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| SAY, heav’nly muse, what king, or mighty God, | |
| That moves sublime from Idumea’s road? | |
| In Bozrah’s dies, with martial glories join’d, | |
| His purple vesture waves upon the wind. | |
| Why thus enrob’d delights he to appear | 5 |
| In the dread image of the Pow’r of war? | |
| |
| Compress’d in wrath the swelling wine-press groan’d, | |
| It bled, and pour’d the gushing purple round. | |
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| “Mine was the act,” th’ Almighty Saviour said, | |
| And shook the dazzling glories of his head, | 10 |
| “When all forsook I trod the press alone, | |
| And conquer’d by omnipotence my own; | |
| For man’s release sustain’d the pond’rous load, | |
| For man the wrath of an immortal God: | |
| To execute th’ Eternal’s dread command | 15 |
| My soul I sacrific’d with willing hand; | |
| Sinless I stood before the avenging frown, | |
| Atoning thus for vices not my own.” | |
| |
| His eye the ample field of battle round | |
| Survey’d, but no created succours found; | 20 |
| His own omnipotence sustain’d the fight, | |
| His vengeance sunk the haughty foes in night; | |
| Beneath his feet the prostrate troops were spread, | |
| And round him lay the dying, and the dead. | |
| |
| Great God, what light’ning flashes from thine eyes? | 25 |
| What pow’r withstands if thou indignant rise? | |
| |
| Against thy Zion though her foes may rage, | |
| And all their cunning, all their strength engage, | |
| Yet she serenely on thy bosom lies, | |
| Smiles at their arts, and all their force defies. | 30 |
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