Isaac Watts

Warning to Magistrates Judges, who rule the world by laws, Will ye despise the righteous cause, When th’injur’d poor before you stands? Dare ye condemn the righteous poor, And let rich sinners ’scape secure, While gold and greatness bribe your hands? Have ye forgot or never knew That God will judge the judges too? High in the Heavens his justice reigns; Yet you invade the rights of God, And send your bold decrees abroad To bind the conscience in your chains. A poisoned arrow is your tongue, The arrow sharp, the poison strong, And death attends where e’er it wounds: You hear no counsels, cries or tears; So the deaf adder stops her ears Against the power of charming sounds. Break out their teeth, eternal God, Those teeth of lions dyed in blood; And crush the serpents in the dust: As empty chaff, when whirlwinds rise, Before the sweeping tempest flies, So let their hopes and names be lost. Th’Almighty thunders from the sky, Their grandeur melts, their titles die, As hills of snow dissolve and run, Or snails that perish in their slime, Or births that come before their time, Vain births, that never see the sun. Thus shall the vengeance of the Lord Safety and joy to saints afford; And all that hear shall join and say, “Sure there’s a God that rules on high, “A God that hears his children cry, “And will their sufferings well repay.”

Miracles Attending Israel’s Journey When Isr’el, freed from Pharaoh’s hand, Left the proud tyrant and his land, The tribes with cheerful homage own Their king; and Judah was his throne. Across the deep their journey lay; The deep divides to make them way. Jordan beheld their march, and led, With backward current, to his head. The mountains shook like frighted sheep, Like lambs the little hillocks leap; Not Sinai on her base could stand, Conscious of sov’reign pow’r at hand. What pow’r could make the deep divide? Make Jordan backward roll his tide? Why did ye leap, ye little hills? And whence the fright that Sinai feels? Let ev’ry mountain, ev’ry flood, Retire and know th’ approaching God, The King of Isr’el: see him here! Tremble, thou earth, adore and fear. He thunders, and all nature mourns; The rock to standing pools he turns, Flints spring with fountains at his word, And fires and seas confess the Lord.

There is a land of pure delight Where saints immortal reign; Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain. There everlasting spring abides, And never-withering flowers; Death like a narrow sea divides This heavenly land from ours. Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood Stand dressed in living green: So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between. But timorous mortals start and shrink To cross this narrow sea, And linger shivering on the brink, And fear to launch away. Oh could we make our doubts remove, These gloomy doubts that rise, And see the Canaan that we love, With unbeclouded eyes; Could we but climb where Moses stood And view the landscape o’er, Not Jordan’s stream, nor death’s cold flood, Should fright us from the shore.

Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home: Under the shadow of thy throne Thy saints have dwelt secure; Sufficient is thine arm alone, And our defense is sure. Before the hills in order stood Or earth received her frame, From everlasting thou art God, To endless years the same. Thy word commands our flesh to dust, “Return, ye sons of men”; All nations rose from earth at first, And turn to earth again. A thousand ages in thy sight Are like an evening gone; Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun. The busy tribes of flesh and blood, With all their lives and cares, Are carried downwards by thy flood, And lost in following years. Time, like an ever-rolling stream, Bears all its sons away; They fly forgotten, as a dream Dies at the opening day. Like flowery fields the nations stand, Pleased with the morning light; The flowers beneath the mower’s hand Lie withering e’er ’tis night. Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Be thou our guard while troubles last, And our eternal home.

An Ode Attempted in English Sapphic When the fierce north wind with his airy forces Rears up the Baltic to a foaming fury, And the red lightning with a storm of hail comes Rushing amain down, How the poor sailors stand amazed and tremble, While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet, Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters, Quick to devour them! Such shall the noise be and the wild disorder, (If things eternal may be like these earthly) Such the dire terror, when the great Archangel Shakes the creation, Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven, Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes; See the graves open, and the bones arising, Flames all around ’em! Hark, the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches! Lively bright horror and amazing anguish Stare through their eyelids, while the living worm lies Gnawing within them. Thoughts like old vultures prey upon their heart-strings, And the smart twinges, when the eye beholds the Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance Rolling afore him. Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver, While devils push them to the pit wide-yawning Hideous and gloomy, to receive them headlong Down to the center. Stop here, my fancy: (all away ye horrid Doleful ideas); come, arise to Jesus; How He sits God-like! and the saints around him Throned, yet adoring! Oh may I sit there when he comes triumphant Dooming the nations! then ascend to glory While our hosannas all along the passage Shout the Redeemer.