THE

INFINITE.

WATTS.

SOME seraph, lend your heav'nly tongue,

Or harp of golden string, That I may raise a lofty song

To our Eternal King.

Thy names, how infinite they be!

Great Everlasting One! Boundless Thy might and majesty,

And unconfin’d Thy throne.

Thy glories shine of wondrous size,

And wondrous large Thy grace; Immortal day breaks from Thine

eyes, And Gabriel veils his face.

Thine essence is a vast abyss,

Which angels cannot sound, An ocean of infinities

Where all our thoughts are drown'd.

D

The myst'ries of creation lie

Beneath enlighten'd minds;
Thoughts can ascend above the sky,

And fly before the winds.

Reason may grasp

the

massy hills, And stretch from pole to pole, But half Thy name our spirit fills,

And overloads our soul.

In vain our haughty reason swells,

For nothing's found in Thee
But boundless inconceivables,

And vast eternity.

THE

DAY OF JUDGMENT.

AN ODE.

WATTS.

When the fierce north wind with his airy forces
Rears up the Baltic to a foaming fury,
And the red lightning with a storm of hail comes

Rushing amain down,

How the

poor

sailors stand amaz'd and tremble! While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet, Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters,

Quick devour them.

Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder, (If things eternal may be like these earthly) Such the dire terror, when the great archangel

Shakes the creation;

Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven,
Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes;
See the graves open, and the bones arising,

Flames all around 'em.

Hark the shrill outcry of the guilty wretches!
Lively bright horror and amazing anguish
Stare thro' their eye-lids, while the living worm lies

Gnawing within them.

Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart

strings, And the smart twinges, when their eye

beholds the Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance

Rolling afore him.

Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver,
While devils push them to the pit wide yawning,
Hideous and gloomy, to receive them headlong

Down to the centre.

Stop here my fancy: (all away ye horrid
Doleful ideas !) come arise to Jesus,
How he sits God-like: and the saints around him

Thron'd, yet adoring !

O may

I sit there when he comes triumphant, Dooming the nations! then ascend to glory, While our Hosannas all along the passage

Shout the Redeemer.

I

was a brave attempt! advent'rous he
Who in the first ship broke the unknown sea;
And leaving his dear native shores behind,
Trusted his life to the licentious wind,

I see the surging brine: the tempest raves,
He on a pine-plank rides across the waves,
Exulting on the edge of thousand gaping graves:
He steers the winged boat, and shifts the sails,
Conquers the floods, and manages the gales.

Such is the soul that leaves this mortal land Fearless, when the great Master gives command. Death is the storm: she smiles to hear it roar, And bids the tempest waft her from the shore: Then with a skilful helm she

sweeps seas, And manages the raging storm with ease; (Her faith can govern Death) she spreads hers

the

(Her faring can govern Death) she spreads her?

Wide to the wind, and as she sails she sings,
And loses by degrees the sight of mortal things.
As the shores lessen, so her joys arise,
The waves roll gentler, and the tempest dies:
Now vast eternity fills all her sight;
She floats on the broad deep with infinite delight,
The seas for ever calm, the skies for ever bright.