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No frenzy half fo defperate as this.

Teil us, ye dead! will none of you in pity To thofe you left behind difclofe the fecret? O' that fome courteous ghost would blab it out, What 'tis you are, and we must fhortly be. I've heard, that fouls departed have fometimes Forewarn'dmen of their death: 'twas kindly done To knock and giveth'alarum. But what means This ftinted charity? 'tis but lame kindness That does its work by halves. Why might you not Tell us what 'tis to die? Do the strict laws Of your fociety forbid your speaking Upon a point fo nice? I'll afk no more; Sullen, like lamps in fepulchres, your fhine Enlightens but yourselves: well-'tis no matter: A very little time will clear up all, And make us learn'd as you are, and as close. Death's fhafts fly thick! Here falls the village fwain, [round,

And there his pamper'd lord! The cup goes
And who fo artful as to put it by?
'Tis long fince death had the majority;
Yet, ftrange! the living lay it not to heart.
See yonder maker of the dead man's bed,
The fexton, hoary-headed chronicle!
Of hard unmeaning face, down which ne'er ftole
A gentle tear; with mattock in his hand
Digs thro' whole rows of kindred and acquaintance
By far his juniors! Scarce a fouli's cait up,
But well he knew its owner, and can tell
Some paffage of his life. Thus, hand in hand,
The fet has walk'd with death twice twenty years;
And yet ne'er younker on the green laughs louder,
Or clubs a fmuttier tale: when drunkards meet,
None firgs a merrier catch, or lends a hand [not
More willing to his cup. Poor wretch! he minds
That foon fome trufty brother of the trade
Shall do for him what he has dene for thoufands.
On this fide, and on that, men fee their friends
Drop off, like leaves in autumn; yet launch out
Into fantaftic fchemes, which the long livers
In the world's hale and undegen'rate days
Could fearce have leifure for; fools that we are!
Never to think of death and of ourselves
At the fame time! as if to learn to die
Were no concern of ours. O more than fottifh!
For creatures of a day, in gamefome mood
To frolic on eternity's dread brink,
Unapprehenfive; when for aught we know
The very firft fwoln furge fhall fweep us in.
Think we, or think we not, time hurties on
With a refiftlefs unremitting ftream,
Yet treads more foft than e'er did midnight thief,
That flides his hand under the mifer's pillow,
And carries off his prize. What is this world?
What but a fpacious burial-field unwall'd,
Strew'd with death's fpoils, the fpoils of animals,
Savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones?
The very turf on which we tread once liv'd;
And we that live muft lend our carcafes
To cover our own offspring: in their turns
They too must cover theirs. 'Tis here all meet!
The thiv'ring Icelander, and fun-burnt Moor;
Men of all climes, that never met before;

And of all creeds, the Jew, the Turk, the Chriftian.
Here the proud prince, and favourite yet prouder,
His fov'reign's keeper, and the people's fcourge,
Are huddled out of fight. Here lie abath'd
The great negociators of the earth,
And celebrated mafters of the balance,
Deep read in ftratagems, and wiles of courts:
Now vain their treaty-fkill! Death fcorns to treat.
Here the o'erloaded flave flings down his burthen
From his gall'd thoulders; and when the cruci

