The True Fast. A Paraphrase on the 58th of Isaiah

Cry, let thy Voice like the loud Trumpet sound,
Through the wide Air diffuse it all around,
To tell My People how their Crimes abound:
And yet, alas! they seem to take delight
To know my ways and study what is right,
As if they did not trespass and rebel,
They justify their Errors, and think all is well:
Wherefore (say they) do we make tedious Fasts?
Thou see'st not, still thy Indignation lasts;
To mortify our Lusts why do we roam,
And wander such a wicked way from home?
Why such lean Penance do we undergo?
Thou tak'st no knowledge, though thou all dost know.
Hear me (O Rebels!) that can thus report,
Do you not fast for wantonness and sport?
Is it true Piety? Is it Remorse?
No, no, A Ceremony made in course,
Of neither Efficacy, Power, or Force:
Under this thin disguise much sin you hide,
Hypocrisy, Revenge and Canker'd Pride;
And Strifes, that you may have pretence to blame
The wiser few that will not act the same,
Participating in your guilt and shame;
Such as the Nonsense of your Fasts detect,
And clearly prove they are of no effect.
But Fasts you call 'em, and you Fasts proclaim,
When Luxury oft were a more proper Name;
The Deep is ransack't, all her Treasures shown;
For Flesh one day deny'd, the Sea is all your own:
In vain with this loose Custom you comply,
In vain for this you lift your Voices high,
They come lame Intercessors to the Sky.
Observe, O Stubborn Brood! your Maker's voice;
Is this a Fast which I have made my choice?
Is to afflict the mind, to sigh and mone,
And drawl my name out in a Canting tone?
Is it to sob and fawn with heads reclin'd,
Like Bull-rushes that bend before the wind,
To dress in Sack-cloath and the lash to feel,
With all th' External Pomp of hair-brain'd Zeal?
What stress upon such trifling will ye lay?
Or can this be to me a Fast, or Acceptable Day?
No, no, the Fast that pleases me is this;
To loose the Bands of all that is amiss,
To fly from willful sin and every way
In which th' unwary Soul is led astray,
Release the heavy load, break every yoke,
And free the wretched from th'Oppressor's stroke;
To deal thy Bread to those that sit in want,
And, to thy power, ready still to grant
(For he that has but little, yet may be,
By giving little, sav'd for Charity)
To think not thy own House too good and great
For Strangers to sojourn, and th' indigent to eat;
To let the mourning Widow be thy care,
To cloath the Naked that they be not bare
In the Inclemency of Winter's Air;
Not to detract, or be with Passion wild,
But ever merciful and ever mild,
Nor be a cruel Father to thy Child;
Not to be Proud, or in Discourse profane,
But free thy Lips from all obscene and vain:
Reach but this Goal, and happiness you win;
This is a Fast indeed, — A Fast from Sin.
Then thou shalt be exempt from every pain,
Thy health shall quickly come and long remain;
All thy Good Deeds shall in the Front appear,
And Glory shall attend 'em in the Reer:
Then thou shalt call, and I will hear thee streight,
Nor long shalt for a Gracious Answer wait:
From dark Obscurity thy light shall rise,
And take it's lofty Station in the Skies;
The Sun himself shall hardly shine so bright,
Hardly diffuse around a more refulgent light:
Nay more (what better Fate can Man betide?)
'Tis I my self, ev'n I will be thy guide,
I'll set thee in the Path, I'll shew the way;
O happy Man, that cannot go astray!
In Famine thou shalt daily have supply,
In tedious Droughts thou never shalt be dry,
But like a water'd Garden still be gay,
Or Fountain rising in a Sun-shine day,
Whose Springs ne're fail, but ever mount and play.
The noble Structures ras'd by War and Time,
Thy Sons shall build more sumptuous than their prime,
But thine shall be the Glory, thine the Fame;
The Age to come shall bless thy honour'd name.
Yes, this was he, th' united Voice shall cry,
That the foundations laid, and rais'd the ruins high.
And if to this thou add these Vertues more,
I'll yet add other Blessings to thy store;
If from all loose desires thou turn'st away,
Not following Harlots on my Holy-Day,
But think it honourable, pure, sublime,
And take delight then to redeem the time,
With Zeal and ardour wish its coming on,
And, when 'tis with thee, that 'twou'd nere be gone;
And all this while not walking thy own way,
Nor after dull Enthusiasts run astray,
Not speaking thy own words, but cleave to what I say;
In the true Fast that I have nam'd remain,
(For t'other's superstitious, fond and vain)
Then thou shalt be my Darling, my Delight,
Dear to my thought and pleasing to my sight;
High I will lift thee and far spread thy Name,
The Globe shall be too narrow for thy Fame,
With me to Heav'n I'll carry it along,
An Endless Theme for the Celestial Song:
All Nature's Products too thou shalt command,
And feed upon the fatness of the Land; —
'Tis I have spoke it, and my word shall stand.