THE GENEALOGY OF CHRIST , AS IT IS REPRESENTED ON THE EAST WINDOW OF WINCHESTER COLL. CHAPEL , WRITTEN AT WINTON SCHOOL BY DR. LOWTH , LORD BISHOP OF OXFORD . AT once to raise our reverence and delight , To elevate the mind , and please the sight , To pour in virtue at th' attentive eye , And waft the soul on wings of extasy ; For this the painter's art with nature vies , And bids the visionary saint arise ; Who views the sacred forms in thought aspires , Catches pure zeal , and as he gazes , fires ; Feels the same ardour to his breast convey'd , Is what he sees , and emulates the shade . Thy strokes , great Artist , so sublime appear , They check our pleasure with an awful fear ; While , thro' the mortal line , the God you trace , Author himself , and Heir of Jesse's race ; In raptures we admire thy bold design , And , as the subject , own the hand divine . While thro' thy work the rising day shall stream , So long shall last thy honour , praise , and name . And may thy labours to the Muse impart Some emanation from her sister art , To animate the verse , and bid it shine In colours easy , bright , and strong , as Thine . Supine on earth an awful figure lies , While softest slumbers seem to seal his eyes ; The hoary sire Heaven's guardian care demands , And at his feet the watchful angel stands . The form august and large , the mien divine Betray the Jesse . founder of Messiah's line . Lo ! from his loins the promis'd stem ascends , And high to Heaven its sacred Boughs extends : Each limb productive of some hero springs , And blooms luxuriant with a race of kings . Th' eternal plant wide spreads its arms around , And with the mighty Branch the mystic top is crown'd . And lo ! the glories of th' illustrious line At their first dawn with ripen'd splendors shine , In DAVID all express'd ; the good , the great , The king , the hero , and the man complete . Serene he fits , and sweeps the golden lyre , And blends the prophet's with the poet's fire . See ! with what art he strikes the vocal strings , The God , his theme , inspiring what he sings ! Hark , — or our ears delude us — from his tongue Sweet flows , or seems to flow , some heavenly song . O ! could thine art arrest the fleeting sound , And paint the voice in magic numbers bound ; Could the warm sun , as erst when Memnon play'd , Wake with his rising beam the vocal shade : Then might he draw th' attentive angels down , Bending to hear the lay , so sweet , so like their own . On either side the monarch's offspring shine , And some adorn , and some disgrace their line . Here Ammon glories ; proud , incestuous lord ! This hand sustains the robe , and that the sword . Frowning and fierce , with haughty strides he towers , And on his horrid brow defiance low'rs . There Absalom the ravish'd sceptre sways , And his stol'n honour all his shame displays : The base usurper Youth ! who joins in one The rebel subject , and th' ungrateful son . Amid the royal race , see Nathan stand : Fervent he seems to speak , and lift his hand ; His looks th' emotion of his soul disclose , And eloquence from every gesture flows . Such , and so stern he came , ordain'd to bring Th' ungrateful mandate to the guilty King : When , at his dreadful voice , a sudden smart Shot thro' the trembling monarch's conscious heart ; From his own lips condemn'd ; severe decree ! Had his God prov'd so stern a Judge as He . But man with frailty is ally'd by birth ; Consummate purity ne'er dwelt on earth : Thro' all the soul tho' virtue holds the rein , Beats at the heart , and springs at every vein : Yet ever from the clearest source have ran Some gross allay , some tincture of the man . But who is he — deep musing — in his mind , He seems to weigh in Reason's scales , Mankind ; Fix'd Contemplation hold his steady eyes — I know the Sage Solomon . ; the wisest of the wise . Blest with all man could wish , or prince obtain , Yet his great heart pronounc'd those blessings vain . And lo ! bright glittering in his sacred hands , In miniature the glorious temple stands . Effulgent frame ! stupendous to behold ! Gold the strong valves , the roof of burnish'd gold . The wandering ark , in