Poems (Stephens)/Wrath and mercy

by Eliza Jane Stephens

WRATH AND MERCY.

The angel of wrath as he pondered the world,
 Beholding its hate, its deceit and its strife,
Its worship of gain and its hosts of depraved,
 Abusing the gift and the blessings of life,

Besought as a favor that he for a time
 Might hold undisputed and absolute sway,
Might show to transgressors the power of his arm
 And teach them at once to both fear and obey.

He boasted how soon there'd be nothing but good,
 That wrong and its triumphs forever would cease,
That force was the agency meant for control—
 The rod was the greatest promoter of peace.

And with the permission what whirlwinds arose,
 What deadliest pestilence lurked in the air,
And lightnings descended with terrible stroke,
 And famine, and deluge, and scorchings were there.

And wretched humanity, burdened with woe,
 Was driven to frenzy of rage and despair,
And wailings and curses were heard on each hand,
 But still the stern angel would never forbear.

Till mercy's sweet angel at last interposed
 With piteous pleadings commingled with tears,
"For what is a betterment worth," she would cry,
 That's wrought by chastisement and gloomiest fears?"

She plead, too, the frailty and weakness of all,
 By nature imperfect since formed from the dust;
And if a sore punishment fell on the bad
 She prayed it should never descend on the just.

And when in due time her entreaties prevailed,
 And wrath from its scourgings forever must cease,
How glad was the summons borne over the world
 For all to unite in promotion of peace.

And then were rejoicings that came from the heart,
 And surely their echoes re-sounded above,
For mercy had proved the best government known
 Was ever the sacred commandment of love.