the first ranks of death, and front of war.
He taught me firft the pointed spear to wield,
And mow the glorious harveft of the field.
By him infpir'd, from ftrength to strength I past,
Plung'd through the troops, and laid the battle waste.
In him my hopes I center and repose,
He guards my life, and shields me from my foes.
He held his ample buckler o'er my head,
And screen'd me trembling in the mighty fhade:
Against all hoftile violence and power,
He was my fword, my bulwark, and my tower.
He o'er my people will maintain my sway,
And teach my willing fubjects to obey.
Lord! what is man, of vile and humble birth?
Sprung with this kindred reptiles from the earth?
That he should thus thy fecret counsels share?
Or what his fon, who challenges thy care?
Why does thine eye regard this nothing, man?
His life a point, his measure but a span ?
The fancy'd pageant of a moment made,
Swift as a dream, and fleeting as a shade.
Come in thy power, and leave th' ethereal plain,
And to thy harness'd tempest give the rein;
Yon starry arch shall bend beneath the load,
So loud the chariot, and fo great the God!
Soon as his rapid wheels Jehovah rolls,
The folding skies fhall tremble to the poles:
Heaven's gaudy axle with the world shall fall,
Leap from the centre, and unhinge the ball.
Touch'd by thy hands, the labouring hills expire
Thick clouds of smoke, and deluges of fire;
On the tall groves the red destroyer preys,
And wraps th' eternal mountains in the blaze:
Full on my foes may all thy lightnings fly,
On purple pinions through the gloomy sky.
Extend thy hand, thou kind all-gracious God,
Down from the heaven of heavens thy bright abode,
And fhield me from my foes, whofe towering pride
Lowers like a storm, and gathers like a tide:
Against strange children vindicate my cause,
Who curfe thy name, and trample on thy laws;
Who fear not vengeance which they never felt,
Train'd to blafpheme, and eloquent in guilt:
Their hands are impious, and their deeds profane,
They plead their boasted innocence in vain.
Thy name shall dwell for ever on my tongue,
And guide the facred numbers of my song;
To thee my Mufe fhall confecrate her lays,
And every note shall labour in thy praise;
The hallow'd theme shall teach me how to fing,
Swell on the lyre, and tremble on the ftring.
Oft has thy hand from fight the monarch led,
When death flew raging, and the battle bled;
And fnatch'd thy fervant in the last despair
From all the rifing tumult of the war.
Against strange children vindicate my cause,
Who curfe thy name, and trample on thy laws;
That our fair fons may fmile in early bloom,
Our fons, the hopes of all our years to come:
Like plants that nurs'd by fostering fhowers arife,
And lift their spreading honours to the skies.
That our chäfte daughters may their charms display,
Like the bright pillars of our temple, gay,
Polish'd, and tall, and smooth, and fair as they.
Piled up with plenty let our barns appear,
And burft with all the feasons of the year;
Let pregnant flocks in every quarter bleat,
And drop their tender young in every street.
Safe from their labours may our oxen come,
Safe may they bring the gather'd fummer home.
Oh! may no fighs, no ftreams of forrow flow,
To ftain our triumphs with the tears of woe,
Blefs'd is the nation, how fincerely blefs'd!
Of fuch unbounded happiness poffefs'd,
To whom Jehovah's facred name is known,
Who claim the God of Ifrael for their own.
JOB, CHAPTER III.
OB curs'd his birth, and bade his curfes flow In words of grief, and eloquence of woe; Loft be that day which dragg'd me to my doom, Recent to life, and ftruggling from the womb;
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