Say, heav'nly muse, what king or mighty God, <br />That moves sublime from Idumea's road? <br />In Bosrah's dies, with martial glories join'd, <br />His purple vesture waves upon the wind. <br />Why thus enrob'd delights he to appear <br />In the dread image of the Pow'r of war? <br /> Compres'd in wrath the swelling wine-press groan'd, <br />It bled, and pour'd the gushing purple round. <br /> <br /> "Mine was the act," th' Almighty Saviour said, <br />And shook the dazzling glories of his head, <br />"When all forsook I trod the press alone, <br />"And conquer'd by omnipotence my own; <br />"For man's release sustain'd the pond'rous load, <br />"For man the wrath of an immortal God: <br />"To execute th' Eternal's dread command <br />"My soul I sacrific'd with willing hand; <br />"Sinless I stood before the avenging frown, <br />"Atoning thus for vices not my own." <br /> <br /> His eye the ample field of battle round <br />Survey'd, but no created succours found; <br />His own omnipotence sustain'd the right, <br />His vengeance sunk the haughty foes in night; <br />Beneath his feet the prostrate troops were spread, <br />And round him lay the dying, and the dead. <br /> <br /> Great God, what light'ning flashes from thine eyes? <br />What pow'r withstands if thou indignant rise? <br /> <br /> Against thy Zion though her foes may rage, <br />And all their cunning, all their strength engage, <br />Yet she serenely on thy bosom lies, <br />Smiles at their arts, and all their force defies.<br /><br />Phillis Wheatley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/isaiah-lxiii/
