25. The state of the weather on St. Paul's day was formerly much looked forward to as indicative of the coming year. Thus, if fair and clear, there was to be plenty ; if cloudy or misty, much cattle would die; if rain or snow fell, then it presaged a dearth; and if windy, there would be wars. In an old book, called "Nature's
Secrets," is said
If Saint Paul's day be fair and clear,
It does betide a happy year;
But if chance to snow or rain,
Then will be dear all kinds of grain;
If clouds or mists do dark the sky,
Great store of birds and beasts shall die;
And if the winds do fly aloft,
Then wars shall vex the kingdom oft.
Let no vulgar tales debase thy mind,
Nor Paul nor Swithin rule the clouds and wind.
SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY.
27, 1773. AUGUSTUS FREDEric, Duke of Sussex,
30, 1649. KING CHARLES I. MARTYR.
(Vide xxii chap. Isaiah.)
Years they have fled; long years have gone;
And other years, like clouds, come on:
They too will flee and others come,
Bright as the past in life and bloom.
Long years-long years of earth are fled,
Gone like the spirits of the dead;
Upon the scroll of ages graven,
To be unrolled by none but heaven.
Yet thou, O thou, the blessed birth,
God's ark of promise upon earth;
Thou, amidst war and every ill,
Jerusalem! art lovely still.
Thy same proud hills are frowning round,
Still heard'st thou Kedron's babbling bound;
Jeosaphat still sleeps below,
Shrubs on thy Olive Mount still glow;
Gethsemene still tranquil lies
Within the lustre of thine eyes;
And though thy ruins moulder round,
And wanderers are thy children found,
Still, dost thou still, as stately tower,
As stately as in happier hour;
And though some beauties may have fled,
Others has time conferred instead,
Made venerable thy brow with years,
With memory's anguish and her tears;
The signet of dead glories press'd
On thy deep scarr'd yet dauntless breast;
And gemmed thee with that sacred glow
Thou sought'st in vain long years ago;
When He the royal prophet sent
His wailings through the firmament;
Told to the winds his solemn tale
Of thee, within the vision'd vale!
Unearthly was that prophet's hue,
While thus his winged visions flew,
And his denouncing numbers told
Thy doom-he shuddered to unfold.
City of men who love to yield,
Stern Ker uncovereth her shield,
And Elam's arrow's like a sting,
I hear the bent bows quivering:
Chariots and horsemen thee assail,
Thou city of the vision'd vale!
I view thy vallies filled with war,
With beamy spear and thundering car ;
The Scymeter is flashing bright,
The jav'lin's point is starred with light,
And hosts are gathering 'neath thy walls,
Their shouts the very air appalls;
Thy men are slain, but not by sword,
Their blood is not in battle poured;
And agony and terror pale,
Fall on thee of the vision'd vale!"
Thus rose the royal prophet's tone,
Two thousand years since then are gone;
On came the foe like swarming bees,
Or leaves upon the summer trees;
As torrents swelled by mountain rain,
They scoured the valley, swept the plain,
Burst o'er the rock and turret vast,
And rifled Judah's ark at last.
Down fell thy battlements and towers,
Down fell thy wall and cedar bowers;
Down fell thy temples, far and wide
Rolled on the desolating tide.
The shrieks of maidens then were heard;
Too late the wrath of cowards stirred;
The blood of children ran in streams,
Red as the sun-set's reddest beams:
The silver locks of hoary age
Were plucked and torn in hellish rage;
The warrior-warrior now no more,
Sunk fainting in his grandsire's gore;
Or weltering in his father's blood,
Where late his frantic mother stood,
Then trailed along the sanguine dust,
To gratify some victor's lust.
Then ceased the feast, the dance, the song, The revels morn loved to prolong;
The golden goblets ceased to shine,
Or sparkle with enchanted wine;
Then waned the harlot's painted cheek,
Th' oppressor in his fear grew meek;
The scoffer's brow to heaven was turned,
Th' ungodly's lips with ardour burned;
Lascivious eyes forgot their fire,
Adulterers their fierce desire;
Th' unconscious hypocrite spoke fair;
The murderer trembled in his lair:
The scorner, 'midst the wolfish strife,
Fell on his knees and prayed for life :
The emaciated drunkard sighed,
Or, drunk with fear, still drinking, died :
The slanderer, with his quailing eye,
Looked up to heaven and feared to die;
For then, amidst thy walls of flame,
The Median and Assyrian came
With horsemen and the thundering car,
With javelin, sword, and scymeter;
And Ker uncovered her shield,
And Elam's arrow pierced the field,
And shrieks and sighs and wild lament,
And prayers to heaven were vainly sent;
And hands in agony were clasp'd,
And brows were blanch'd, and spirits pass'd,
And dark despair grew so profound,
It felt not the despair around;
Knees bent that never bent before,
Lips prayed, when prayer was heard no more; And slighted virtue quickly came
To curse the heart it could not tame.
Ye prayed in vain, ye died, ye bled,
Ye were unpitied captives led;
Unransomed slaves thro' toiling years,
With cankering chains and daily tears;
Lash, torture, famine, and decay,
Soon taught your erring hearts to pray
To Him ye scorned, ye scoffed, ere rolled
The hidden bolt the seer foretold.
For sins most foul ye felt the rod,
The wrath of an offended God,
Till as ye sinned, so suffered so,
He felt and tamed your mad'ning woe,
And freed ye from your galling chains,
Healed all your wounds, assuaged your pains,
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