Classic Poem

Joseph OF A RIMATHEA . N ICODEMUS .

S EE , citizens, we Pilate's bounty bear:
Without a suit men cannot man inter.
The Roman progeny nor freely will
Do what is good; nor, unrewarded, ill.
Nothing is now in use but barbarous vice:
They sell our blood, on graves they set a price.

N ICODEMUS .

O Joseph, these vain ecstasies refrain!
But if it seem so pleasant to complain,
Let Rome alone, and seek a nearer guilt:
His Blood not Romulus' sons, but Abraham's, spilt.
Whoso the purer sense sincerely draws
From those Celestial Oracles and Laws,
By God above Himself inspir'd, will say,
None led to eternity a straighter way.
What's that to Pilate? fell the Innocent by
A Roman oath? was't through the subtilty
Of senators or priests? The doom display'd,
They Caesar less than Caiaphas obey'd.
Let us transfer the fact: the impious Jew
With heart, with tongue and eyes, first Jesus slew:
The Romans only acted their offence.
How well the heavens with Hebrew hands dispense!
For this the Jew th' Italian's crime envied,
And wish'd himself the bloody homicide.
Do we as yet our servitude lament,
When such a murder meets no punishment?
This do they, this command.

Joseph .

The progeny
Of Roman Ilia and of Sara I
With equal detestation execrate:
O may they perish by a fearful fate!
Just Heaven, why sleeps thy lightning? In a show'r
Of pitch descend: Let stanching seas devour
This cursed city! Sodom, thou art clear,
Compared to ours. No more will I a tear
Shed for my country. Let the Great in war,
Worse than the Babylonian conqueror,
Enter her breaches like a violent flood,
Until the bloody city swim in blood.
Is this too little? Let diseases sow
Their fruitful seed, and in destruction grow:
Famine, in their dry entrails take thy seat;
What nature most abhors, enforce to eat.
Let th' infant tremble at his father's knife;
The babe re-enter her who gave it life.
While yet the eager foe invests the wall,
Within may they by their own weapons fall:
The Temple wrapt in flames. Let th' enemy
Decide their civil discord, and destroy
With fire and sword ungrateful Solyma:
The relics of their slaughter drive away;
Nor seventy years dissolve their servile bands;
Despis'd and wretched, wander through all lands:
Abolish'd be their law, all form of state;
No day see their return. Let sudden fate
Succeed my curses. This infected soil
No more shall feed me. What unusual toil
Shall my old feet refuse, so they no more
Tread on this earth! though to that unknown shore,
Which lies beneath the slow Bootes' wain,
Dash'd by th' inconstant billows of that main.
That country shall be mine where justice sways,
And bold integrity the truth obeys.

N ICODEMUS .

This error with a secret poison feeds
The mind's disease. Who censures his own deeds?
Who not another's? These accusing times
Rather the men condemn than tax their crimes.
Such is the tyranny of judgment; prone
To sentence all offences but our own.
Because of late we cried not " Crucify, "
Nor falsely doom'd the Innocent to die,
Ourselves we please, as it a virtue were,
And great one, if from great offences clear.
Confess; what orator would plead His cause?
To vindicate His truth who urg'd the laws?
Or once accus'd their bloody suffrages,
By envy sign'd? Who durst those lords displease?
So piety suffer'd, while by speaking they,
And we by silence, did the Just betray.
When women openly their zeal durst show,
We, in acknowledging our Master, slow,
Under the shady coverture of night
Secur'd our fears, which would not brook the light.
Joseph, at length, our faith itself exprest:
But to the dead.

Joseph .

This is a truth confess'd.
The evening now restored day subdues:
And lo, the vigil with the night ensues.
Not far from Golgotha's infamous rocks
A cave there is, hid with the shady locks
Of funeral cypress, hewn through living stone:
The house of death; as yet possess'd by none.
My age this chose for her eternal rest;
Which now shall entertain a nobler Guest.
That ample stone, which shuts the sepulchre,
Shall the inscription of His virtues bear.
Who knows but soon a holier age may come,
When all the world shall celebrate this tomb,
And kings, as in a temple, here adore,
Through fire and sword sought from the farthest shore?

N ICODEMUS .