tyrant,

With all his guards and tools of pow'r about him,
Is meditating new unheard-of hardthips,
Mocks his thort arm,and quick as thought escapes,
Where tyrants vex not, and the weary reft.
Here the warın lover, leaving the cool fhade,
The tell-tale echo, and the bubbling ftream,
Time out of mind the fav'rite feats of love,
Faft by his gentle miftrefs lays him down
Unblafted by foul tongue. Here friends and foes
Lie clofe, unmindful of their former feuds.
The lawn-rob'd prelate, and plain prefbyter,
Ere while that ftood aloof, as fhy to meet,
Familiar mingle here, like fifter-ftreams
That fome rude interpofing rock had split.
Here is the large-limb'd peafant; here the child
Of a fpan long, that never faw the fun,
Nor piefs'd the nipple, ftrangled in life's porch :
Here is the mother with her ions and daughters;
The barren wife; the long-demurring maid,
Whofe lonely unappropriated fweets
Smil'd like yon knot of cowflips on the cliff,
Not to be come at by the willing hand.
Here are the prude fevere, and gay coquette,
The fober widow, and the young green virgin,
Cropp'd like a rose before 'tis fully blown,
Or half its worth difclos'd. Strange medley here!
Here garrulous old age winds up his tale;
And jovial youth, of lightfome vacant heart,
Whole ev'ry day was made of melody, [threw,
Hears not the voice of mirth: the fhrill-tongued
Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding.
Here are the wife, the gen'rous, and the brave;
The juft, the good, the worthlefs, the profane,
The downright clown, and perfectly well-bred;
The fool, the churl, the fcoundrel, and the mean,
The fupple ftatefman, and the patriot ftern;
The wrecks of nations, and the fpoils of time,
With all the lumber of fix thousand years.

Poor man! how happy once in thy first state!
When yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand,
Heftamp'd thee with his image, and well pleas'd
Smil'd on his laft fair work! Then all was well.
Sound was the body, and the foul ferene;
Like two fweet inftruments ne'er out of tune,
That play their feveral parts. Nor head, nor heart,
Offer'd to ache; nor was there caufe they fhould,
For all was pure within: no fell remorie,
Nor anxious caftings up of what may be,
Alarm'd his peaceful bofom: fummer feas
Shew not more finooth when kifs'd by fouthern
Juft ready to expire. Scarce importun'd, [winds,
The gen'rous foil with a luxuriant hand
Offer'd the various produce of the year,

And

And ev'ry thing most perfect in its kind.
Bleffed, thrice bleffed days! but ah, how short!
Blefs'd as the pleafing dreams of holy men,
But fugitive, like thofe, and quickly gone.
O flipp ry state of things! What fudden turns,
What strange viciffitudes, in the first leaf
Of man's fad hiftory! to-day moft happy ;
And, ere to-morrow's fun has fet, moit abject !
How fcant the space between these vaft extremes!
Thus far'd it with our Sire: not long he enjoy'd
His paradife! fcarce had the happy tenant
Of the fair fpot due time to prove its fweets,
Or fum them up, when ftraight he must be gone,
Ne'er to return again. And muft he go?
Can nought compound for the firft dire offence
Of erring man? Like one that is condemn'd,
Fain would he trifle time with idle talk,
And parley with his fate. But 'tis in vain.
Not all the lavish odours of the place,
Offer'd in incenfe, can procure his pardon,
Or mitigate his doom. A mighty angel
With flaining fword forbids his longer stay,
And drives the loit rer forth; nor must he take
One last and farewel round. At once he loft
His glory and his God. If mortal now,
And forely maim'd, no wonder! Man has finn'd.
Sick of his blifs, and bent on new adventures,
Evil he would needs try: nor tried in vain.
(Dreadful experiment! deftructive meature!
Where the worst thing could happen, is fuccefs.)
Alas! too well he fped: the good he scorn'd
Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-us'd ghost,
Not to return; or, if it did, its vifits

Like thofe of angels fhort, and far between :
Whilft the black demon,with his hell-scap'd train,
Admitted once into its better room,

Grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone;
Lording it o'er the man, who now too late
Saw the rafh error which he could not mend;
An error fatal not to him alone,
But to his future fons, his fortune's heirs.
Inglorious bondage! human nature groans
Beneath a vaffalage fo vile and cruel,
And its vaft body bleeds through ev'ry vein.
What havock haft thou made, foul monster, Sin!
Greatest and first of ills! the fruitful parent
Of woes of all dimenfions! but for thee
Sorrow had never been. All noxious things
Of vileft nature, other forts of evils,
Are kindly circumferib'd, and have their bounds.
The fierce volcano, from its burning entrails
That belches molten ftone and globes of fire,
Involv'd in pitchy clouds of fmoke and stench,
Mars the adjacent fields for fome leagues round,
And there it stops. The big-fwoln inundation,
Of mischief more diffufive, raving loud,
Buries whole tracts of country, threat'ning more;
But that too has its fhore it cannot pafs.
More dreadful far than thefe, fin has laid wafte,
Not here and there a country, but a world;
Difpatching at a wide-extended blow

