What Desperate Madness Strikes The Heath


What desp’rate madness strikes the heathen? Say,
What vain delusive hopes the nations sway?
Earth’s haughty tyrants in their pride rebel;
With impious rage the mad’ning rulers swell;
Thro’ all, thro’ all, the fatal frenzy flies;
Against the Lord, against his Christ, they rise.
“Our fouls (they boast) we’ll from this bondage free,
“And vindicate our native liberty.”
But they in vain Omnipotence defy,
The great, the sov’reign Lord, that rules on high,
Laughs all their empty menaces to scorn;
See, see against them his dread fury burn!
Hear ‘gainst his enemies his thunder break!
Hear him (O hear) the solemn mandate speak;
“Thou still, my son, on sacred Sion reign,
“And o’er the conquer’d globe my pow’r maintain.”
For me, while breath inspires this vital frame,
The law my God hath giv’n me, I’ll proclaim;
“This day, my son, have I begotten thee;
“Ask of thy sov’reign father–thine shall be
“Whate’er the regions of the world contain,
“Whatever aether bounds, whate’er the main;
“Thou with an iron rod the nations sway;
“Bruise them, like vessels form’d of potter’s clay.”
But hear, ye monarchs of the world, be wise;
Dispel this dark’ning mist before your Eyes;
Serve the great father, and his will revere;
Temper your joy with pure, with holy fear,
Embrace the Son, and due obedience shew;
If but awhile his dire resentment glow,
Eternal death’s your doom–thrice happy all,
Who trust in him, on his dread name who call!