Original - Duke Divinity School

What pangs are those which from the Guilty Breast, 272
In words like these, but faintly are exprest:
“Who burst the Barriers of my peaceful Grave?
Ah, cruel Death! that would no longer save,
But grudged me even that narrow dark abode,
And cast me forth into the wrath of God;
Where shrieks, the roaring Flame, the rattling Chain,
And all the dreadful Eloquence of Pain,
Our only Song; Black Fire’s malignant Light,
The sole refreshment of the blasted Sight.
“Must all those Powers Heaven gave me to supply
My Soul with Pleasure, and bring in my Joy,
Rise up in Arms against me? Join the Foe,
Sense, Reason, Memory, increase my Woe?
And shall my Voice, ordained on Hymns to dwell,
Corrupt to Groans, and blow the Fire of Hell?
O! Must I look with Terror on my Gain,
And by existence only measure Pain?
What no reprieve! No least indulgence given?
No Beam of Hope from any Point of Heaven?
Ah, Mercy! Mercy! Art Thou dead above?
Is Love extinguisht in the Source of Love?
“Bold that I am! Did Heaven stoop down to Hell?
Th’ expiring Lord of Life my Ransom seal?
Have I not been industrious to provoke?
From his embraces obstinately broke?
Pursued, and panted for his Mortal Hate,
Earned my Destruction, laboured out my Fate?
And dare I on extinguisht Love exclaim?
Take, take full Vengeance! Rouse the slackening Flame;
Just is my Lot—but O! must it transcend
The Reach of Time? Despair a distant end?
With dreadful Growth shoot forward, and arise,
Where Thought can’t follow, where even Fancy dies? 273
272Ori.: “That woe, those pangs, which from the guilty breast.”
273Ori.: “Where Thought can’t follow, and bold Fancy dies?”
169