that bright dome inshrin'd , Spreads the strong light , eternal , unconfin'd ! Above th' unutterable glory plays Presence divine ! and the full-streaming rays Pour thro' reluctant crowds intolerable blaze . But stern Oppression rends Reboam's reign ; See the gay prince , injurious , proud , and vain ! Th' imperial sceptre totters in his hand , And proud Rebellion triumphs in the land . Curs'd with Corruption's ever-fruitful spring , A beardless Senate , and a haughty King . There Asa , good and great , the sceptre bears , Justice attends his peace , success his wars : While Virtue was his sword , and Heaven his shield , Without controul the warrior swept the field ; Loaded with spoils , triumphant he return'd , And half her swarthy sons sad Ethiopia mourn'd . But since thy flagging piety decay'd , And barter'd God's defence for human aid ; See their fair laurels wither on thy brow , Nor herbs , nor healthful arts avail thee now , Nor is Heaven chang'd , apostate prince , but Thou . No mean atonement does this lapse require ; But see the Son , you must forgive the Sire : He , Josaphat . the just prince — with every virtue blest , He reign'd , and goodness all the man possest , Around his throne , fair happiness and peace Smooth'd every brow , and smil'd in every face . As when along the burning waste he stray'd , Where no pure streams in bubbling mazes play'd , Where drought incumbent on the thirsty ground , Long since had breath'd her scorching blasts around ; The Elisha . prophet calls , th' obedient floods repair To the parch'd fields , for Josaphat was there . The new-sprung waves , in many a gurgling vein , Trickle luxurious thro' the sucking plain ; Fresh honours the reviving fields adorn , And o'er the desart Plenty pours her horn . So , from the throne his influence he sheds , And bids the Virtues raise their languid heads : Where'er he goes , attending Truth prevails , Oppression flies , and Justice lifts her scales . See , on his arm , the royal eagle stand , Great type of conquest and supreme command ; Th' exulting bird distinguish'd triumph brings , And greets the Monarch with expanded wings . Fierce Moab's sons prevent th' impending blow , Rush on themselves , and sall without the foe . The pious Hero vanquish'd Heaven by prayer ; His faith an army , and his vows a war . Thee too , Ozias , fates indulgent blest , And thy days shone , in fairest actions drest ; Till that rash hand ; by some blind frenzy sway'd , Unclean , the sacred office durst invade . Quick o'er thy limbs the surfy venom ran , And hoary filth besprinkled all the man . Transmissive worth adorns the pious Jotham . Son , The father's virtues with the father's throne . Lo ! there he stands : he who the rage subdued Of Ammon's sons , and drench'd his sword in blood , And dost thou , Ahaz , Judah's scourge , disgrace , With thy base front , the glories of thy race ? See the vile King his iron sceptre bear — His only praise attends the pious Hezekiah . Heir ; He , in whose soul the virtues all conspire , The best good son , from the most wicked sire . And lo ! in Hezekiah's golden reign , Long-exil'd Piety returns again ; Again , in genuine purity she shines , And with her presence gilds the long-neglected shrines . Ill-starr'd does proud Assyria's impious Sennacherib . Lord Bid Heaven to arms , and vaunt his dreadful sword ; His own vain threats th' insulting King o'erthrow , But breathe new Courage on the generous foe , Th' avenging Angel , by divine command , The fiery sword full-blazing in his hand , Leant down from Heaven : amid the storm he rode , March'd Pestilence before him ; as he trod , Pale Desolation bath'd his steps in blood . Thick wrapt in night , thro' the proud host he past , Dispensing death , and drove the furious blast ; Nor bade Destruction give her revels o'er , Till the gorg'd sword was drunk with human gore . But what avails thee , pious Prince , in vain Thy sceptre rescued , and th' Assyrian slain ? Ev'n now the soul maintains her latest strife , And Death's chill grasp congeals the found of life . Yet see , kind Heaven renews thy brittle thread , And rolls full fifteen summers o'er thy