Entire mankind, and for their fakes defacing
A whole creation's beauty with rude hands;
Blafting the foodful grain, the loaded branches,

And marking all along its way with ruin.
Accurfed thing! O where fhall fancy find
A proper name to call thee by, expreffive
Of all thy horrors? pregnant womb of ills!
Of temper fo tranfcendently malign,
That toads and ferpents of moft deadly kind
Compar'd to thee are harmlefs. Sicknefles
Of ev'ry fize and fymptom, racking pains,
And blueft plagues are thine! See how the fiend
Profufely fcatters the contagion round! [heels,
Whilft deep-mouth'd slaughter, bellowing at her
Wades deep in blood new fpilt; yet for to-morrow
Shapes out new work of great uncommon daring,
And inly pines till the dread blow is ftruck.

But hold! I've gone too far; too much discover'd
My father's nakednefs, and nature's shame.
Here let me paufe! and drop an honest tear,
One burft of filial duty, and condolence,
O'er all thofe ample defarts Death hath spread,
This chaos of mankind. O great man-eater !
Whofe ev'ry day is carnival, not fated yet!
Unheard-of epicure! without a fellow!
The verieft gluttons do not always cram ;
Some intervals of abftinence are fought
To edge the appetite: thou feckeft none.
Methinks the countless swarms thou haft devour'd,
And thoufands that cach hour thou gobblest up,
This, lefs than this, might gorge thee to the full.
But ah! rapacious ftill, thou gap'ft for more:
Like one, whole days defrauded of his meals,
On whom lank hunger lays his fkinny hand,
And whets to keeneft eagerness his cravings
(As if Difcafes, Maffacres, and Poifon,
Famine and War, were not thy caterers)!

But know that thou must render up thy dead,
And with high intereft too! they are not thine;
But only in thy keeping for a feafon,
Till the great promis'd day of reftitution;
When loud diffufive found from brazen trump
Offtrong-lung'd cherub fhall alarm thy captives,
And route the long, long fleepers into life,
Day-light, and liberty.-

Then must thy gates Áv open, and reveal
The mines that lay long forming under ground,
In their dark cells immur'd; but now full ripe,
And pure as filver from the crucible,
That twice has ftood the torture of the fire,
And inquifition of the forge. We know,
Th' Illuftrious Deliverer of mankind,
The Son of God, thee foil'd. Him in thy pow'r
Thou couldst not hold: felf-vigorous he rofe,
And, fhaking off thy fetters, foon retook
Thofe fpoils his voluntary yielding lent.
(Sure pledge of our releasement from thy thrall !)
Twice twenty days he fojourn'd here on earth,
And fhew'd himself alive to chofen witnesses
By proofs fo ftrong, that the most flow affenting
Had not a fcruple left. This having done,
He mounted up to heav'n. Methinks I fee him.
Climb the aërial heights, and glide along
Athwart the fevering clouds: but the faint eye,
Flung backward in the chace, foon drops its hold,
Difabled quite, and jaded with purfuing.
Heaven's portals wide expand to let him in;

