Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/277

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been validated.
A SUNDAY-THOUGHT IN SICKNESS.
267

From heaven; I see him cut the yielding air,
So swift, he seems at once both here and there;
So quick, my sight in the pursuit was slow,
And thought could scarce so soon the journey go.
No angry message in his look appears,
His face no signs of threatening vengeance wears;
Comely his shape, of heavenly mien and air,
Kinder than smiles of beauteous virgins are.
Such he was seen by the blessed maid of old,
When he the Almighty Infant's birth foretold.
A mighty volume in one hand is borne,
Whose opened leaves the other seems to turn;
Vast annals of my sins in scarlet writ,
But now erased, blot out, and cancelled quite.
Hark! how the heavenly whisper strikes mine ear,
Mortal, behold thy crimes all pardoned here!
Hail, sacred envoy of the Eternal King!
Welcome as the blessed tidings thou dost bring;
Welcome as heaven from whence thou cam'st but now;
Thus low to thy great God and mine I bow,
And might I here, O might I ever grow,
Fixed and unmoved, an endless monument
Of gratitude to my Creator sent!

the end.