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Gradations juft, has thy pervading foul
Look'd through? or can a part contain the whole ?
II. Prefumptuous Man! the reason would'st thou find
Why Jove's Satellites are less than Jove?
That Wisdom infinite muft form the best,
When the proud steed fhall know why man restrains His fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains; When the dull Ox, why now he breaks the clod, Is now a victim, and now Ægypt's god: Then fhall man's pride and dullness comprehend His actions', paffions', being's, use and end; Why doing, fuff'ring, check'd, impell'd; and why This hour a flave, the next a deity.
Then fay not Man's imperfect, heav'n in fault :
What matter, foon or late, or here, or there?
As who began a thousand years ago.
III. Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of All but the page prescrib'd, their present state:
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could fuffer being here below;
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
Had he thy Reason, would he skip and play?
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,
Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions foar; Wait the great teacher Death; and GoD adore. What future blifs, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Hope fprings eternal in the human breast: Man never Is, but always To be bleft: The foul, uneafy, and confin'd from home, Refts and expatiates in a life to come.
Lo, the poor Indian whofe untutor'd mind
He afks no Angel's wing, no Seraph's fire;
IV. Go, wifer thou! and in thy scale of sense, Weigh thy opinion against Providence ; Call imperfection what thou fancy'st such, Say, here he gives too little, there too much : Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, Yet cry, if Man's unhappy, GoD's unjust; · If Man alone engrofs not Heav'n's high care, Alone made perfect here, immortal there:
Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod,
V. Afk for what end the heav'nly bodies fhine, Earth for whose use? pride answers, " 'Tis for mine: "For me kind Nature wakes her genial pow'r, "Suckles each herb, and spreads out ev'ry flow'r; "Annual for me, the grape, the rofe renew "The juice nectareous, and the balmy dew; "For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings; "For me, health gushes from a thousand springs; "Seas roll to waft me, funs to light me rise; "My foot-frool earth, my canopy the skies."
But errs not nature from this gracious end, From burning funs when livid deaths descend, When earthquakes swallow, or when tempests sweep Towns to one grave, whole nations to the deep? "No ('tis reply'd) the first Almighty Cause "Acts not by partial, but by gen'ral laws; "Th' exceptions few; fome change fince all began: "And what created perfect ?"-why then Man? If the great end be human Happiness, Then Nature deviates; and can Man do lefs?
As much that end a constant course requires
If plagues or earthquakes break not heav'n's design, Why then a Borgia, or a Catiline?
Who knows but he, whose hand the lightning forms, Who heaves old Ocean, and who wings the ftorms; Pours fierce ambition in a Caefar's mind,
Or turns young Ammon loose to scourge mankind? From pride, from pride, our very reas'ning fprings; Account for moral as for natʼral things:
Why charge we heav'n in those, in these acquit ?
Better for us, perhaps, it might appear,
VI. What would this Man? Now upward will he foar,