Of higher fcenes be, then, the call obey'd. O let me gaze!Of gazing there's no end. O let me think!- -Thought too is wilder'd bere In mid-way flight imagination tires; Yet foon re-prunes her wing to foar anew. Her point unable to forbear, or gain; So great the pleasure, fo profound the plan! A banquet, this, where men and angels meet, Eat the fame manna, mingle earth and Heav'n. How diftant fome of these nocturnal funs! So diftant (fays the fage) 'twere not abfurd To doubt, if beams fet out at Nature's birth, Are yet arriv'd at this fo foreign world; Tho' nothing half fo rapid as their fight.

An eye of awe and wonder let me roll,

And roll for ever: Who can fatiate fight
In fuch a fcene? in fuch an ocean wide

Of deep astonishment! where depth, height, breadth,
Are loft in their extremes; and where, to count
The thick-fown glories in this field of fire,
Perhaps a Seraph's computation fails.

Now go, Ambition! boaft thy boundless might
In conqueft, o'er the tenth part of a grain.
And, yet, LORENZO calls for miracles,
To give his-tott'ring faith a folid base.
Why call for less than is already thine?
Thou art no novice in theology;
What is a miracle?

'Tis a reproach,

'Tis an implicit fatire, on mankind;

And while it satisfies, it censures too.

To common fenfe, great Nature's courfe proclaims

A Deity. When mankind falls asleep,

A miracle is fent, as an alarm,

To wake the world, and prove Him o'er again,

By recent argument, but not more strong.
Say, which imports more plenitude of pow'r,
Of Nature's laws to fix, or to repeal ;
To make a fun, or ftop his mid-career?
To countermand his orders, and fend back

The flaming courier to the frighted east,
Warm'd and astonish'd, at his ev'ning ray?
Or bid the moon, as with her journey tir'd,
In Ajalon's foft flow'ry vale repofe?

Great things are these; still greater, to create.

From ADAM's bow'r look down thro' the whole train
Of miracles;refiftlefs is their pow'r ;
They do not, can not, more amaze the mind,
Than this, call'd unmiraculous furvey,

If duly weigh'd, if rationally feen,

If feen with buman eyes. The brute, indeed, Sees nought but spangles here; the fool, no more." Say'ft thou," The courfe of Nature governs all? The courfe of nature is the art of God. The miracles thou call'ft for, this attest ; For fay, could Nature Nature's courfe controul? But miracles apart, who fees Him not. Nature's Controuler, Author, Guide and End? Who turns his eye on Nature's midnight face, But muft inquire-"What hand behind the fcene, "What arm almighty, put these wheeling globes "In motion, and wound up the vast machine? "Who rounded in his palm thefe fpacious orbs; "Who bowl'd them flaming thro' the dark profound, "Num'rous as glitt ring gems of morning dew, "Or fparks from populous cities in a blaze, "And fet the bofom of old night on fire; "Peopled her defart, and made horror smile?" Or, if the military ftyle delights thee,

(For ftars have fought their battles, leagu'd with man), "Who marshals this bright hoft? enrols their names? "Appoints their pofts, their marches, and returns, "Punctual, at ftated periods! who disbands "Thefe vet'ran troops, their final duty done, "If e'er difbanded;"-He, whofe potent word, Like the loud trumpet, levy'd, first their pow'rs In Night's inglorious empire, where they flept In beds of darkness; arm'd them with fierce flames, Arrang'd, and difciplin❜d, and cloth'd in gold; And call'd them out of chaos to the field,

Where now they war with vice and unbelief.
Olet us join this army! Joining these,
Will give us hearts intrepid, at that hour,
When brighter flames fhall cut a darker night;
When thefe ftrong demonstrations of a GOD
Shall hide their heads, or tumble from their spheres,
And one eternal curtain cover all !

Struck at that thought, as new awak'd, I lift
A more enlighten'd eye, and read the stars
To man still more propitious; and their aid
(Tho' guiltless of idolatry) implore;
Nor longer rob them of their noblest name.
0 ye dividers of my time! ye bright
Accountants of my days, and months, and years,
In your fair kalendar distinctly mark'd!
Since that authentic, radiant register,

Tho' man inspects it not, ftands. good against him;
Since e you and years roll on, tho' man ftands still ;.
Teach me my days to number, and apply

My trembling heart to wisdom; now beyond
All fhadow of excuse for fooling on.

