When God arises with an awful frown,

To punish lust, or pluck presumption down; 250
When gifts perverted, or not duly priz'd,
Pleasure o'ervara'd, and his grace despis’d,
Provoke the vengeance of his righteous hand,
To pour down wrath upon a thankless land;
He will be found impartially severe,

Too just to wink, or speak the guilty clear.
O Israel, of all nations most undone!
Thy diadem displac'd, thy sceptre gone;
Thy temple, once thy glory, fall'n and ras'd,

And thou a worshipper ev'n where thou mayst;
Thy services once only 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,

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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.

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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 seasWhy, having kept good faith, and often shown Friendship, and truth to others, find'st thou none? Thou that hast set the persecuted free,

None interposes now to succour thee.

Countries indebted to thy pow'r, that shine 280 With light deriv'd from thee, would smother thine:

Thy very children watch for thy disgrace—
A lawless brood, and curse thee to thy face.

Thy rulers load thy credit, year by year,

With sums Peruvian mines could never clear;

As if, like arches built with skilful hand,

The more 'twere press'd the firmer it would stand.

The cry in all thy ships is still the same, Speed us away to battle and to fame.

Thy mariners explore the wild expanse,

Impatient to descry the flags of France:

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But, though they fight as thine have ever fought, Return asham'd without the wreaths they sought.

Thy senate is a scene of civil jar,

Chaos of contrarieties at war;

Where sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light,
Discordant atoms meet, ferment, and fight;

Where Obstinacy takes his sturdy stand,
To disconcert what Policy has plann'd;

Where Policy is busied all night long

In setting right what Faction has set wrong;
Where flails of oratory thresh the floor,

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That yields them chaff and dust, and nothing more.

Thy rack'd inhabitants repine, complain,

Tax'd till the brow of Labour sweats in vain;

War lays a burden on the reeling state,

And Peace does nothing to relieve the weight;

Succesive loads succeeding broils impose,
And sighing millions prophesy the close.

Is adverse Providence, when ponder'd well,
So dimly writ, or difficult to spell,

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Thou canst not read with readiness and ease
Providence adverse in events like these?:
Know then that heav'nly wisdom on this ball
Creates, gives birth to, guides, consummates all;
That, while laborious and quick-thoughted man
Snuffs up the praise of what he seems to plan,
He first conceives, then perfects his design,
As a mere instrument in hands divine:

Blind to the working of that secret pow'r,

That balances the wings of ev'ry hour,

The busy trifler dreams himself alone,

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Frames many a purpose, and God works his own. States thrive or wither as moons wax and wane,

Ev'n as his will and his decrees ordain:

While honour, virtue, piety bear sway,

They flourish; and as these decline, decay.

In just resentment of his injur'd laws,

He pours contempt on them and on their cause;
Strikes the rough thread of errour right athwart
The web of ev'ry scheme they have at heart; 331
Bids rottenness invade and bring to dust
The pillars of support, in which they trust,
And do his errand of disgrace and shame
On the chief strength and glory of the frame.
None ever yet impeded what he wrought,

None bars him out from his most secret thought;
Darkness itself before his eye is light,

And Hell's close mischief naked in his sight.

Stand now and judge thyself.-Hast thou in

curr'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?

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