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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=530131" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hezekiah</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the bleak Beach and broad expanse of sea,<br>To lofty Salem, Thought direct thy way;<br>Mount thy light chariot, move along the plains,<br>And end thy flight where Hezekiah reigns.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How swiftly thought has pass'd from land to land,<br>And quite outrun Time's meas'ring glass of sand,<br>Great Salem's walls appear and I resort<br>To view the state of Hezekiah's court.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well may that king a pious verse inspire,<br>Who cleans'd the temple, who reviv'd the choir,<br>Pleas'd with the service David fix'd before,<br>That heav'nly musick might on earth adore.<br>Deep-rob'd in white, he made the Levites stand<br>With Cymbals, Harps, and Psaltries in their hand;<br>He gave the Priests their trumpets, prompt to raise<br>The tuneful soul, by force of sound to praise.<br>A skilful master for the song he chose,<br>The songs were David's these, and Asaph's those.<br>Then burns their off'ring, all around rejoice,<br>Each tunes his instrument to join the voice;<br>The trumpets sounded, and the singers sung,<br>The People worship'd and the temple rung.<br>Each while the victim burns presents his heart,<br>Then the Priest blesses, and the People part.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hail sacred musick! since you know to draw<br>The soul to Heav'n, the spirit to the law,<br>I come to prove thy force, thy warbling string<br>May tune my soul to write what others sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But is this Salem? this the proms'd bliss,<br>These sighs and groans? what means the realm by this?<br>What solemn sorrow dwells in ev'ry street?<br>What fear confounds the downcast looks I meet?<br>Alas the King! whole nations sink with woe,<br>When righteous Kings are summon'd hence to go;<br>The King lies sick, and thus to speak his doom,<br>The Prophet, grave Isaiah, stalks the room:<br>Oh Prince thy servant sent from God, believe,<br>Set all in order for thou can'st not live.<br>Solemn he said, and sighing left the place,<br>Deep prints of horror furrow'd ev'ry face, <br>Within their minds appear eternal glooms,<br>Black gaping marbles of their monarchs tombs,<br>A King belov'd deceas'd, his offspring none,<br>And wars destructive e'er they fix the throne.<br>Strait to the wall he turn'd with dark despair,<br>('Twas tow'rds the temple, or for private pray'r,)<br>And thus to God the pious monarch spoke,<br>Who burn'd the groves, the brazen serpent broke:<br>Remember Lord with what a heart for right,<br>What care for truth, I walk'd within thy sight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas thus with terror, pray'rs and tears he toss'd,<br>When the mid-court the grave Isaiah cross'd,<br>Whom in the cedar columns of the square,<br>Meets a sweet Angel hung in glitt'ring air.<br>Seiz'd with a trance he stop'd, before his eye<br>Clears a rais'd arch of visionary sky,<br>Where as a minute pass'd, the greater light<br>Purpling appear'd, and south'd and set in night;<br>A Moon succeeding leads the starry train,<br>She glides, and sinks her silver horns again:<br>A second fanci'd morning drives the shades;<br>Clos'd by the dark the second ev'ning fades;<br>The third bright dawn awakes, and strait he sees<br>The temple rise, the monarch on his knees.<br>Pleas'd with the scene, his inward thoughts rejoice,<br>When thus the Guardian angel form'd a voice.<br>Now tow'rds the captain of my people go,<br>And, Seer, relate him what thy visions show,<br>The Lord has heard his words, and seen his tears,<br>And through fifteen extends his future years.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here to the room prepar'd with dismal black,<br>The Prophet turning, brought the comfort back.<br>Oh monarch hail, he cry'd, thy words are heard,<br>Thy virtuous actions meet a kind regard,<br>God gives thee fifteen years, when thrice a day,<br>Shews the round Sun, within the temple pray.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When thrice the day! surpriz'd the monarch cries,<br>When thrice the Sun! what pow'r have I to rise!<br>But if thy comfort's human or divine,<br>'Tis short to prove it—give thy prince a sign.