Pure water of the spring, you precious tears!
Perfumes which odour-breathing Saba bears,
With your preservatives His Body lave,
Sink through His pores, and from corruption save.
Nor God nor fate will suffer, that this Pure,
This Sacred Corpse should more than death endure.
Religion, if thou know'st the shades below,
Let never filthy putrefaction flow
Through His uncover'd bones; nor waste of time
Resolve this Heavenly Figure into slime.

J OHN . M ARY THE M OTHER OF J ESUS .

T HOU rev'rend Virgin, of his royal blood,
Who all between the Erythrean flood
And great Euphrates won by strenuous arms,
Assume his noble fortitude: those harms
Which press thy soul subdue: ungentle Fate
Hath by undoing thee secur'd thy state.
Fortune her strength by her own blows hath spent.
Judaea's kingdom from thy fathers rent
By foreign hands: of ancient wealth bereft,
Except thy Son; what was for danger left?
These storms, by death dispers'd, serene appear;
For what hath childless poverty to fear?

M ARY .

O John, for thee in such extremes to mourn
Perhaps is new; but I to grief was born.
With this have we convers'd twice-sixteen years;
No form of sorrow hath beguiled our fears.
To me how ominously the prophets sung,
Ev'n from the time that Heav'nly Infant sprung
In my chaste womb! Old Simeon this reveal'd,
And in my soul the deadly wound beheld.
When One, among so many infants slain,
Was by the tyrant's weapons sought in vain,
No miracles had then His fame display'd,
Or Him the object of their envy made.
Perfidious fraud in sanctity's disguise,
Nor the adulterated Pharisees,
By His detection had He yet inflam'd;
Nor for despising of their rites defam'd:
A trumpet of intestine war: the earth
Of nothing then accus'd Him, but His birth.
Not that fierce prince, so cruel to his own;
Nor his successor in that fatal throne,
As high in vice, who with the prophet's head
Supplied his feast, and on the blood he had shed
Fed his incestuous eyes, in dire delight
To heighten impious love, could me affright:
Nor yet the vulgar, hating His free tongue;
And show'rs of stones by a thousand furies flung.
I thought no mischief could our steps pursue,
That was more great, or to our suff'rings new.
What wants example, what no mother feared,
This, this alone my dying hopes interr'd.
Wretch, wilt thou seek for words t' express thy woes?
Or this so vast a grief in silence close?
Great God (such is my faith) why would'st Thou come
To this inferior kingdom through my womb?
Why mad'st Thou choice of me to bring Thee forth
For punishment? unhappy in my worth!
No woman ever bare a son, by touch
Of man conceiv'd, whose soul endures so much:
No mother such an issue better gain'd,
Nor lost it worse: by cursed death profan'd.

J OHN .

What louder grief with such an emphasis
Strikes through mine ears? What honour'd Corse is this,
With Tyrian linen veil'd? What's he whose hairs
Contend with snow, whose eyes look through their tears;
Who on those veins, yet bleeding, odours pours?
Or his assistant, crown'd with equal hours?
What troops of women hither throng! what storms
Rise in their looks! Grief wanders through all forms.
My eyes, ah! wound my heart. This was thy Son:
This is thy blood, thy mangled flesh. O run,
Take thy last kisses, ere of those bereft
By funeral: what else of all is left?

M ARY .

