In, Thy Searching Judgments To Their Dwellings Trace. O Pass Not, Lord, An Absolute Decree, Or Bind Thy Sentence Unconditional! But In Thy Sentence Our Remorse Foresee, And In That Foresight This Thy Doom Recall. Thy Threatenings, Lord, As Thine Thou Mayst Revoke: But If Immutable And Fix'D They Stand, Continue Still Thyself To Give The Stroke, And Let Not Foreign Foes Oppress Thy Land. The Eternal Heard, And From The Heavenly Quire Chose Out The Cherub With The Flaming Sword; And Bade Him Swiftly Drive The Approaching Fire From Where Our Naval Magazines Were Stored. The Blessed Minister His Wings Display'D, And Like A Shooting Star He Cleft The Night: He Charged The Flames, And Those That Disobey'D He Lash'D To Duty With His Sword Of Light. The Fugitive Flames Chastised Went Forth To Prey On Pious Structures, By Our Fathers Rear'D; By Which To Heaven They Did Affect The Way, Ere Faith In Churchmen Without Works Was Heard. The Wanting Orphans Saw, With Watery Eyes, Their Founder'S Charity In Dust Laid Low; And Sent To God Their Ever-Answered Cries, For He Protects The Poor, Who Made Them So. Nor Could Thy Fabric, Paul'S, Defend Thee Long, Though Thou Wert Sacred To Thy Maker'S Praise: Though Made Immortal By A Poet'S Song; And Poets' Songs The Theban Walls Could Raise. The Daring Flames Peep'D In, And Saw From Far The Awful Beauties Of The Sacred Quire: But Since It Was Profaned By Civil War, Heaven Thought It Fit To Have It Purged By Fire. Now Down The Narrow Streets It Swiftly Came, And Widely Opening Did On Both Sides Prey: This Benefit We Sadly Owe The Flame, If Only Ruin Must Enlarge Our Way. And Now Four Days The Sun Had Seen Our Woes: Four Nights The Moon Beheld The Incessant Fire: It Seem'D As If The Stars More Sickly Rose, And Farther From The Feverish North Retire. In Th' Empyrean Heaven, The Bless'D Abode, The Thrones And The Dominions Prostrate Lie, Not Daring To Behold Their Angry God; And A Hush'D Silence Damps The Tuneful Sky. At Length The Almighty Cast A Pitying Eye, And Mercy Softly Touch'D His Melting Breast: He Saw The Town'S One Half In Rubbish Lie, And Eager Flames Drive On To Storm The Rest. An Hollow Crystal Pyramid He Takes, In Firmamental Waters Dipt Above; Of It A Broad Extinguisher He Makes, And Hoods The Flames That To Their Quarry Drove. The Vanquish'D Fires Withdraw From Every Place, Or, Full With Feeding, Sink Into A Sleep: Each Household Genius Shows Again His Face, And From The Hearths The Little Lares Creep. Our King This More Than Natural Change Beholds; With Sober Joy His Heart And Eyes Abound: To The All-Good His Lifted Hands He Folds, And Thanks Him Low On His Redeemed Ground. As When Sharp Frosts Had Long Constrain'D The Earth, A Kindly Thaw Unlocks It With Mild Rain; And First The Tender Blade Peeps Up To Birth, And Straight The Green Fields Laugh With Promised Grain: By Such Degrees The Spreading Gladness Grew In Every Heart Which Fear Had Froze Before: The Standing Streets With So Much Joy They View, That With Less Grief The Perish'D They Deplore. The Father Of The People Open'D Wide His Stores, And All The Poor With Plenty Fed: Thus God'S Anointed God'S Own Place Supplied, And Fill'D The Empty With His Daily Bread. This Royal Bounty Brought Its Own Reward, And In Their Minds So Deep Did Print The Sense, That If Their Ruins Sadly They Regard, 'Tis But With Fear The Sight Might Drive Him Thence. But So May He Live Long, That Town To Sway, Which By His Auspice They Will Nobler Make, As He Will Hatch Their Ashes By His Stay, And Not Their Humble Ruins Now Forsake. They Have Not Lost Their Loyalty By Fire; Nor Is Their Courage Or Their Wealth So Low, That From His Wars They Poorly Would Retire, Or Beg The Pity Of A Vanquish'D Foe. Not With More Constancy The Jews Of Old, By Cyrus From Rewarded Exile Sent, Their Royal City Did In Dust Behold, Or With More Vigour To Rebuild It Went. The Utmost Malice Of Their Stars Is Past, And Two Dire Comets, Which Have Scourged The Town, In Their Own Plague And Fire Have Breathed The Last, Or Dimly In Their Sinking Sockets Frown. Now Frequent Trines The Happier Lights Among, And High-Raised Jove, From His Dark Prison Freed, Those Weights Took Off That On His Planet Hung, Will Gloriously The New-Laid Work Succeed. Methinks Already From This Chemic Flame, I See A City Of More Precious Mould: Rich As The Town Which Gives The Indies Name, With Silver Paved, And All Divine With Gold. Already Labouring With A Mighty Fate, She Shakes The Rubbish From Her Mounting Brow, And Seems To Have Renew'D Her Charter'S Date, Which Heaven Will To The Death Of Time Allow. More Great Than Human Now, And More August, Now Deified She From Her Fires Does Rise: Her Widening Streets On New Foundations Trust, And Opening Into Larger Parts She Flies. Before, She Like Some Shepherdess Did Show, Who Sat To Bathe Her By A River'S Side; Not Answering To Her Fame, But Rude And Low, Nor Taught The Beauteous Arts Of Modern Pride. Now, Like A Maiden Queen, She Will Behold, From Her High Turrets, Hourly Suitors Come; The East With Incense, And The West With Gold, Will Stand, Like Suppliants, To Receive Her Doom! The Silver Thames, Her Own Domestic Flood, Shall Bear Her Vessels Like A Sweeping Train; And Often Wind, As Of His Mistress Proud, With Longing Eyes To Meet Her Face Again. The Wealthy Tagus, And The Wealthier Rhine, The Glory Of Their Towns No More Shall Boast; And Seine, That Would With Belgian Rivers Join, Shall Find Her Lustre Stain'D, And Traffic Lost. The Venturous Merchant Who Design'D More Far, And Touches On Our Hospitable Shore, Charm'D With The Splendour Of This Northern Star, Shall Here Unlade Him, And Depart No More. Our Powerful Navy Shall No Longer Meet, The Wealth Of France Or Holland To Invade; The Beauty Of This Town Without A Fleet, From All The World Shall Vindicate Her Trade. And While This Famed Emporium We Prepare, The British Ocean Shall Such Triumphs Boast, That Those, Who Now Disdain Our Trade To Share, Shall Rob Like Pirates On Our Wealthy Coast. Already We Have Conquer'D Half The War, And The Less Dangerous Part Is Left Behind: Our Trouble Now Is But To Make Them Dare, And Not So Great To Vanquish As To Find. Thus To The Eastern Wealth Through Storms We Go, But Now, The Cape Once Doubled, Fear No More; A Constant Trade-Wind Will Securely Blow, And Gently Lay Us On The Spicy Shore.