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behold, the Prophet cry'd, (and stretch'd his hands)<br>Against yon lattice where the dial stands,<br>Now shall the Sun a backward journey go <br>Through ten drawn lines, or leap to ten below.<br>'Tis easier posting nature's airy track,<br>Replies the monarch, let the Sun go back.<br>Attentive here he gaz'd, the prophet pray'd,<br>Back went the Sun, and back pursu'd the shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Chear'd by the sign, and by the Prophet heal'd,<br>What sacred thanks his gratitude reveal'd?<br>As sickly Swallows when a summer ends,<br>Who miss'd the passage with their flying friends,<br>Take to a wall, there lean the languid head,<br>While all who find them think the sleepers dead;<br>If yet their warmth new days of summer bring,<br>They wake and joyful flutter up to sing;<br>So far'd the monarch, sick to death he lay,<br>His court despair'd, and watch'd the last decay;<br>At length new favour shines, new life he gains,<br>And rais'd he sings; 'tis thus the song remains.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I said, my God, when in the loath'd disease<br>Thy Prophet's words cut off my future days,<br>Now to the grave with mournful haste I go,<br>Now death unbars his sable gates below.<br>How might my years by course of nature last?<br>But thou pronounc'd it, and the prospect pass'd.<br>I said, my God, thy servant now no more<br>Shall in thy Temple's sacred courts adore,<br>No more on earth with living man converse,<br>Shrunk in a cold uncomfortable hearse.<br>My life, like tents which wand'ring shepherds raise,<br>Proves a short dwelling and removes at ease.<br>My sins pursue me, see the deadly band,<br>My God, who sees them, cuts me from the land;<br>As when a weaver finds his labour sped,<br>Swift from the beam he parts the fast'ning thread.<br>With pining sickness all from night to day,<br>From day to night, he makes my strength decay:<br>Reck'ning the time, I roll with restless groans,<br>'Till with a lion's force, he crush my bones,<br>New-morning dawns, but like the morning past,<br>'Tis day, 'tis night, and still my sorrows last.<br>Now screaming like the Crane my words I spoke,<br>Now like the swallow, chatt'ring quick and broke,<br>Now like the doleful dove, when on the plains<br>Her mourning tone affects the list'ning swains. <br>To heav'n for aid my wearying eyes I throw,<br>At length they're weary'd quite, and sink with woe.<br>From death's arrest for some delays I sue,<br>Thou Lord who judg'd me, thou reprieve me too.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rapture of joy! what can thy servant say?<br>He sent his Prophet to prolong my day;<br>Through my glad Limbs I feel the wonder run,<br>Thus said the Lord, and this Himself has done.<br>Soft shall I walk, and well secur'd from fears<br>Possess the comforts of my future years.<br>Keep soft my heart, keep humble while they roll,<br>Nor e'er forget my bitterness of soul.<br>'Tis by the means thy sacred words supply<br>That mankind live, but in peculiar I;<br>A second grant thy mercy pleas'd to give,<br>And my rais'd spirits doubly seem to live.<br>Behold the time! when peace adorn'd my reign,<br>'Twas then I felt my stroke of humbling pain;<br>Corruption dug her pit, I fear'd to sink,<br>God lov'd my soul, and snatch'd me from the brink.<br>He turn'd my follies from his gracious eye,<br>As men who pass accounts and cast them by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What mouth has death which can thy praise proclaim?<br>What tongue the grave to speak thy glorious name?<br>Or will the senseless dead exult with mirth,<br>Mov'd to their hope by promises on earth?<br>The living Lord, the living only praise,<br>The living only fit to sing thy lays,<br>These feel thy favours, these thy temple see,<br>These raise the song, as I this day to thee.<br>Nor will thy truth the present only reach,<br>This the good fathers shall their offspring teach,<br>Report the blessings which adorn my page,<br>And hand their own with mine from age to age.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So when the Maker heard his creature crave,<br>So kindly rose his ready Will to save.<br>Then march we solemn tow'rds the Temple door,<br>While all our joyful musick sounds before,<br>There on this day through all my life appear,<br>When this comes round in each returning year,<br>There strike the strings, our voices jointly raise,<br>And let his dwellings hear my songs of praise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus wrote the monarch, and I'll think the lay <br>Design'd for publick when he went to pray;<br>I'll think the perfect composition runs,<br>Perform'd by Heman's or Jeduthun's sons.