class="i0">His faith an army, and his vows a war.
Thee too, Ozias, fates indulgent blest
And thy days shone, in fairest actions drest;
Till that rash hand, by some blind frenzy sway'd,
Unclean, the sacred office durst invade.
Quick o'er thy limbs the scurfy venom ran,
And hoary filth besprinkled all the man.
Transmissive worth adorns the pious [6]Son,
The father's virtues with the father's throne.
Lo! there he stands: he who the rage subdu'd
Of Ammon's sons, and drench'd his sword in blood,
And dost thou, Ahaz, Judah's scourge, disgrace,
With thy base front, the glories of thy race?
See the vile King his iron sceptre bear——
His only praise attends the pious [7]Heir;
He, in whose soul the virtues all conspire,
The best good son, from the worst wicked sire.
And lo! in Hezekiah's golden reign,
Long-exil'd piety returns again;
Again, in genuine purity she shines,
And with her presence gilds the long-neglected shrines.
Ill-starr'd does proud Assyria's impious [8]Lord
Bid Heav'n to arms, and vaunt his dreadful sword;
His own vain threats th' insulting King o'erthrow,
But breathe new Courage on the gen'rous foe,
Th' avenging Angel, by divine command,
The fiery sword full-blazing in his hand,

Leant down from Heav'n: amid the storm he rode March'd Pestilence before him; as he trod, Pale desolation bath'd his steps in blood.

Thick wrapt in night, thro' the proud host he past,
Dispensing death, and drove the furious blast;
Nor bade destruction give her revels o'er,
Till the gorg'd sword was drunk with human gore.
But what avails thee, pious Prince, in vain
Thy sceptre rescu'd, and th' Assyrian slain?
Ev'n now the soul maintains her latest strife,
And death's chill grasp congeals the fount of life.
Yet see, kind Heav'n renews thy brittle thread,
And rolls full fifteen summers o'er thy head;
Lo! the receding sun repeats his way,
And, like thy life, prolongs the falling day.
Tho' nature her inverted course forego,
The day forget to rest, the time to flow,
Yet shall Jehovah's servants stand secure,
His mercy fix'd, eternal shall endure;
On them her ever-healing rays shall shine;
More mild and bright, and sure, O sun! than thine.
At length, the long-expected Prince behold,
The last good King; in ancient days foretold,
When Bethel's altar spoke his future fame,
Rent to its base, at good Josiah's name.
Blest, happy prince! o'er whose lamented urn,
In plaintive song, all Judah's daughters mourn;
For whom sad Sion's softest Sorrow flows,
And Jeremiah pours his sweet melodious woes.
But now fall'n Sion, once the fair and great,
Sits deep in dust, abandon'd, desolate;
Bleeds her sad heart, and ever stream her eyes,
And anguish tears her, with convulsive sighs.
The mournful captive spreads her hands in vain,
Her hands, that rankle with the servile chain;
Till he, [9]Great Chief! in Heav'n's appointed time,
Leads back her children, to their native clime.
Fair liberty revives with all her joys,
And bids her envy'd walls securely rise.
And thou, great hallow'd dome, in ruin spread,
Again shall lift sublime thy sacred head.
But ah! with weeping eyes, the ancients view
A faint resemblance of the old in you.
No more th' effulgent glory of thy God
Speaks awful answers from the mystic cloud:
No more thine altars blaze with fire divine,
And Heav'n has left thy solitary shrine.

Yet, in thy courts, hereafter shalt thou see Presence immediate of the Deity, The light himself reveal'd, the God confess'd in Thee.

And now, at length, the fated term of years
The world's desire have brought, and lo! the God appears.
The Heav'nly Babe the Virgin Mother bears,
And her fond looks confess the parent's cares.
The pleasing burden on her breast she lays,
Hangs o'er his charms, and with a smile surveys.
The Infant smiles, to her fond bosom prest,
And wantons, sportive, on the mother's breast.
A radiant glory speaks him all Divine,
And in the Child the beams of Godhead shine.
But now alas! far other views disclose
The blackest comprehensive scene of woes.