Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, DIVINE POEMS: A HYMN, by JOHN HALL (1627-1656)


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DIVINE POEMS: A HYMN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Thou mighty subject of my humble song
Last Line: Supplied our want of oceans of tears.
Alternate Author Name(s): Hall Of Durham, John


THOU mighty subject of my humble song,
Whom every thing speaks, though it cannot speak,
Whom all things echo, though without a tongue,
And int' expressions of thy glory break;

Who out of nothing this vast fabric brought,
And still preserv'st it, lest it fall again,
And be reduc'd into its ancient nought,
But may its vigour primitive retain;

Who out of atoms shap'd thine image, man,
And all to crown him with supremacy
Over his fellow-creatures; nay, and then
Didst in him raise a flame that cannot die;

Whose purer fire should animate that dross
That renders him but equal to the beast,
And make him, though materiate and gross,
Not less than those that in no bodies rest;

Nay, Lord above them, they did first of all
Turn renegados to thy majesty,
And in their ruin did involve his fall,
That caused him under thy displeasure lie.

There did he lose his snowy innocence,
His undepraved will; then did he fall
Down from the tower of knowledge, nay, from thence
Dated the loss of his, heaven, thee, and all.

So wert thou pleas'd to let thy anger lay
Clouds of displeasure 'twixt poor man and thee,
That Mercy might send forth a milky ray,
To tell, that ne'ertheless thou would'st agree.

Though man in sinning still new guilt should add,
It never could expunge thy patience;
Thine, who not ever any passion had,
But can forgive, as well as see offence.

Yet though our hearts petrificated were,
And all our blood curdled to ruddy ice,
Yet caused'st thou thy law be graven there,
And set a guardian o'er't, that never dies.

But we eras'd that sculpture: then thou wrote
In tables what thou hadst in stone before;
Yet were we not unto obedience brought,
But rather slackened our performance more.

Dead to all goodness, and engulf d in sin,
Benumbed by our own corruptions,
That we were only drown'd, not rendered clean,
By th' streams that covered all the earth at once.

Wandering without the least ability
To tread, or eyes to see our safest way,
While fiery vengeance at our heels did fly,
Ready to strike when thou the word should'st say.

Yet didst thou disappoint her: thy Son's blood
Supplied our want of oceans of tears.





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