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then since the time arrives the Seer foretold,<br>And the third morning rolls an orb of gold,<br>With thankful zeal recover'd prince prepare<br>To lead thy nation to the Dome of pray'r.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My fancy takes her chariot once again,<br>Moves the rich wheels, and mingles in thy train;<br>She sees the singers reach Moriah's hill,<br>The minstrels follow, then the porches fill,<br>She wakes the num'rous instruments of art,<br>That each perform its own adapted part,<br>Seeks airs expressive of thy grateful strains,<br>And list'ning hears the vary'd tune she feigns.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From a grave pitch, to speak the Monarch's woe,<br>The notes flow down and deeply sound below,<br>All long-continuing, while depriv'd of ease<br>He rolls for tedious nights and heavy days.<br>Here intermix'd with discord, when the Crane<br>Screams in the notes through sharper sense of pain;<br>There run with descant on, and taught to shake<br>When pangs repeated force the voice to break;<br>Now like the dove they murmur, 'till in sighs<br>They fall, and languish with the failing eyes.<br>Then slowly slack'ning, to surprize the more,<br>From a dead pause, his exclamations soar,<br>To meet brisk health the notes ascending fly,<br>Live with the living, and exult on high.<br>Yet still distinct in parts the musick plays,<br>'Till prince and people both are call'd to praise,<br>Then all uniting strongly strike the string,<br>Put forth their utmost breath, and loudly sing;<br>The wide spread chorus fills the sacred ground,<br>And holy transport scales the clouds with sound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or thus, or livelier, if their hand and voice<br>Join'd the good anthem, might the realm rejoice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This story known, the learn'd Chaldeans came,<br>Drawn by the sign observ'd, or mov'd by fame;<br>These ask the fact for Hezekiah done,<br>And much they wonder at their God the sun,<br>That thrice he drove through one extent of day<br>His gold-shod horses in etherial way: <br>Then vainly ground their guess on nature's laws,<br>The soundest knowledge owns a greater cause.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Faith knows the fact transcends, and bids me find<br>What help for practice here incites the mind;<br>Strait to the song, the thankful song I move,<br>May such the voice of ev'ry creature prove,<br>If ev'ry creature meets its share of woe,<br>And for kind rescues ev'ry creature owe;<br>In publick so thy Maker's praise proclaim,<br>Nor what you beg'd with tears, conceal with shame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis there the ministry thy name repeat<br>And tell what mercies were vouchsaf'd of late,<br>Then joins the church, and begs through all our days<br>Not only with our lips, but lives to praise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis there our Sov'reigns for a signal day,<br>The feast proclaim'd, their signal thanks repay.<br>O'er the long streets we see the chariots wheel,<br>And, following, think of Hezekiah still;<br>In the bless'd Dome we meet the white-rob'd Choir,<br>In whose sweet notes our ravish'd souls aspire;<br>Side answ'ring side we hear and bear a part,<br>All warm'd with language from the grateful heart,<br>Or raise the song where meeting keys rejoice,<br>And teach the Base to wed the treble voice;<br>Arts soft'ning ecchos in the musick sound,<br>And answ'ring natures from the roof rebound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here close my verse, the service asks no more,<br>Bless thy good God, and give the transport o'er.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Parnell">Thomas Parnell</a><div class=q>
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<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=530131" data-title="Hezekiah de Thomas Parnell" data-description="From the bleak Beach and broad expanse of sea,
To lofty Salem, Thought direct thy way;
Mount thy light chariot, move along the plains,
And end thy flight where Hezekiah reigns.

How swiftly thought has pass'd from land to land,
And quite outrun Ti..."></div>
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