Classic Poem

CHAP . II.

How hath Jehovah's wrath, O Sion, spread
A veil of clouds about thy daughter's head!
From heav'n to earth thy beauty, Israel, thrown,
Nor in His fierce displeasure spar'd His own!
How hath He swallow'd Judah's mansions! ras'd
His holds, and to the ground his bulwarks cast!
The land in His relentless rage profan'd,
And with the blood of her own princes stain'd!
He in His indignation hath the horn
Of Israel from his bleeding forehead torn.
Before the foe, O forc'd to fly with shame!
His wrath to Jacob a devouring flame.
Foe-like hath bent His bow; His hostile Hand
Advanc'd and slain the beauty of the land,
All that the eye attracted with desire,
And pour'd His anger forth like floods of fire.
Against thee, Solyma, converts His pow'rs;
Sad Israel and his palaces devours,
His strong-built fortresses to ruins turns;
Whilst Judah's daughter for her children mourns.
His tabernacle He with violence
Hath now demolish'd, like a garden fence.
None Sion's feasts and sabbaths celebrate,
Both king and priest obnoxious to His hate.
Detests His sanctuary, and forsakes
His flameless altar; while the enemy takes
His palaces and walls, fill'd with their cries,
As late by us in our solemnities.
The ruin of Jerusalem designs,
And levels the foundation with His lines.
Nor His fierce Hand withdraws: the tott'ring walls
And stooping turrets languish in their falls.
Her gates sink to the earth, with shiver'd bars;
Her king and princes slaves, or slain in wars.
All laws surcease. Jehovah to her seers
No more by visions or by dreams appears.
Her elders sit on earth with silent woe,
And dust upon their silver tresses throw;
In sackcloth mourn. Her virgins hang their heads,
Like drooping flow'rs that bow to their cold beds.
My bowels toil, mine eyes with tears are drown'd,
My bleeding liver pour'd upon the ground,
To see my tender babes, unpitied, lie
On flinty pavements, and through famine die;
While others to their weeping mothers say,
O give us food, our hunger to allay!
Then, fainting by the bloodless wound of death,
In their enfolding arms sigh out their breath.
How shall my tongue express, O how compare,
Thy matchless sorrows, to assuage thy care,
Distressed Sion's daughter! for thy breach
Is like the seas, whose rage no bounds impeach.
Vain tales and foolish have thy prophets told,
Nor would they thy exiling sins unfold;
False burthens and false prophecies invent,
The fatal authors of thy banishment.
The passengers, they wry their heads aside,
Hiss at thee, clap their hands, and thus deride:
Is this their only joy? which they of all
The world the beauty and perfection call?
Thy foes make mouths, scoff, grind their teeth, and say,
Now have we swallow'd our desired prey.
This is that day we did so long expect,
Wherein our hopes have had their wish'd effect!
God hath accomplished His old decree;
We thy oft-menaced destruction see;
Hath ruin'd without pity, made a scorn
To thy triumphant foe, and rais'd his horn.
To Him their hearts now cry: O Sion's tow'rs!
All day, all night, let tears descend in show'rs.
O never give thy lab'ring thoughts repose,
Nor let the humid night thy eyelids close!
Arise and cry; cry from the night's first hour;
Thy heart before thy God like water pour.
O raise thy hands to heav'n, lest famine's force
Thy children's souls from their pale corps divorce.
Lord, see Thy massacres! shall cursed wombs
Become their new-born children's fatal tombs?
Thy priests and prophets by the sword are slain,
And with their blood Thy sanctuary stain.
Lo! in the streets old men and infants lie,
My virgins and bold youth by slaughter die.
Thou with their blood Thy vengeance didst imbrew,
Thy burning fury without pity slew.
As in a solemn day, Thy terrors have
Environ'd me: Thy anger cloys the grave.
Those whom I swaddled, in my bosom bred,
The barbarous foe hath sent unto the dead.