Classic Poem

PART II.

The Samaritans spared.

And dare ye deem God's ire must cease
In Christ's new realm of peace?
'Tis true, beside the scorner's gate
The Lord long-suffering deign'd to wait,
Nor on the guilty town
Call'd the stern fires of old Elijah down:
A victim, not a judge, He came,
With His own blood to slake th' avenging flame.

Now, by those hands so rudely rent
The bow of Heaven is bent;
And ever and anon His darts
Find out e'en here the faithless hearts,
Now gliding silently,
Now rushing loud, and blazing broad and high,
A shower or e'er that final storm
Leave earth a molten ocean without form.

True Love, all gentle though she be,
Hath eyes, the wrath to see:
Nor may she fail in faith to pray
For hastening of Redemption's day,
Though with the triumph come
Forebodings of the dread unchanging doom: —
Though with the Saints' pure lambent light
Fires of more lurid hue mysteriously unite.