The Storm. An Essay. — Text and Context

For had they perish'd e'er they went, Where to no Purpose they were sent, The Ships might ha' been built again, 150 And we had sav'd the Money and the Men. There the Mighty Wrecks appear, _Hic Jacent_, Useless Things of War. Graves of Men, and Tools of State, There you lye too soon, there you lye too late. But O ye Mighty Ships of War! What in Winter did you there? Wild _November_ should our Ships restore To _Chatham_, _Portsmouth_, and the _Nore_, So it was always heretofore, 160 For Heaven it self is not unkind, If Winter Storms he'll sometimes send, Since 'tis suppos'd the Men of War Are all laid up, and left secure.

Nor did our Navy feell alone, The dreadful Desolation; It shook the _Walls of Flesh_ as well as Stone, And ruffl'd all the Nation. The Universal Fright Made Guilty _H----_ expect his Fatal Night; 170 His harden'd Soul began to doubt, And Storms grew high within, as they grew high without.

Flaming Meteors fill'd the Air, But _Asgil_ miss'd his _Fiery Chariot_ there; Recall'd his black blaspheming Breath, And trembling paid his Homage unto Death.

_Terror appear'd in every Face_, Even _Vile Blackbourn_ felt some shocks of Grace; Began to feel the Hated Truth appear, Began to fear, 180 After _he had Burlesqu'd a God_ so long, He should at last be in the wrong. Some Power he plainly saw, (And seeing, felt a strange unusual Awe;) Some secret Hand he plainly found, Was bringing some strange thing to pass, And he that neither God nor Devil own'd, Must needs be at a loss to guess. Fain he would not ha' guest the worst, But Guilt will always be with Terror Curst. 190

Hell shook, for Devils Dread Almighty Power, At every Shock they fear'd the Fatal Hour, The Adamantine Pillars mov'd, And Satan's _Pandemonium_ trembl'd too; The tottering _Seraphs_ wildly rov'd, Doubtful what the Almighty meant to do; For in the darkest of the black Abode, _There's not a Devil but believes a God_. Old _Lucifer_ has sometimes try'd _To have himself be Deify'd_; 200 But Devils nor Men the Being of God deny'd, Till Men of late found out New Ways to sin, And turn'd the Devil out to let the Atheist in. But when the mighty Element began, And Storms the weighty Truth explain, Almighty Power upon the Whirlwind Rode, And every Blast proclaim'd aloud _There is, there is, there is_, a God.

Plague, Famine, Pestilence, and War, Are in their Causes seen, 210 The true Originals appear Before the Effects begin: But Storms and Tempests are above our Rules, Here our Philosophers are Fools. The _Stagyrite_ himself could never show, From whence, nor how they blow. Tis all Sublime, 'tis all a Mystery, They see no Manner how, nor Reason why; _All Sovereign Being_ is the amazing Theme, 'Tis all resolv'd to Power Supreme; 220 From this First Cause our Tempest came, And let the Atheists spight of Sense Blaspheme, They can no room for Banter find, Till they produce another Father for the Wind.

_Satyr_, thy Sense of Sovereign Being Declare, He made the Mighty Prince o'th' Air, And Devils recognize him by their Fear.

Ancient as Time, and Elder than the Light, Ere the First Day, or Antecedent Night, Ere Matter into settl'd Form became, 230 And long before Existence had a Name; Before th' Expance of indigested Space, While the vast _No-where_ fill'd the Room of Place. Liv'd _the First Cause_ The First Great _Where_ and _Why_, Existing _to and from_ Eternity, Of His Great Self, and _of Necessity_. _This I call God_, that One great Word of Fear, At whose great sound, When from his Mighty Breath 'tis eccho'd round, Nature pays Homage with a trembling bow, 240 And Conscious Men would faintly disallow;

The Secret Trepidation racks the Soul, And while he says, no God, replies, thou Fool. _But call it what we will_, _First Being it had_, does Space and Substance fill. Eternal Self-existing Power enjoy'd, And whatsoe'er is so, _That same is God_.

If then it should fall out, as who can tell, But that there is a Heaven and Hell, Mankind had best consider well for fear 250 'T should be too late when their Mistakes appear; Such may in vain Reform, Unless they do't before another Storm.

They tell us _Scotland_ scap'd the Blast; No Nation else have been without a Taste: All _Europe_ sure have felt the Mighty Shock, 'T has been a Universal Stroke. But Heaven has other Ways to plague the _Scots_, As Poverty and Plots. Her Majesty Confirms it, what She said, 260 I plainly heard it, tho' I'm dead.