My soul, tired with long misery,
Amidst these greater sorrows die;
While grief at His sad exsequies
Pours out her last complaints in these.
Let me this snowy pall unfold,
Once more those quick'ning looks behold.
O Son, born to a sad event,
Thus, thus, to Thy poor mother sent!
O Salem, was thy hatred such,
To murder Him who lov'd so much?
Ah, see His side gor'd with a spear!
Those Hands, that late so bounteous were,
Transfix'd! His Feet pierc'd with one wound!
The sun had better never found
His loss, than with restored light
To show the world so dire a sight.
You neighbours to the sun's uprise,
Who read their motions in the skies,
O you in chief who found your Lord,
And with such lively zeal ador'd,
Now view the heaven's inverted laws;
With me bewail the wretched cause.
His Birth a star, new-kindled, sign'd:
To see His Death the sun grew blind.
Thou hope of my afflicted state,
Thou living, I accus'd not fate:
The day again with light is crown'd,
But Thou in night for ever drown'd.
O could'st Thou see my broken heart!
The flowing tears these springs impart!
Thy mother, whom man never knew,
Who by the Word then fruitful grew:
My womb admir'd that unknown Guest,
Whose burden for nine moons increas'd.
Thy mother, to a sceptre born,
With age and wrinkling sorrow worn,
This country sees, to get her bread
With labour, in an humble shed.
Thy milk from these two fountains sprung,
These arms about my neck have hung,
Couch'd on the flow'ry banks of Nile:
Egypt, so just to Thy exile,
Hath now redeem'd her former curse;
Our Jews than those of Memphis worse.
If His chaste Blood at length assuage
The bitter tempest of your rage;
If you can pity misery,
O let me by your mercy die;
Or, if not glutted with His Blood,
With mine increase this purple flood.
O my dear Son! what here our eyes behold,
What yonder hung, or what death could enfold
In endless night, is mine, and only mine;
No mortal did in Thy conception join,
Nor part of Thee can challenge: since the loss
Was only ours, let us the grief engross.
Ungrateful man! who his Protector slew,
Nor feels his curse, nor then his blessing knew.
Poor Wretch! no soul in Thy defence durst rise:
And now the Murder'd unrevenged lies.
The lame, who by Thy pow'rful charms were made
Sound and swift-footed, ran not to Thy aid:
Those eyes, which never saw the glorious light
Before Thy sov'reign touch, avoid Thy sight;
And others, from death's silent mansion by
Thy virtue ravish'd, suffer'd Thee to die.

J OHN .

Too true is thy complaint, too just thy woes;
Such were His friends, whom from a world He chose.
O desperate faith! from whence, from Whom are we
Thus fallen? our souls from no defection free!
Some sold, forswore Him; none from tainture clear;
All from Him fled to follow their own fear.
Thou Oracle! a Father in Thy care,
In love a Brother, the delinquent spare,
In Thy divine affection, O too blest!
Whom yesternight saw leaning on Thy breast:
If love in death survive, if yet as great,
Ev'n by that love Thy pardon I entreat;
By this Thy weeping mother: I the heir
By Thee adopted to Thy filial care,
Though alike wretched, and as comfortless,
Yet, as I can, will comfort her distress.
O Virgin-Mother, favour thy relief;
Though just, yet moderate thy flowing grief:
Thy down-cast mind by thy own virtue raise:
Th' old prophets fill their volumes with thy praise:
No age but shall through all the round of earth
Sing of that Heavenly Love and Sacred Birth.
What female glory parallels thy worth!
So grew a mother, such a Son brought forth!
She who prov'd fruitful in the extreme of age,
And found the truth of that despis'd presage;
She, whose sweet babe, expos'd among the reeds,
Which ancient Nilus with his moisture feeds,
Who then, a smiling infant, overcame
The threat'ning flood; aspir'd not to thy fame.
But these expressions are for thee too low;
The opening heav'ns did their observance show:
Those radiant troops, which darkness put to flight,
Thy throes assisted in that festive night;
Who over thy adored Infant hung
With golden wings, and Alleluiahs sung;
While the old sky, to imitate that Birth,
Bare a new star to amaze the wond'ring earth.

M ARY .

Sorrow is fled: joy, a long banish'd guest,
With heav'nly rapture fills my enlarged breast;
More great than that in youth, when from the sky
An angel brought that blessed embassy;
When shame, not soon instructed, blush'd for fear,
How I a Son by such a fate should bear.
I greater things foresee: my eyes behold
Whatever is by destiny enroll'd.
With troops of pious souls, more great than they,
Thou to felicity shalt lead the way.
A holy people shall obey Thy throne,
And heav'n itself surrender Thee Thy own.
Subjected death Thy triumph now attends,
While Thou from Thy demolish'd tomb ascends.
Nor shalt Thou long be seen by mortal eyes,
But in perfection mount above the skies;
Propitious ever, from that height shalt give
Peace to the world, instructed how to live.
A thousand languages shall Thee adore:
Thy empire know no bounds. The farthest shore,
Wash'd by the ocean, those who day's bright flame
Scarce warms, shall hear the thunder of Thy Name.
Licentious sword nor hostile fury shall
Prevail against Thee; Thou, the Lord of all.
Those tyrants, whom the vanquish'd worlds obey,
Before Thy feet shall Caesar's sceptre lay.
The time draws on in which itself must end,
When Thou shalt in a throne of clouds descend
To judge the earth. In that reformed world,
Those by their sins infected, shall be hurl'd
Down under one perpetual night; while they,
Whom Thou hast cleans'd, enjoy perpetual day.