[duft,

Nor are his friends fhut out: as fome great prince | Thro' length of days; and what he can he will:
Not for himself alone procures admittion,
But for his train; it was his royal will,
That where he is, there fhould his followers be.
Death only lies between! a gloomy path!
Made yet more gloomy by our coward fears!
But nor untrod, nor tedious: the fatigue
Will foon go off. Befides, there's no by-road
Toblifs. Then why, like ill-condition'd children,
Start we at tranfient hardships in the way
That leads to purer air and fofter skies,
And a ne'er-fetting fun? Fools that we are!
We with to be where fweets unwith'ring bloom;
But ftraight our with revoke, and will not go.
So have I feen, upon a fummer's even,
Fat by the riv'let's brink a youngster play;
How withfully he looks to ftem the tide !
This moment refolute, next unrefolv'd,
At lart he dips his foot; but as he dips
His fears redouble, and he runs away
From th' inoffenfive ftream, unmindful now
Of all the flow'rs that paint the further bank,
And fmil'd fo fweet of late. Thrice welcome
That, after many a painful bleeding ftep, Death!
Conducts us to our home, and lands us fafe
On the long with 'd-for fhore. Prodigious change!
Our bane turn'd to a bleffing! Death difarm'd
Lofes his fellnefs quite; all thanks to him
Who fcourg'd the venom out! Sure the laft end
Of the good man is peace. How calm his exit!
Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground,
Nor worn-out winds expire fo foft.
weary
Behold him! in the ev'ning-tide of life,
A life well-fpent, whofe early care it was,
His riper years fhould not upbraid his green:
By unperceiv'd degrees he wears away;
Yet like the fun feems larger at his fetting!
High in his faith and hopes, look! how he reaches
After the prize in view! and, like a bird
That's hamper'd, ftruggles hard to get away!
Whilft the glad gates of fight are wide expanded
To let new glories in, the first fair fruits

His faithfulnefs ftands bound to fee it done.
When the dread trumpet founds, the flumb'ring
Not unattentive to the call, fhall wake;
And ev'ry joint poffefs its proper place,
With a new elegance of form, unknown
To its firft ftate. Nor fhall the confcious foul
Miftake its partner; but amidft the crowd,
Singling its other half, into its arms
Shall ruth, with all th' impatience of a man
That's new come home, who having long been
abfent,

With hafte runs over ev'ry different room,
In pain to see the whole. Thrice happy meeting!
Nor time, nor death, fhall ever part them more.

'Tis but a night, a long and moonlefs night;
We make the grave our bed, and then are gone.
Thus, at the fhut of even, the weary bird
Leaves the wide air, and in fome lonely break
Cow'rs down, and dozes till the dawn of day;
Then claps his well-fledg'd wings, and bears

Of the faft-coming harveft! Then! O then!
Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears,
Shrunk to a thing of nought. O how he longs
To have his paffport fign'd, and be difmifs'd!
'Tis done, and now he's happy! The glad foul
Has not a with uncrown'd. Ex'n the lag flesh
Refts too in hope of meeting once again
Its better half, never to funder more.
Nor fhall it hope in vain: the time draws on
When not a fingle fpot of burial-earth,
Whether on land, or in the fpacious fea,
But muft give back its long-committed duft
Inviolate and faithfully fhall thefe
Make up the full account; not the least atom
Embezzled, or miflaid, of the whole tale.
Each foul thall have a body ready-furnish'd;
And each fhall have his own. Hence, ye prophane!
Afk not, how this can be? Sure the fame pow'r
That rear'd the piece at firft, and took it down,
Can re-affemble the loofe fcatter'd parts,
And put them as they were. Almighty God
Has done much more; nor is his arm impair'd

:

away.

$47. Happiness to be found in Virtue alone.

POPE.

KNOW then this truth (enough for man to

"Virtue alone is Happinefs below." [know)
The only point where human blifs ftands till,
And taftes the good without the fall to ill;
Where only Merit conftant pay receives,
Is bleft in what it takes, and what it gives;
The joy unequal!'d, if its end it gain,
And, if it lofe, attended with no pain:
Without fatiety, tho' c'er fo blefs'd,
And but more relifh'd as the more diftrefs'd.
The broadeft mirth unfeeling Folly wears,
Lefs pleafing far than Virtue's very tears:
Good from each object, from each place ac-
For ever excercis'd, yet never tir'd; [quir'd,
Never elated while one man's opprefs'd;
Never dejected, while another's blefs'd;
And where no wants, no withes can remain,
Since but to with more Virtue, is to gain.

