The Prose Works of Jonathan Swift, D.D. — Volume 04: Swift's Writings on Religion and the Church — Volume 2Swift, Jonathan
Religion
The Prose Works of Jonathan Swift, D.D. — Volume 04: Swift's Writings on Religion and the Church — Volume 2
Swift, Jonathan
Church of England -- Sermons; England and Wales. Test Act 1673; Sermons, English
The force of his argument
lies here: he does
3 For if the Power, in which they trust, not fear his enemies,
Should fail, how helpless are the just! because if God's power
should fail he has no
help.
6 And on their impious heads will pour (1) A shower of snares
Of snares (1) and flames a dismal shower; on a man's head would
And this their bitter cup must be do wonderful execution.
(2) To drink to all eternity: However, I grant it is a
scurvy thing enough to
swallow them.
(2) To taste the doctor's
poetry.
XII. PSALM OF DAVID:
1 O Lord, some help for me provide, He can confide in but
For in but few I can confide, few because all are.
All men are so perfidious grown; perfidious. Smoke
that!
2 True mutual kindness they pretend, Did ever any man
pretend mutual
kindness to another?
3 But God those flatterers will confound, Qu: whether flatterers
That with abusive lies abound, usually abound with
And proudly boast their vicious ways, abusive lies?
4 That say, with our deceitful tongues If they say thus they
are silly flatterers.
6 And since He thus was pleased to say, That comparison is
Like gold refined from base alloy, well applied.
His promise never can deceive; (3)
(3) Deceive. Pronounce
this like a beau.
7 And therefore will their cause assert, Examine well the grammar
Who thus are pure and true of heart, and sense and the
And save them from the enemy; elegance of this
stanza.
8 For, when th' ungodly meet success, Here the author separates
The wicked more and more increase,(1) the wicked from
And proudly all their foes defy. the ungodly.
(1) Incr_ess_.
XIII. PSALM OF DAVID:
1 How long wilt Thou neglect, A civil question that!
O Lord, to hear me pray!
3 Attend, and hear my cries, Mind me, Sir!
Some comfort now disclose,
E'er grief has shut my weeping eyes Which would be nonsense,
In death's obscure repose: put in prose.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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