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But grace abused brings forth the foulest deeds,
As richest soil the most luxuriant weeds;
Cured of the golden calves their fathers' sin,
They set up self, that idol-god within,
Wiew'd a Deliv'rer with disdain and hate,
Who left them still a tributary state,
Seized fast His hand, held out to set them free
From a worse yoke, and nail'd it to the tree;
There was the consummation and the crown,
The flow'r of Israel's infamy full blown;
Thence date their sad declension and their fall,
Their woes, not yet repeal’d, thence date them all.
O Israel, of all nations most undone !
Thy diadem displaced, thy sceptre gone ;
Thy temple, once thy glory, fallen and rased,
And thou a worshipper e'en where thou mayst;
Thy services, once holy without spot,
Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot;
Thy Levites, once a consecrated host,
No longer Levites, and their lineage lost,
And thou thyself o'er ev'ry country sown,
With none on earth that thou canst call thine own;
Cry aloud, thou that sittest in the dust,
Cry to the proud, the cruel, and unjust,
Knock at the gates of nations, rouse their fears,
Say wrath is coming and the storm appears,
But raise the shrillest cry in British ears.
What ails thee, restless as the waves that roar,
And fling their foam against thy chalky shore ?
Mistress, at least while Providence shall please,
And trident-bearing queen of the wide seas—
Why, having kept good faith, and often shown
Friendship and truth to others, find'st thou none
Stand now and judge thyself—hast thou incurr'd
His anger who can waste thee with a word,

Who poises and proportions sea and land,
Weighing them in the hollow of His hand,
And in whose awful sight all nations seem
As grasshoppers, as dust, a drop, a dream
Hast thou (a sacrilege His soul abhors)
Claim'd all the glory of thy prosp'rous wars,
Proud of thy fleets and armies, stolen the gem
Of His just praise to lavish it on them?
Hast thou not learn'd, what thou art often told,
A truth still sacred, and believed of old,
That no success attends on spears and swords
Unblest, and that the battle is the Lord's
Hast thou, though suckled at fair freedom's breast,
Exported slav'ry to the conquer'd East,
Pull'd down the tyrants India served with dread,
And raised thyself, a greater, in their stead,
Gone thither arm'd and hungry, return'd full,
Fed from the richest veins of the Mogul,
A despot big with pow'r obtain'd by wealth,
And that obtain'd by rapine and by stealth
With Asiatic vices stored thy mind,
But left their virtues and thine own behind,
And, having truck'd thy soul, brought home the fee,
To tempt the poor to sell himself to thee ?
Where shall a teacher look in days like these,
For ears and hearts that he can hope to please ?
Look to the poor—the simple and the plain
Will hear perhaps thy salutary strain;
Humility is gentle, apt to learn,
Speak but the word, will listen and return :
Alas, not so I the poorest of the flock
Are proud, and set their faces as a rock,
Denied that earthly opulence they choose,
God's better gift they scoff at and refuse,
The rich, the produce of a nobler stem,

Are more intelligent at least, try them :
Oh vain inquiry ! They, without remorse,
Are altogether gone a devious course,
Where ...; pleasure leads them, wildly stray,
Have burst the bands and cast the yoke away.
Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime,
Review thy dim original and prime;
This island spot of unreclaim'd rude earth,
The cradle that received thee at thy birth,
Was rock'd by many a rough Norwegian blast,
And Danish howlings scared thee as they pass'd ;
For thou wast born amid the din of arms,
And suck'd a breast that panted with alarms.
While yet thou wast a grov'ling, puling chit,
Thy bones not fashion’d and thy joints not knit,
The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow,
Though twice a Caesar could not bend thee now :
His victory was that of orient light,
When the sun's shafts disperse the gloom of night.
Thy language at this distant moment shows
How much the country to the conqu'ror owes;
Expressive, energetic, and refined, -
It sparkles with the gems he left behind : o
He brought thy land a blessing when he came,
He found thee savage, and he left thee tame,
Taught thee to clothe thy pink'd and painted hide,
And grace thy figure with a soldier's pride;
He sow'd the seeds of order where he went,
Improved thee far beyond his own intent,
.# while he ruled thee by the sword alone,
Made thee at last a warrior like his own.
Religion, if in heav'nly truths attired,
Needs only to be seen to be admired,
But thine, as dark as witch'ries of the night,
Was form'd to harden hearts and shock the sight:

Thy Druids struck the well-strung harps they bore
With fingers deeply dyed in human gore,
And, while the victim slowly bled to death,
Upon the tolling chords rung out his dying breath.
Kneel now, and lay thy forehead in the dust,
Blush if thou canst, not petrified, thou must :
Act but an honest and a faithful part,
Compare what then thou wast, with what thou art,
And God's disposing providence confess'd,
Obduracy itself must yield the rest—
Then thou art bound to serve Him, and to prove
Hour after hour thy gratitude and love.
So then—as darkness overspread the deep,
Ere Nature rose from her eternal sleep,
And this delightful earth and that fair sky
Leap'd out of nothing, call'd by the Most High,
By such a change thy darkness is made light,
Thy chaos order, and thy weakness, might,
And He whose power mere nullity obeys,
Who found thee nothing, form'd thee for His praise.
To praise Him is to serve Him, and fulfil,
Doing and suffring His unquestion'd will,
'Tis to believe what men inspired of old,
Faithful and faithfully inform'd, unfold;
Candid and just, with no false aim in view,
To take for truth what cannot but be true;
To learn in God's own school the Christian part,
And bind the task assign'd thee to thine heart:
Happy the man there seeking and there found,
Happy the nation where such men abound.
But above all reflect, how cheap soe'er
Those rights that millions envy thee appear,
And though resolved to risk them, and swim down
The tide of pleasure, heedless of His frown,
That blessings truly sacred, and when giv'n

Mark'd with the signature and stamp of Heav'n,
The word of prophecy, those truths divine
Which make that Heav'n, if thou desire it, thine;
(Awful alternative 1 believed, beloved,
Thy glory, and thy shame if unimproved,)
Are never long vouchsafed, if push'd aside
With cold disgust, or philosophic pride,
And that judicially withdrawn, disgrace,
Error, and darkness occupy their place.
Say not (and if the thought of such defence
Should spring within thy bosom, drive it thence),
What nation amongst all my foes is free
From crimes as base as any charged on me?
Their measure fill’d—they too shall pay the debt
Which God, though long forborne, will not forget:
But know, that wrath divine, when most severe,
Makes justice still the guide of his career,
And will not punish in one mingled crowd,
Them without light, and thee without a cloud.
Muse, hang this harp upon yon aged beech,
Still murm'ring with the solemn truths I teach,
And while, at intervals, a cold blast sings
Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the strings,
My soul shall sigh in secret, and lament
A nation scourged, yet tardy to repent.
I know the warning song is sung in vain,
That few will hear, and fewer heed the strain :
But if a sweeter voice, and one design'd
A blessing to my country and mankind,
Reclaim the wand'ring thousands, and bring home
A flock so scatter'd and so wont to roam,
Then place it once again between my knees;
The sound of truth will then be sure to please,
And truth alone, where'er my life be cast,
In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste,
Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last.

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