Say what is Babylon, low sunk in earth?
Or what Palmyra in the dreary waste,
To man in ruins ? To the soul diseasid,
The soul immortal, doom'd to joy or woe?
There once impress’d was God the Father's image;
But now that image is defac'd by sin. 111
O'er Greece's ruins once the traveller wept,
As he look'd back upon her former glory,
While o'er the world she held her sovereign sway,
And trampled tyrants underneath her feet. 120
Now sunk her honours, and her former fame
Lives in her records and her poet's song:
Her laurels flourish round her mouldering urn.

O hasty traveller thro' the vale of tears,
O stay thy step, and weep o'er wretched man!
Weep o'er those honours fall'n, fall’n so low;
Talk not of dignity, but humbly look
On him who died, that man might live again.
· Away thou folly of an empty world,
Thou airy bubble gilded by the sun!

130 Come to my heart, thou sovereign hope of Heaven, Reign o'er my actions and my wandering thoughts; My bed of death illuminate ; and lead

A son of sorrow to his father's home.
O what is life without the love of God,
Without the arm of Mercy to support
A sinner without strength. Eternity,
Thou ocean boundless, where the thought is lost,
Our years and ages are to thee unknown,
Thy moments are eternal : Time was not, 140
Thou didst exist ; and thou shalt still move on
When time shall sweep his iron scythe no more.
O then receive me to thy arms my God!

Upon a cross, behold the king of glory,
The man who dies for a rebellious world,
Who from an heart still warm with love divine,
Pours on the earth his blood; who dies in mercy,
That man might live beneath his father's smile.

The wrath of God here centres on the head Of his anointed son. The eyes of heaven 150 Behold in wonder this triumphant scene. Bright seraphs burning round Jehovah's throne, Strike their full harps and chant redeeming grace.

Dark rose the hill where stood the Saviour's cross The scene of love; and blackest deed of hell. Where erst the father of the faithful, bound

His son (so 'tis believ'd) by God's command*

Surrounding armies aw'd the multitude, And Rome appear'd in her assembled hosts. Dim by the Cross stalk'd Cruelty and Rage, 160 And pierc'd the Saviour's bosom with their sting. Fell mockery breath'd its most reproachful taunts, And shouts of exultation rent the air,

Serene, conspicuous hung the dying God. His sacred head is pierc'd with horrid thorns. His arms are nail'd to the accursed tree. His bosom opened by a Soldier's spear. No curse, or threatening pass his placid lips; He prays for blessings on the murderer's head. Father have mercy! on my thoughtless foes, 170 Have mercy God! they know not what they do.

'Tis finishido. cries the Saviour, while he dies, And yields his spirit to his Father's hands.

Nature beheld the awful scene with dread.
The source of Being dying on the cross,
Surpass'd conception of Almighty love.
The sun grew dim, dark shadows quench'd his

beam,
And Night's thick mantle fell upon the world;
An earthquake shook the globe; the rocks are cleft,
The temple's veil is rent in twain ; the dead 180
Awake, arise and leave their darksome graves.

The mighty work of Christ is now perform’d. A world is ransom'd from the depths of woe. Justice has sheath'd the dreadful sword of wrath; And God is reconcil'd with sinful man. The weary traveller now rests in peace; The Saviour rests lock'd in the arms of Death: His pulse has ceas’d to beat: the clotted gore.

Hang's thick and cold upon his face and breast. · Lift up your heads ye everlasting doors, 190 And let the king of Glory enter in!

The Saviour rests; the tomb receives his prey With chilling arms. The voice of mockery,

The taunt of malice, and the shout of triumph Strike on his ear no more. That eye which look'd