There all old Abram's story you might see, And still some angel bore him company. His painful but well-guided travels show The fate of all his sons, the church below. Here beauteous Sarah to great Pharaoh came; He blushed with sudden passion, she with shame: Troubled she seemed, and labouring in the strife, 'Twixt her own honour and her husband's life. Here on a conquering host, that careless lay, Drowned in the joys of their new-gotten prey, The patriarch falls; well-mingled might you see The confused marks of death and luxury. In the next piece bless'd Salem's mystic king Does sacred presents to the victor bring; Like Him whose type he bears, his rights receives, Strictly requires his due, yet freely gives: Even in his port, his habit, and his face, The mild and great, the priest and prince, had place. Here all their starry host the heavens display; And, lo! a heavenly youth, more fair than they, Leads Abram forth; points upwards; 'Such,' said he, 'So bright and numberless thy seed shall be.' Here he with God a new alliance makes, And in his flesh the marks of homage takes: Here he the three mysterious persons feasts, Well paid with joyful tidings by his guests: Here for the wicked town he prays, and near, Scarce did the wicked town through flames appear: And all his fate, and all his deeds, were wrought, Since he from Ur to Ephron's cave was brought. But none 'mongst all the forms drew then their eyes Like faithful Abram's righteous sacrifice: The sad old man mounts slowly to the place, With Nature's power triumphant in his face O'er the mind's courage; for, in spite of all, From his swoln eyes resistless waters fall. The innocent boy his cruel burden bore With smiling looks, and sometimes walked before, And sometimes turned to talk: above was made The altar's fatal pile, and on it laid The hope of mankind: patiently he lay, And did his sire, as he his God, obey. The mournful sire lifts up at last the knife, And on one moment's string depends his life, In whose young loins such brooding wonders lie. A thousand sp'rits peeped from the affrighted sky, Amazed at this strange scene, and almost fear'd, For all those joyful prophecies they'd heard; Till one leaped nimbly forth, by God's command, Like lightning from a cloud, and stopped his hand. The gentle sp'rit smiled kindly as he spoke; New beams of joy through Abram's wonder broke The angel points to a tuft of bushes near, Where an entangled ram does half appear, And struggles vainly with that fatal net, Which, though but slightly wrought, was firmly set: For, lo! anon, to this sad glory doomed, The useful beast on Isaac's pile consumed; Whilst on his horns the ransomed couple played, And the glad boy danced to the tunes he made.