Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345329" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Poor Man's Lamb</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">NOW spent the alter'd King, in am'rous Cares, <br>The Hours of sacred Hymns and solemn Pray'rs: <br>In vain the Alter waits his slow returns, <br>Where unattended Incense faintly burns: <br>In vain the whisp'ring Priests their Fears express, <br>And of the Change a thousand Causes guess. <br>Heedless of all their Censures He retires, <br>And in his Palace feeds his secret Fires; <br>Impatient, till from Rabbah Tydings tell, <br>That near those Walls the poor Uriah fell, <br>Led to the Onset by a Chosen Few, <br>Who at the treacherous Signal, soon withdrew; <br>Nor to his Rescue e'er return'd again, <br>Till by fierce Ammon's Sword they saw the Victim slain. <br>'Tis pass'd, 'tis done! the holy Marriage-Knot, <br>Too strong to be unty'd, at last is cut. <br>And now to Bathsheba the King declares, <br>That with his Heart, the Kingdom too is hers; <br>That Israel's Throne, and longing Monarch's Arms <br>Are to be fill'd but with her widow'd Charms. <br>Nor must the Days of formal Tears exceed, <br>To cross the Living, and abuse the Dead. <br>This she denies; and signs of Grief are worn; <br>But mourns no more than may her Face adorn, <br>Give to those Eyes, which Love and Empire fir'd, <br>A melting Softness more to be desir'd; <br>Till the fixt Time, tho' hard to be endur'd, <br>Was pass'd, and a sad Consort's Name procur'd: <br>When, with the Pomp that suits a Prince's Thought, <br>By Passion sway'd, and glorious Woman taught, <br>A Queen she's made, than Michal seated higher, <br>Whilst light unusual Airs prophane the hallow'd Lyre. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Where art thou Nathan? where's that Spirit now, <br>Giv'n to brave Vice, tho' on a Prince's Brow? <br>In what low Cave, or on what Desert Coast, <br>Now Virtue wants it, is thy Presence lost? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> But lo! he comes, the Rev'rend Bard appears, <br>Defil'd with Dust his awful silver Hairs, <br>And his rough Garment, wet with falling Tears. <br>The King this mark'd, and conscious wou'd have fled, <br>The healing Balm which for his Wounds was shed: <br>Till the more wary Priest the Serpents Art, <br>Join'd to the Dove-like Temper of his Heart, <br>And thus retards the Prince just ready now to part. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Hear me, the Cause betwixt two Neighbors hear, <br>Thou, who for Justice dost the Sceptre bear: <br>Help the Opprest, nor let me weep alone <br>For him, that calls for Succour from the Throne. <br>Good Princes for Protection are Ador'd, <br>And Greater by the Shield, than by the Sword. <br>This clears the Doubt, and now no more he fears <br>The Cause his Own, and therefore stays and hears: <br>When thus the Prophet: – <br>  –In a flow'ry Plain <br>A King-like Man does in full Plenty reign; <br>Casts round his Eyes, in vain, to reach the Bound, <br>Which Jordan's Flood sets to his fertile Ground: <br>Countless his Flocks, whilst Lebanon contains <br>A Herd as large, kept by his numerous Swains, <br>That fill with morning Bellowings the cool Air, <br>And to the Cedar's shade at scorching Noon repair. <br>Near to this Wood a lowly Cottage stands, <br>Built by the humble Owner's painful Hands; <br>Fenc'd by a Stubble-roof, from Rain and Heat, <br>Secur'd without, within all Plain and Neat. <br>A Field of small Extent surrounds the Place, <br>In which One single Ewe did sport and graze: <br>This his whole Stock, till in full time there came, <br>To bless his utmost Hopes, a snowy Lamb; <br>Which, lest the Season yet too Cold might prove, <br>And Northern Blasts annoy it from the Grove, <br>Or tow'ring Fowl on the weak Prey might sieze, <br>(For with his Store his Fears must too increase) <br>He brings it Home, and lays it by his Side, <br>At once his Wealth, his Pleasure and his Pride; <br>Still bars the Door, by Labour call'd away, <br>And, when returning at the Close of Day, <br>With One small Mess himself, and that sustains, <br>And half his Dish it shares, and half his slender Gains. <br>When to the great Man's table now there comes <br>A Lord as great, follow'd by hungry Grooms: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For these must be provided sundry Meats, <br>The best for Some, for Others coarser Cates. <br>One Servant, diligent above the rest <br>To help his Master to contrive the Feast, <br>Extols the Lamb was nourished with such Care, <br>So fed, so lodg'd, it must be Princely Fare; <br>And having this, my Lord his own may spare. <br>In haste he sends, led by no Law, but Will, <br>Not to entreat, or purchase, but to Kill. <br>The Messenger's arriv'd: the harmless Spoil, <br>Unus'd to fly, runs Bleating to the Toil: <br>Whilst for the Innocent the Owner fear'd, <br>And, sure wou'd move, cou'd Poverty be heard. <br>Oh spare (he cries) the Product of my Cares, <br>My Stock's Encrease, the Blessing on my Pray'rs; <br>My growing Hope, and Treasure of my Life! <br>More was he speaking, when the murd'ring Knife <br>Shew'd him, his Suit, tho' just, must be deny'd, <br>And the white Fleece in its own Scarlet dy'd; <br>Whilst the poor helpless Wretch stands weeping by, <br>And lifts his Hands for Justice to the Sky. