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But what the beauty of the plain, compared
green He brings them where the quiet waters glide, The streams of life, the Siloah of the soul.
Who is the King of Glory? TEAR, O ye nations ! hear it, О ye dead!
He rose ! he rose! he burst the bars of death. Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates! And give the King of glory to come in. Who is the King of glory ? he who left His throne of glory, for the pang of death! Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates ! And give the King of glory to come in. Who is the King of glory? he who slew The ravenous foe, that gorg'd all human race! The King of glory, he, whose glory fillid Heaven with amazement at his love to man; And with divine complacency beheld Powers most illumin’d wilder'd in the theme.
The theme, the joy, how then shall man sustain? Oh the burst gates! crush'd sting! demolish'd
throne ! Last gasp! of vanquish'd Death. Shout Earth
and Heaven! This sum of good to man. Whose nature, then, Took wing, and mounted with him from the tomb! Then, then, I rose; then first humanity Triumphant pass’d the crystal ports of light, (Stupendous guest !) and seiz'd eternal youth, Seiz'd in our name. E'er since, 't is blasphemous To call man mortal. Man's mortality Was, then, transferr'd to death; and Heaven's
duration Unalienably seal'd to this frail frame,
This child of dust-Man, all immortal! hail; Hail, Heaven! all lavish of strange gifts to man! Thine all the glory; man's the boundless bliss.
Where am I rapt by this triumphant theme, On Christian joy’s exulting wing, above Th’ Aonian mount ? Alas! small cause for joy! What if to pain immortal ? if extent Of being, to preclude a close of woe ? Where, then, my boast of immortality ? I boast it still, though cover'd o'er with guilt; For guilt, not innocence, his life he pour'd, 'T is guilt alone can justify his death! Nor that, unless his death can justify Relenting guilt in Heaven's indulgent sight. If, sick of folly, I relent; he writes My name in Heaven, with that inverted spear (A spear deep-dipt in blood !) which pierc'd his
side, And opened there a font for all mankind, Who strive, who combat crimes, to drink, and
live: This, only this, subdues the fear of death.
And what is this?—Survey the wondrous cure: And at each step, let higher wonder rise ! “Pardon for infinite offence! and pardon Through means that speak its value infinite! A pardon bought with blood! with blood divine ! With blood divine of him I made my foe! Persisted to provoke! though woo’d, and aw'd, Blest, and chastis'd, a flagrant rebel still! A rebel, ʼmidst the thunders of his throne ! Nor I alone! a rebel universe !
My species up in arms! not one exempt!
Bound, every heart! and every bosom burn!
So dear, so due to Heaven, shall praise descend, With her soft plume (from plausive angel's wing First pluck'd by man) to tickle mortal ears, Thus diving in the pockets of the great ? Is praise the perquisite of every paw, Though black as Hell, that grapples well for
gold ? Oh love of gold! thou meanest of amours ! Shall praise her odours waste on virtue's dead, Embalm the base, perfume the stench of guilt, Earn dirty bread by washing Ethiops fair, Removing filth, or sinking it from sight, A scavenger in scenes, where vacant posts, Like gibbets yet untenanted, expect Their future ornaments ? From courts and
Return, apostate Praise ! thou vagabond !
There flow redundant; like Meander flow
soar, The soul to be. Men homage pay to men, Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful eye they bow In mutual awe profound of clay to clay, Of guilt to guilt; and turn their back on thee, Great Sire! whom thrones celestial ceaseless
sing: To prostrate angels, an amazing scene! O the presumption of man's awe for man! Man's Author! End! Restorer ! Law! and
Judge! Thine, all; day thine, and thine this gloom of
night, With all her wealth, with all her radiant worlds: What, night eternal, but a frown from thee ? What, Heaven's meridian glory, but thy smile ? And shall not praise be thine, not human praise ? While Heaven's high host on hallelujahs live ?
O may I breathe no longer than I breathe My soul in praise to him, who gave my soul, And all her infinite of prospect fair, Cut through the shades of Hell, great love! by
thee, O most adorable! most unador'd, Where shall that praise begin, which ne'er should