The skies, as if kindling with ire and
Resentment, will pour on this ball
A deluge of sulphurous fire, and
Consume its doom’d elements all!
But though heaven and earth will be passing
Away on time’s Saturday eve;
The covenant-bonds, notwithstanding,
Are steadfast to all that believe!
I see—but no longer deriding—
The sinner with gloom on his brow:
He cries to the mountains to hide him,
But nothing can shelter him now!
He raves—all but demons reject him!
But not so the Christian so pure;
The covenant-arms will protect him,
In these he’ll be ever secure!
Thus fixed, while his triumphs unfolding,
Enrapture his bosom serene:
In sackcloth the heavens he’s beholding,
And nature dissolving is seen;
He mounts to the summits of glory,
And joins with the harpers above,
Whose theme is sweet Calvary’s story—
The issue of covenant love.
Methinks, after ages unnumber’d
Have roll’d in eternity’s flight,
I see him, by myriads surrounded,
Enrob’d in the garments of light;
And shouting o’er this world’s cold ashes—
“Thy covenant, my God, still remains:
No tittle or jot away passes,
And thus it my glory sustains.”
He asks, as around him he glances,
“Ye sov’reigns and princes so gay,
Where are your engagements and pledges?
Where are they—where are they to-day?
Where are all the covenants sacred
That mortal with mortals e’er made?”
A silent voice whispers,—“Departed—
’Tis long since their records did fade!”
I hear him again, while he’s winging
His flight through the realms of the sky,
Th’ immovable covenant singing
With voice so melodious and high
That all the bright mountains celestial
Are dancing, as thrill’d with delight:
Too lofty for visions terrestial—
He vanishes now from my sight.
Blest Saviour, my rock, and my refuge,
I fain to thy bosom would flee;
Of sorrows an infinite deluge
On Calv’ry thou barest for me:
Thou fountain of love everlasting—
High home of the purpose to save:
Myself on the covenant casting,
I triumph o’er death and the grave.
AN ODE TO THE THUNDER.
Translated by the Rev. R. Harries Jones, M.A.