The Plague Comes, and the Plague Goes

Not often was crime so unmask’d as now—
Oh! not often was earth less blameless;
Great crowds seem to Moloch their lives to vow,
Red murder floats plumed from the Praslin brow—
To the god of love few worshippers bow,
And all shameful things have grown shameless.

Unbelief and base sensual greed ingrain
The wan texture of modern feelings;
And pitying angels with grief complain
That their whisper’d advice is almost vain—
That foulest of passions grimly reign
In the midst of the foulest dealings.

And loud wars, and rumours of war prevail,
And red blood is pour’d forth like water;
And the world is fill’d with a far-spread wail,
And such horrors are done as connot fail
To make men wax furious and women grow pale,
With the rage, or the dread, of slaughter!

But no more need the murd’rer raise his hand,
In his vengeance or mad contention!
A shake has been giv’n to the mortal sand
Which metes the days of a numberless band—
They are mark’d and call’d to a diff’rent land—
Oh, brief is their time of dissension!

Nor murder, nor war, has perform’d the deeds
Which a judgment will soon exhibit;
The murd’rer recoils as his victim bleeds,
And the conqueror spares certain lands and creeds—
The latter has lines which he ne’er exceeds,
And the former still fears the gibbet.

But that which is coming cares nought for kind,
And respects not any condition;
Its path is mark’d out, though its eyes be blind,
And its breath is an arrowy silent wind,
And each step it takes is a doom design’d,
With a sure and a dread precision.

The vengeance arrives; but how changed the view!
While the earth lay stricken and pining,
Fair Charity hasten’d, all kind and true,
And o’er many a horror its mantle threw,
And from rich to poor, like an angel, flew,
A e’en from above quick relenting drew—
For some gold ‘mid the dross was shining.

Yes, the furnace blazed, and the furnace burn’d,
But the ill was not past redeeming:
The all-gracious Judge something kind discern’d,
And his wrath was sooth’d and his vengeance turn’d,
And his heart towards mercy and pardon yearn’d—
Oh! some gold ‘mid the dross was beaming!