Classic Poem

Ye Angel Forms, look down; and see
A scene of strange distress below:
Behold divine humanity
Dissolv'd in sympathetic woe.

Lo, on high Olivet he stands,
Salem's proud tow'rs in prospect rise:
His bowels yearn, he spreads his hands,
Compassion gushing from his eyes:

“O Salem, my prophetic view
“Thy mighty miseries surveys;
“Vengeance, to thy rebellions due,
“Unknown in past and future days.

“What labours have I shunn'd, for thee?
“What pow'rs of suasion left untry'd,
“Thy children to allure to me,
“And in a Saviour's shadow hide?

“So when the falcon sails above,
“The parent hen, with tender cry,
“Under her guardian wing of love
“Collects her infant progeny.

“But ah! ye would not—O ye blind!
(He said, and heav'd a deeper sigh)
“Your temple is to flames consign'd;
“The dark predestin'd hour is nigh.

Blest Jesus, in thy feeling heart
For me, a finner, spare one place.
I would be thine—O yield a part
To me, in thy redeeming grace.