Chapter 3 No.3

O wondrous changes of a fatal scene,

Still varying to the last!

Heaven, though its hard decree was past,

Seem'd pointing to a gracious turn again:

And death's uplifted arm arrested in its haste.

Heaven half repented of the doom,

And almost grieved it had foreseen,

What by foresight it will'd eternally to come.

Mercy above did hourly plead

For her resemblance here below;

And mild forgiveness intercede

To stop the coming blow.

New miracles approach'd the ethereal throne,

Such as his wondrous life had oft and lately known,

And urged that still they might be shown.

On earth his pious brother pray'd and vow'd,

Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate,

Himself defending what he could,

From all the glories of his future fate.

With him the innumerable crowd

Of armed prayers

Knock'd at the gates of Heaven, and knock'd aloud;

The first well-meaning rude petitioners,

All for his life assail'd the throne,

All would have bribed the skies by offering up their own.

So great a throng not Heaven itself could bar;

'Twas almost borne by force as in the giants' war.

The prayers, at least, for his reprieve were heard;

His death, like Hezekiah's, was deferr'd:

Against the sun the shadow went;

Five days, those five degrees, were lent

To form our patience and prepare the event.

The second causes took the swift command,

The medicinal head, the ready hand,

All eager to perform their part;

All but eternal doom was conquer'd by their art:

Once more the fleeting soul came back

To inspire the mortal frame;

And in the body took a doubtful stand,

Doubtful and hovering like expiring flame,

That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er the brand.