See! the fole blifs Heav'n could on all beftow, Which who but feels can tafte; but thinks, can know:

Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind,
The bad muft mits; the good, untaught, will find;
Slave to no fect, who takes no private road,
But looks thro' Nature up to Nature's God;
Purfues that chain which links th' immenfe

defign,

Joins heav'n and earth, and mortal and divine;
Sces, that no being any blifs can know,
But touches fome above, and fome below;
Learns from this union of the rifing whole,
The firft, laft purpose of the human foul;
And knows where Faith, Law, Morals, all began,
All end in Love of God, and Love of Man.

For him alone, Hope leads from goal to goal,
And opens ftill, and opens on his foul;
Till lengthen'd on to Faith, and unconfin'd,
It pours the blifs that fills up all the mind,

Ile

He fees why Nature plants in Man alone
Hope of known blifs, and faith in blifs unknown
(Nature, whofe dictates to no other kind
Are giv'n in vain, but what they feek they find):
Wife is her prefent; fhe connects in this
His greatest Virtue with his greatest Blifs;
At once his own bright profpect to be bleft,
And ftrongest motive to affift the reft.

[Senfe,

Self-love thus pufh'd to focial, to divine, Gives thee to make thy neighbour's bleffing Is this too little for the boundless heart? [thine. Extend it, let thy enemies have part: Grafp the whole worlds of Reafon, Life, and In one close fyftem of Benevolence : Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree, And height of Blifs but height of Charity. God loves from Whole to Parts: but human Muft rife from Individual to the Whole. [foul Self-love but ferves the virtuous mind to wake, As the fmall pebble ftirs the peaceful lake; The center mov'd, a circle ftraight fucceeds, Another fill, and still another fpreads; Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace; His country next; and next all human race : Wide and more wide, th'o'erflowings of the mind Take ev'ry creature in, of ev'ry kind; Earth fmiles around, with boundlefs bounty bleft, And Heav'n beholds its image in his breaft.

§ 48. On the Eternity of the Supreme Being.

H

SMART.

AIL, wondrous Being, who in pow'r fu-
preme

Exifts from everlafting! whofe great name
Deep in the human heart, and ev'ry atom
The Air, the Earth, or azure Main contains,
In undecypher'd characters is wrote--
Incomprehenfible !-O what can words,
The weak interpreters of mortal thoughts,
Or what can thoughts (tho wild of wing they rove
Thro' the vaft concave of th' æthereal round)?
If to the Heav'n of Heav'ns they wing their way
Advent rous, like the birds of night they're loft,
And delug d in the flood of dazzling day.--

May then the youthful, uninfpired Bard Prefume to hymn th Eternal may he foar Where Scraph and where Cherubin on high Refound th unceasing plaudits, and with them In the grand chorus mix his feeble voice?

He may-if thou, who from the witless babe Ordaineft honor, glory, strength, and praife, Uplift th' unpinion'd Mufe, and deign'st t' affift, Great Poet of the Univerfe! his fong.

Before this earthly Planet wound her courfe Round Light's perennial fountain; before Light Herfelf 'gan fhine, and at th' infpiring word Shot to existence in a blaze of day; Before "the Morning-Stars together fang," And hail'd Thee architect of countless worlds; Thou art-All-glorious, All-beneficent, All Wifdom and Omnipotence thou art. But is the æra of Creation fix'd

At when thefe worlds began? Could aught retard

Goodness, that knows no bounds, from bleffing
Or keep th' immense Artificer in floth? [ever,
Avaunt the duft-directed crawling thought,
That Puiffance immeafurably vaft,
And Bounty inconceivable, could reft
Content, exhaufted with one week of action!
No-in th'exertion of thy righteous pow'r,
Ten thousand times more active than the Sun,
Thou reign'd, and with a mighty hand compos'd
Systems innumerable, matchlets all,
All ftampt with thine uncounterfeited feal.