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Which he shall find, th' incensed King replies, <br>When for the proud Offence th' Oppressor dies. <br>O Nathan! by the Holy Name I swear, <br>Our Land such Wrongs unpunished shall not bear <br>If, with the Fault, th' Offender thou declare. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> To whom the Prophet, closing with the Time, <br>Thou art the Man replies, and thine th' ill-natur'd Crime. <br>Nor think, against thy Place, or State, I err; <br>A Pow'r above thee does this Charge prefer; <br>Urg'd by whose Spirit, hither am I brought <br>T' expostulate his Goodness and thy Fault; <br>To lead thee back to those forgotten Years, <br>In Labour spent, and lowly Rustick Cares, <br>When in the Wilderness thy Flocks but few, <br>Thou didst the Shepherd's simple Art pursue <br>Thro' crusting Frosts, and penetrating Dew: <br>Till wondring Jesse saw six Brothers past, <br>And Thou Elected, Thou the Least and Last; <br>A Sceptre to thy Rural Hand convey'd, <br>And in thy Bosom Royal Beauties laid; <br>A lovely Princess made thy Prize that Day, <br>When on the shaken Ground the Giant lay <br>Stupid in Death, beyond the Reach of Cries <br>That bore thy shouted Fame to list'ning Skies, <br>And drove the flying Foe as fast away, <br>As Winds, of old, Locusts to Egypt's Sea. <br>Thy Heart with Love, thy Temples with Renown, <br>Th' All-giving Hand of Heav'n did largely crown, <br>Whilst yet thy Cheek was spread with youthful Down. <br>What more cou'd craving Man of God implore? <br>Or what for favour'd Man cou'd God do more? <br>Yet cou'd not These, nor Israel's Throne, suffice <br>Intemp'rate Wishes, drawn thro' wand'ring Eyes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">One Beauty (not thy own) and seen by chance, <br>Melts down the Work of Grace with an alluring Glance; <br>Chafes the Spirit, fed by sacred Art, <br>And blots the Title AFTER GOD'S OWN HEART; <br>Black Murder breeds to level at his Head, <br>Who boasts so fair a Part'ner of his Bed, <br>Nor longer must possess those envy'd Charms, <br>The single Treasure of his House, and Arms: <br>Giving, by this thy Fall, cause to Blaspheme <br>To all the Heathen the Almighty Name. <br>For which the Sword shall still thy Race pursue, <br>And, in revolted Israel's scornful View, <br>Thy captiv'd Wives shall be in Triumph led <br>Unto a bold Usurper's shameful Bed; <br>Who from thy Bowels sprung shall seize thy Throne, <br>And scourge thee by a Sin beyond thy own. <br>Thou hast thy Fault in secret Darkness done; <br>But this the World shall see before the Noonday's Sun. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Enough! the King, enough! the Saint replies, <br>And pours his swift Repentance from his Eyes; <br>Falls on the Ground, and tears the Nuptial Vest, <br>By which his Crime's Completion was exprest: <br>Then with a Sigh blasting to Carnal Love, <br>Drawn deep as Hell, and piercing Heaven, above <br>Let Me (he cries) let Me attend his Rod, <br>For I have sinn'd, for I have lost my God. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Hold! (says the Prophet ) of that Speech beware, <br>God ne'er was lost, unless by Man's Despair. <br>The Wound that is thus willingly reveal'd, <br>Th' Almighty is as willing should be heal'd. <br>Thus wash'd in Tears, thy Soul as fair does show <br>As the first Fleece, which on the Lamb does grow, <br>Or on the Mountain's top the lately fallen Snow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet to the World that Justice may appear <br>Acting her Part impartial, and severe, <br>The Offspring of thy Sin shall soon resign <br>That Life, for which thou must not once repine; <br>But with submissive Grief his Fate deplore, <br>And bless the Hand, that does inflict no more. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Shall I then pay but Part, and owe the Whole? <br>My Body's Fruit, for my offending Soul? <br>Shall I no more endure (the King demands) <br>And 'scape thus lightly his offended Hands? <br>Oh! let him All resume, my Crown, my Fame; <br>Reduce me to the Nothing, whence I came; <br>Call back his Favours, faster than he gave; <br>And, if but Pardon'd, strip me to my Grave: </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Since (tho' he seems to Lose ) He surely Wins, <br>Who gives but earthly Comforts for his Sins.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Kingsmill+Finch">Anne Kingsmill Finch</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345329" data-title="The Poor Man's Lamb de Anne Kingsmill Finch" data-description="NOW spent the alter'd King, in am'rous Cares, 
The Hours of sacred Hymns and solemn Pray'rs: 
In vain the Alter waits his slow returns, 
Where unattended Incense faintly burns: 
In vain the whisp'ring Priests their Fears express, 
And of the Chang..."></div>
</div>
</div>