Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ODE ON THE PASSION, by THOMAS WARTON THE ELDER



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ODE ON THE PASSION, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In sable clad, urania come
Last Line: And proud captivity an humbled captive led!
Subject(s): Catholics; Christianity; Crucifixion; Death; Passion; Piety; Prayer; Sin; Roman Catholics; Catholicism; Jesus Christ - Crucifixion; Dead, The


I.
IN Sable clad, Urania come,
Dictate a Pity-moving Lay,
Such as may paint a dying GOD,
And all his Wounds and Pangs display:
What Time the blissful Saints above,
Struck with his Suff'rings and his Love,
Began to heave unusual Sighs;
Each Seraph tore his Palmy-crown,
Each threw his Harp or Trumpet down,
And Grief a while usurp'd the Skies.

II.
But hark! I hear triumphant Shouts,
Of Jews that dare insult their Lord;
At whose Approach pale Sickness fled,
Madness and Storms obey'd his Word:
This gracious Benefactor see,
Stretch'd out in Anguish on the Tree!
How deep the Traces of the Scourge!
His bending Head how pale!
The Spear has gor'd his snowy Side,
His tender Feet the Nail!

III.
Sudden the Graves their dreary Depths disclose,
Low, doleful Sounds run murm'ring thro' the Air;
The shrouded Bodies from the Charnels rose,
And gliding by, their trembling Kindred scare;
The twisting Rocks their sulph'rous Beds display'd,
Earth's deep Foundations to the Center shook;
The Sun was cover'd with a ten-fold Shade,
Unable on Messiah's Pains to look:
Remotest Lands the dreadful Portents felt,
And, for a Time, in Wonder, Fear, and Darkness dwelt.

IV.
Beneath, lo! Mary weeping stands,
In Tears most pitifully fair,
And beats the Breast, where Christ had hung,
And tears her long dishevell'd Hair——
"Where can I lay my mournful Head?
"My Son, my King, my God is dead!
"To gloomy Deserts let me go,
"Among the horrid Rocks and Woods,
"The Caves, and pensive-falling Floods,
"Indulging Solitude and Woe!"—

V.
And shall not vile, ungrateful Man,
Bear in these Griefs a wretched Part
Roll in the Dust, and beat his Face,
Bleed in his Bowels, and his Heart?
While stern Repentance near him stands,
Pointing to Heav n with meagre Hands!
O let us weep, and humbly pray,
That Faith no longer mourn,
That Peace may raise her oliv'd Head,
And Righteousness return.

VI.
Then Pride no more shall swell her purple Crest,
Or mad Ambition kindle lawless Strife;
Pale Envy then shall leave the tortur'd Breast,
And frowning Murder break his reeking Knife;
Old Avarice his Heaps of Gold forego,
Sly Theft no more the Traveller beguile,
Lust shall grow whiter than the new-fall'n Snow,
And Rage be calm'd, and Malice learn to smile:
Ev'n Satan's Self shall feel a heavier Chain,
And gnash his Teeth, and shake his burning Spear in vain.

VII.
Alas! far other Scenes appear,
Man still enslav'd to tenfold Guilt,
Tost on from Vanity to Vice,
Forgets his Saviour's Blood was spilt:
Forgets he left the Realms of Day,
Changing his glorious Robes for Clay:
With inexpressive Mercy fill'd,
His Angels left, and Em'rald Throne,
Deigning as Mortal to come down,
To be despis'd, forsaken, kill'd,

VIII.
Yet there remains a dreadful Day,
When, after Years in Follies spent,
This vain, fantastic World shall fall,
With ev'ry melting Element.
Methinks I hear the Angel—"Come—
"This Trumpet calls ye to your Doom."—
The simple Indian starts amaz'd,
The Jew now dreads the Rod,
Curs'd is the Koran by the Turk,
The Atheist owns a God.

IX.
Down rides Messiah on the Wings of Wind,
His fiery Sword of Justice blazing round;
To Vengeance comes He, yet with Mercy kind,
Satan and Death behind his Chariot bound.
O turn we from the burning Sinner's Pains,
His agonizing Struggles, piercing Plaints;
And let us listen to the rapt'rous Strains,
Sung by the Just, the Seraphs, and the Saints:
How for Mankind the filial Godhead bled,
And proud Captivity an humbled Captive led!





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