THE PRIMITIVE CHRISTIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE CROSS. {1}
O! That it were as it was wont to be,
When thy old friends of fire, all full of thee,
Fought against frowns with smiles; gave glorius chace
To persecutions; and against the face
Of death and fiercest dangers durst with brave
And sober pace march on to meet a grave!
On their bold breast about the world they bore thee,
And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach thee,
In centre of their inmost souls they wore thee,
Where racks and torments strove in vain to reach thee!
Powers of my soul, be proud, And speak aloud
To the dear-bought nations this redeeming name,
And in the wealth of one rich word proclaim
New smiles to nature! May it be no wrong,
Blest heavens! to you and your superior song,
That we, dark sons of dust and sorrow, Awhile dare borrow
The name of your delights and your desires,
And fit it to so far inferior lyres!—Our lispings have their music too,
Ye mighty orbs! as well as you; Nor yields the noblest nest
Of warbling cherubs to the ear of love, A melody above
The low fond murmurs from the loyal breast
Of a poor panting turtle dove.
We mortals too
Have leave to do
The same bright business, ye third heavens with you.
{Footnote 1: This poem was found in Mr. Coleridge's hand-writing on a sheet of paper with other passages undoubtedly of his own composition. There is something, however, in it which leads me to think it transcribed or translated from some other writer, though I have been unable from recollection or inquiry to ascertain the fact. It is published here, therefore, expressly under caution. Ed.}