THE HYPOCRITE IN THE JUDGMENT.
The following, from Pollok's “Course of Time,” is commended to the serious attention of the readers of the REVIEW: Great day of revelation! in the grave
The hypocrite had left his mask, and stood
In naked ugliness. He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven,
To serve the devil in; in virtue's guise
Devoured the widow's house and orphan's bread.
In holy phrase, transacted villainies
That common sinners durst not meddle with.
At sacred feast, he sat among the saints,
And with his guilty hands touched holiest things;
And none of sin lamented more, or sighed
More deeply, or with graver countenance,
Or longer prayer, wept o'er the dying man,
Whose infant children, at the moment, he
Planned how to rob. In sermon style he bought
And sold, and lied; and salutations made
In Scripture terms. He prayed by quantity,
And with his repetitions long and loud
All knees were weary. With one hand he put
A penny in the urn of poverty,
And with the other took a shilling out.
On charitable lists—those trumpets which told
The public ear, who had in secret done
The poor a benefit, and half the alms
They told of took themselves to keep them sounding—
He blazed his name, more pleased to have it there
Than in the book of life. Seest thou the man!
A serpent with an angel's voice! a grave
With flowers bestrewed! and yet few were deceived.
His virtues being over-done, his face
Too grave, his prayers too long, his charities
Too pompously attended, and his speech
Larded too frequently, and out of time
With serious phraseology—were rents
That in his garments opened in spite of him,
Through which the well-accustomed eye could see
The rottenness of his heart. None deeper blushed,
As in the all-piercing light he stood, exposed,
No longer herding with the holy ones.
Yet still he tried to bring his countenance
To sanctimonious seeming; but meanwhile,
The shame within, now visible to all,
His purpose balked. The righteous smiled, and even
Despair itself some signs of laughter gave,
As ineffectually he strove to wipe
His brow, that inward guiltiness defied.
Detected wretch! of all the reprobate,
None seemed maturer for the flames of hell,
Where still his face, from ancient custom, wears
A holy air which says to all that pass
Him by, “I was a hypocrite on earth.”