But yet (if still to more ftupendous heights
The Mufe unblam'd her aching fenfe may itrain)
Perhaps wrapt up in contemplation deep,
The Best of Beings on the nobleft theme
Might ruminate at leifure, fcope immense !
Th Eternal Pow'r and Godhead to explore,
And with itself th Omnifcient Mind replete.
This were enough to fill the boundless All.
This were a Sabbath worthy the Supreme!
Perhaps enthron'd amidit a choicer few
Of fpirits inferior, he might greatly plan
The two prime Pillars of the Universe,
Creation and Redemption—and awhile
Paufe-with the grand prefentiments of glory.
Perhaps but all's conjecture here below,
All ignorance, and felf-plum'd vanity—
O Thou, whofe ways to wonder at 's distruft,
Whom to defcribe 's prefumption (all we can,
And all we may), be glorified, be prais'd. [rith,

A day fhall come, when all this Earth shall peNor leave behind ev'n Chaos; it fhall come, When all the armies of the elements Shall war against themfelves, and mutual rage, To make Perdition triumph; it shall come, When the capacious atmosphere above Shall in fulphurcous thunders groan, and die, And vanish into void; the earth beneath Shall fever to the center, and devour Th'enormous blaze of the deftructive flames. Ye rocks that mock the raving of the floods, And proudly frown upon th' impatient deep, Where is your grandeur now? Ye foaming waves, That all along th' immenfe Atlantic roar, In vain ye fwell; will a few drops fuffice To quench the inextinguishable fire? [cedars Ye mountains, on whole cloud-crown'd tops the Are leffen'd into fhrubs, magnific piles, That prop the printed chambers of the heavens, And fix the earth continual; Athos, where? Where, Tenerif, 's thy ftatelinefs to-day? What, Ætna, are thy flames to these? No more | Than the poor glow-worm to the golden fun. Nor fhall the verdant valleys then remain Safe in their meck fubmiffion; they the debt Of nature and of juftice too must pay. Yet I muft weep for you, ye rival fair, Arno and Andalufia; but for thee More largely, and with filial tears muft weep, O Albion! O my country! Thou must join, In vain diffever'd from the reft, must join The terrors of th' inevitable ruin.

Nor thou, illuftrious monarch of the day; Nor thou, fair queen of night; nor you, ye stars, The'

Tho' million leagues and million ftill remote,
Shall yet furvive that day; ye must submit,
Sharers, not bright fpectators of the fcene.
But tho' the earth fhall to the centre perish,
Nor leave behind ev'n Chaos; tho' the air
With all the elements must pass away,
Vain as an idiot's dream; tho' the huge rocks,
That brandish the tall cedars on their tops,
With humbler vales muft to perdition yield;
Tho' the gilt Sun, and filver-treffed Moon,
With all her bright retinue, must be loft:
Yet Thou, Great Father of the world, furviv❜st
Eternal, as thou wert: Yet ftill furvives
The foul of man immortal, perfect now,
And candidate for unexpiring joys.

He comes! he comes! the awful trump I hear;
The flaming fword's intolerable blaze
I fee! He comes! th'Archangel from above.
"Arife ye tenants of the filent grave,
"Awake incorruptible, and arise :
"From east to west, from the Antarctic pole
"To regions Hyperborean, all ye
fons,
"Ye fons of Adam, and ye heirs of heaven-
"Arife, ye tenants of the filent grave,
"Awake incorruptible, and arife."