head ; Lo ! the receding sun repeats his way , And , like thy life , prolongs the falling day . Tho' Nature her inverted course forego , The day forget to rest , the time to flow , Yet shall Jehovah's servants stand secure , His mercy fix'd , eternal shall endure ; On them her ever-healing rays shall shine ; More mild , and bright , and sure , O sun ! than thine . At length , the long-expected Prince behold , The last good King ; in ancient days foretold , When Bethel's altar spoke his future fame , Rent to its base , at good Josiah's name . Blest , happy prince ! o'er whose lamented urn , In plaintive song , all Judah's daughters mourn ; For whom sad Sion's softest Sorrow flows , And Jeremiah pours his sweet melodious woes . But now fall'n Sion , once the fair and great , Sits deep in dust , abandon'd , desolate ; Bleeds her sad heart , and ever stream her eyes , And anguish tears her , with convulsive sighs . The mournful captive spreads her hands in vain , Her hands , that rankle with the servile chain ; Till he , Zorobabcl . Great Chief ! in Heaven's appointed time . Leads back her children to their native clime . Fair Liberty revives with all her joys , And bids her envy'd walls securely rise . And thou , great hallow'd dome , in ruin spread , Again shall lift sublime thy sacred head . But ah ! with weeping eyes , the ancients view A faint resemblance of the old in you . No more th' effulgent glory of thy God Speaks awful answers from the mystic cloud : No more thine altars blaze with fire divine , And Heaven has left thy solitary shrine . Yet , in thy courts , hereafter shalt thou see Presence immediate of the Deity , The light himself reveal'd , the God confest in thee . And now at length the fated term of years The world's desire have brought , and lo ! the God appears . The Heavenly Babe the Virgin Mother bears . And her fond looks confess the parent's cares , The pleasing burden on her breast she lays , Hangs o'er his charms , and with a smile surveys . The Infant smiles , to her fond bosom prest , And wantons , sportive , on the mother's breast . A radiant glory speaks him all Divine , And in the Child the beams of Godhead shine . But now alas ! far other views disclose The blackest comprehensive scene of woes . See where man's voluntary sacrifice Bows his meek head , and God Eternal dies ! Fixt to the Cross , his healing arms are bound , While copious Mercy streams from every wound . Mark the blood-drops that life exhausting roll , And the strong pang that rends the stubborn soul ! As all death's tortures , with severe delay , Exult and riot in the noblest prey , And can'st thou , stupid man , those sorrows see , Nor share the anguish which He bears for Thee ? Thy sin , for which his sacred Flesh is torn , Points every nail , and sharpens every thorn ; Canst thou ? — while Nature smarts in every wound , And each pang cleaves the sympathetic ground ! Lo ! the black sun , his chariot backward driven , Blots out the day , and perishes from Heaven : Earth , trembling from her entrails , bear a part , And the rent rock upbraids man's stubborn heart . The yawning grave reveals his gloomy reign , And the cold clay-clad dead start into life again . And thou , O tomb , once more shalt wide display Thy satiate jaws , and give up all thy prey . Thou , groaning earth , shalt heave , absorpt in flame , As the last pangs convulse thy labouring frame ; When the same God unshrouded thou shalt see , Wrapt in full blaze of Power and Majesty , Ride on the clouds ; whilst , as his chariot flies , The bright effusion streams thro' all the skies . Then shall the proud dissolving mountains glow , And yielding rocks in fiery rivers flow : The molten doluge round the globe shall roar , And all man's arts and labour be no more . Then shall the splendors of th' enliven'd glass Sink undistinguish'd in the burning mass . And O ! till earth , and seas , and Heaven decay , Ne'er may that fair creation fade away ; May winds and storms those beauteous colours spare , Still may they bloom , as permanent as fair , All the vain rage of wasting time repell , And his Tribunal see , whose Cross they paint so well .