If depths stupendous are confin'd,
Reposing in th' Eternal Mind;
If hidden things to God belong,
To finite creatures where's the wrong?
Still there's a knowledge He imparts,
And stamps it deep on human hearts;
Still his divine compassions teach
Things useful, things within our reach;
Hear Him explicitly declare
'Tis thine, O man, thy God to fear:
Where'er this filial fear is found,
Man builds on safe, substantial ground;
A conscience guiltless of offence,
Will follow as its consequence.
This is the wisdom taught by me,
The wisdom I require of thee.
Cease to explore my Sovereign plan,
The moral science is for man.
Not thine to know or to dispense
The secrets of my Providence :
Ascend not to the heavens unknown,
To bring the mighty mysteries down.
The Solar beam emits no light,
Which proves more clearly noon is bright,
Than my plain WORD presents to view,
All that man needs to KNOW or do.
Wrapt up in majesty divine,
The rest is not his care but mine.
This the best knowledge man receives,
"I know that my Redeemer lives."
Is it a seraph strikes the strings? Or is it royal David sings?
Thy PSALMS divinely bring to view,
Jesus, thy root and offspring too.
Mark, how the author's hallow'd lays
Begin with prayer, and end with praise!
Commerce, how sure! which, while it gives
Due payment, rich returns receives;
As tides, which from the shore recede,
Return to fill the native bed;
So praise, which we to God impart,
Comes back in blessings to the heart.
Gainful return, to man when given
Such interchange 'twixt earth and heaven!
As long as inborn sin is felt,
Or penitence in tears shall melt;
As long as Satan shall molest,
Or anguish rend the human breast;
As long as prayer its voice shall raise,
Or gratitude ascend in praise;
So long GOD'S POET shall impart
A balm to every broken heart;
So long the fainting spirit cheer,
And save the contrite from despair.
To Sion's bard it shall be given
To join th' immortal choir in heaven;
And when with theirs his accents float,
He shall not need to change his note.
Though due this tributary praise,
One sin embitter'd all his days.
The prudent prophet chose the veil
of fiction for the bloody tale;
The tale enrag'd the blinded king:
"The man shall die who did this thing!"
THOU art the man! - the appalling word
Cuts deeper than a two-edged sword;
All self-deceit is put to flight,
Scar'd conscience re-assumes its right.
Awak'd, the king, in wild surprise,
Prostrate in dust and ashes lies.
The monarch rous'd, himself abhorr'd,
And own'd his guilt before the Lord :
Now agonis'd in prayer he speaks,
"The multitude of mercies seeks."
His prayer, his penitence, obtain
A respite from the threaten'd pain.
Though God decreed he should not die,
Not perish everlastingly,
Yet justice sought not to prevent,
Though he delay'd, the punishment.
The dire effects of sin we see
In his degenerate family.
To him no future peace was known,
One son rebell'd against his throne;
Ungrateful friends, domestic jars,
Intestine tumults, foreign wars:
Contending brothers fiercely strive ;
Dark enmity is kept alive:
Now murmurs loud, now famine great,
Now fierce convulsions shake the state:
Divided empire soon we see
Distract his near posterity.
Thus, though his pardon mercy seals,
Sin's temporal results he feels.
God with offence will have no part,
Ev'n in the man of his own heart.
All sadly serves to prove our fall
From purity original.
Taught by the wisdom from above,
See PROVERBS, full of truth and love.
To thee, O SOLOMON! belong
The graces of the mystic SONG.
ECCLESIASTES, or the PREACher, Displays the powerful moral teacher. How could'st thou, sapient king, combine Thy faulty life, and verse divine? Why were thy PROVERBS still at strife With thy dishonour'd close of life? Thou rear'dst the Temple-oh, the sin To quit the God who dwelt within! Of all, O king, thy books have taught, With holy wisdom richly fraught; Still more thy large experience brings The emptiness of human things. In all thy keen and wide pursuit
Of love, power, pleasure, what's the fruit? Satiety in all we see,
In each enjoyment vanity!
Youth might be spar'd a world of woe,
The truth without the trial know,
Would they with abler heads advise,
And trust king Solomon, the wise,
That the vex'd heart, and sated mind,
In God alone repose can find.
THEE, great ISAIAH, dare I paint,
Prophet, evangelist, and saint?
So just thy strong prospective view,
'Tis prophecy and history too.
Rapt in futurity, he saw,
The Gospel supersede the law.
Prophet! in thy immortal lines,
The fulness of perfection shines;
There, present things the spirit seals,
There, things that shall be he reveals.
Doctrine and warning, prayer, and praise,
Alike our admiration raise.
Amaz'd, we see the hand divine
Each thought direct, inspire each line.
Still has the seraph's burning coal
Left its deep impress on the soul;
Still shall the sacred fire survive,
Warm all who read, touch all who live.
"Twere hopeless to attempt the song,
So vast, so deep, so sweet, so strong!
Fain would I tell how Sharon's rose,
In solitary deserts blows;
Fain would I speak of Carmel's hill,
Whose trees the barren waste shall fill;
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