Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley/Isaiah
ISAIAH, 63d Chap. 1st and 8th verses.
Say, heavenly Muse, what king, or mighty God,
That moves sublime from Idumea's road?
In Bozrah's dyes, with martial glories joined,
His purple vesture waves upon the wind.
Why thus enrobed delights he to appear
In the dread image of the Power of war?
Compressed in wrath, the swelling wine-press groaned;
It bled, and poured the gushing purple round.
"Mine was the art," the Almighty Saviour said,
And shook the dazzling glories of his head;
"When all forsook, I trod the press alone,
"And conquered by omnipotence my own;
"For man's release sustained the ponderous load,
"For man the wrath of an immortal God;
"To execute the Eternal's dread command,
"My soul I sacrificed 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
Surveyed, but no created succors found;
His own omnipotence sustained 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 lightning flashes from thine eyes!
What power 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.