Age fmooths our path to prudence; fweeps afide
The fnares, keen appetite, and paffion, fpread
To catch ftray fouls: And, woe to that grey head,
Whofe folly would undo, what age has done!
Aid, then, aid, all ye ftars !-much rather THOU,
Great ARTIST! Thou, whofe finger fet aright
This exquifite machine with all its wheels,
Tho' intervolv'd, exact; and pointing out,
Life's rapid, and irrevocable flight,
With fuch an index fair, as none can mifs,
Who lifts an eye, nor fleeps till it is clos'd,
Open mine eye, dread DEITY! to read
The tacit doctrine of Thy works; to see
Things as they are, unalter'd, thro' the glass
Of worldly wishes. Time, Eternity!
('Tis thefe, mifmeafur'd, ruin all mankind),
Set them before me; let me lay them both
In equal fcale, and learn their various weight.

Lět Time appear a moment, as it is; i
And let Eternity's full orb, at once,

Turn on my foul and ftrike it into Heav'n.
When fhall I fee far more than charms me now !
Gaze on creation's model in Thy breaft

Unveil'd, nor wonder at the tranfcript more?
When, this vile, foreign duft, which mothers all
That travel earth's deep vale, fhall I shake off?
When fhall my foul her incarnation quit,
And, re-adopted to Thy bleft embrace,
Obtain her apotheosis in Thee? .

Doft think, LORENZO ! this is wand'ring wide? :
No 'tis directly striking at the mark.

:

To wake thy dread devotion, was my point.

And how I blifs night's confecrating fhades,
Which to a temple turn a universe;
Fill us with great ideas, full of heav'n,
And antidote the peftilential earth!
In ev'ry storm, thrat either frowns, or falls,
What an afylum has the foul in pray'r!
And what a fane is this, in which to pray !
And what a God must dwell in fuch a fane! :
O what a Genius muft inform the Skies!*
And is LORENZO's falamander-heart,

Cold, and untouch'd, amid thefe facred fires!
Oye nocturnal fparks, ye glowing embers,

On Heavn's broad hearth! who burn, or burn no more ›
Who blaze, or die, as great JEHOVAH's breath,
Or blows you, or forbears; affift my fong;

Pour your whole influence; exercife his heart,
So long poffeft; and bring him back to man.
And is LORENZO a demurrer ftill?

Pride in thy parts provokes thee to conteft
Truths, which contefted, put thy parts to fhame.
Nor fhame they more LORENZo's head than heart.
A faithless heart, how defpicably fimall!
Too ftrait, aught great, or gen'rous to receive!
Fill'd with an atom! fill'd and foul'd with Self!
And felf, miftaken; felf, that lasts an hour!

open,

Instincts and passions, of the nobler kind,
Lie fuffocated there; or they alone,
Reafon apart, would wake high hope; and
To ravish'd thought, that intellectual sphere,
Where order, wisdom, goodness, providence,
Their endless miracles of love display,
And promife all the truly great defire.
The mind that would be happy, must be great;
Great in its wishes; great in its surveys.
Extended views a narrow mind extend ;
Push out its corrugate, expanfive make,
Which, ere long, more than planets fhall embrace.
A man of compafs makes a man of worth;
Divine contemplate, and become divine.

As man was made for glory, and for blifs,
All littleness is an approach of woe;
Open thy bofom, fet thy wifhes wide,
And let in manbood; let in happiness;
Admit the boundless theatre of thought,
From nothing, up to GOD; which makes a man,
Take God from Nature, nothing great is left?
Man's mind is in a pit, and nothing fees;
Man's heart is in the jakes, and loves the mire,
Emerge from thy profound; erect thine eye;
See thy diftrefs? How clofe art thou befieg'd!
Befieg'd by Nature the proud fceptic's foe!
Inclos'd by thefe innumerable worlds,
Sparkling conviction on the darkest mind,
As in a golden net of Providence,

How art thou caught, fure captive of belief!
From this thy bleft captivity, what art,
What blafphemy to reafon, fets thee free!
This scene is Heav'ns indulgent violence.
Canft thou bear up against this tide of glory?
What is earth, bosom'd in these ambient orbs,
But faith in God impos'd, and prefs'd on man
Dar'ft thou ftill litigate thy defp'rate caufe,
Spite of these num'rous, awful, witnesses,
And doubt the deposition of the Skies!
Low laborious is thy way to ruin !

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