Tis then, nor fooner, that the restless mind
Shall find itfelf at home; and like the ark,
Fix'd on the mountain top, fhall look aloft
O'er the vague paffage of precarious life;
And winds and waves, and rocks and tempefts,
Enjoy the everlasting calm of Heaven: [paft,
'Tis then, nor fooner, that the deathlefs foul
Shall justly know its nature and its rife :
'Tis then the human tongue, new-tun'd, shall give
Praises more worthy the Eternal car.
Yet what we can, we ought;--and therefore Thou,
Purge Thou my heart, Omnipotent and Good!
Purge Thou my heart with hyffop, left, like Cain,
I offer fruitless facrifice, and with gifts
Offend, and not propitiate the Ador`d.
Tho' Gratitude were bleft with all the powers
Her bursting heart could long for; tho' the fwift,
The fiery-wing'd Imagination foar'd
Beyond Ambition's with-yet all were vain
To fpeak him as he is, who is ineffable.
Yet ftill let Reafon thro' the eye of Faith
View him with fearful love; let Truth pronounce,
And Adoration on her bended knee,
With heaven-directed hands, confefs his reign,
And let the angelic, archangelic band,
With all the hofts of Heaven, cherubic forms,
And forms feraphic, with their filver trump
And golden lyres attend:-" For thou art holy,
"For Thou art one, th' Eternal, who alone
"Exerts all goodness, and tranfcends all praise !"

§ 48. On the Immenfity of the Supreme Being.
SMART.

ONCE more I dare to roufe the founding ftring,
The Poet of my God-Awake, my glory,
Awake, my lute and harp-myself shall wake,
Soon as the ftately night-exploding bird
In lively lay fings welcome to the dawn.

Lift ye! how Nature with ten thousand tongues
Begins the grand thanksgiving, Hail, all hail,
Ye tenants of the foreft and the field!
My fellow fubjects of th' Eternal King,
I gladly join your matins, and with you
Confefs his prefence, and report his praife.

O Thou, who or the lambkin, or the dove,
When offer'd by the lowly, meck, and poor,
Prefer'ft to pride's whole hetacomb, accept
This mean Effay, nor from thy treafure-house
Of glory immenfe the Orphan's mite exclude.
What tho' the Almighty's regal throne be rais'd
High o'er yon azure Heaven's exalted dome,
By mortal eye unkenn'd-Where Eaft nor Weft
Nor South, nor bluftering North has breath to
Albeit He there with angels and with faints[blow;
Holds conference, and to his radiant hoft
Ev'n face to face ftands vifibly confest';
Yet know, that nor in presence or in power
Shines He lefs perfect here; 'tis man's dim eye
That makes th' obfcurity. He is the fame;
Alike in all his univerfe the fame.

Whether the mind along the fpangled sky
Meafures her pathlefs walk, ftudious to view
The works of vafter fabric, where the planets
Weave their harmonious rounds, then march di-
Still faithful, ftill inconftant, to the fun; [recting
Or where the comet, thro' space infinite
(Tho' whirling worlds oppofe in globes of fire)
Darts, like a javelin, to his diftant goal; [vens,
Or where in Heaven above, the Heaven of Hea-
Burn brighter funs, and goodlier planets roll
With fatellites more glorious--Thou art there.

Or whether on the ocean's buifterous back
Thou ride triumphant, and with outstretch'd arm
Curb the wild winds and difcipline the billows,
The fuppliant failor finds Thee there, his chief,
His only help-When Thou rebuk 'ft the storm,
It ceafes and the veffel gently glides
Along the gloffy level of the calm.

O! could I fearch the bofom of the fea,
Down the great depth defcending; there thy works
Would alfo fpeak thy refidence; and there
Would I, thy servant, like the ftill profound,
Aftonish'd into filence mufe thy praife!
Behold! behold! th' unplanted garden round
And fhrubs of amber from the pearl-pav'd bottom
Of vegetable coral, fea-flowers
gay,
Rife richly varied, where the finny race
In blithe fecurity their gambols play:
While high above their heads Leviathan,
The terror and the glory of the main,
His paftine takes with tranfport, proud to fee
The ocean's vaft dominion all his own.

Hence thro' the genial bowels of the earth
Eafy may fancy pais; till at thy mines,
Gani or Raolconda, the arrive,
And from the adamant's imperial blaze
Form weak ideas of her Maker's glory.
Next to Pegu or Ceylon let me rove,
Where the rich ruby (deem'd by fages old
Of fovereign virtue) fparkles ev'n like Sirius,
And blushes into flames. Thence will I go
To undermine the treasure-fertile womb

Of

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