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As wolves for rapine; as the fox, for wiles;
Till Death, that mighty hunter, earth's them all.
Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour?
What tho' we wade in wealth, or foar in fame?
Earth's highest station ends in, "Here he lies ;"
And "duft to duft" concludes her nobleft fong.
If this fong lives, pofterity fhall know

One, tho' in Britain born, with courtiers bred,
Who thought e'en gold might come a day too late;
Nor on his fubtle death-bed plann'd his scheme
For future vacancies in church or state;
Some avocation deeming it-to die;
Unbit by rage canine of dying rich;
Guilt's blunder! and the loudeft laugh of hell.
O my coevals! remnants of yourselves!
Poor human ruins, tott'ring o'er the grave!
Shall we, fhall aged man, like aged trees,
Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling,
Still more enamour'd of this wretched foil;
Shall our pale, wither'd hands be still stretch'd out,
Trembling at once with eagernefs and age?
With av'rice and convulfions grasping hard?
Grafping at air? for what has earth befide?
Man wants but little; nor that little, long:
How foon must he refign his very duft,
Which frugal Nature lent him for an hour!
Years unexperienc'd rush on num'rous ills s;
As foon as man, expert from time, has found
The key of life, it opes the gates of death.

When in this vale of years I backward look,
And mifs fuch numbers, numbers too of fuch,
Firmer in health, and greener in their age,
And stricter on their guard and fitter far
To play life's fubtle game, I fcarce believe
Iftill furvive: And am I fond of life,
Who fcarce can think it poffible I live?
Alive by miracle! or, what is next,
Alive by Mead! if I am still alive,

Who long have bury'd what gives life to live

Firmnefs of nerve, and energy of thought,
Life's lee is not more shallow, than impure
And vaped; Sense and Reason fhow the door,
Call for my bier, and point me to the dust.

O thou great Arbitor of life and death!
Nature's immortal, immaterial fun!
Whose all prolific beam late call'd me forth
From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay
The worm's inferior, and, in rank, beneath
The duft I tread on, high to bear my brow,
To drink the spirit of the golden day,
And triumph in existence; and could'st know
No motive, but my blifs; and haft ordain'd
A rife in bleffing! With the patriarch's joy,
Thy call I follow to the land unknown:
I trust in Thee, and know in whom I trust ;
Or life, or death, is equal; neither weighs :
All weight in this- let me live to Thee!

Tho' Nature's terrors thus, may be repreft;
Still frowns grim Death; guilt points the tyrant's fpear.
And whence all human guilt? from death forgot.
Ah me too long I fet at nought the swam
Of friendly warnings which around me flew ;
And fmil'd unfmitten! Small my caufe to fmile!
Death's admonitions, like fhafts upwards fhot,
More dreadful by delay, the longer ere

They ftrike our hearts, the deeper is their wound,
O think how deep, LORENZO! bere it stings;
Who can appease its anguish? how it burns!
What hand the barb'd, envenom'd thought can draw?
What healing hand can pour
the balm of peace,

And turn my fight, undaunted, on the tomb?
With joy with grief, that healing hand I fee;
Ah! too confpicuous ! it is fix'd on high.

On high! What means my phrenfy? I blafpheme;
Alas! how low! how far beneath the skies!

The fkies it form'd; and now it bleeds for me.
But bleeds the balm I want-yet still it bleeds.
Draw the dire steel-Ah no! the dreadful bleffing

What heart, or can fuftain, or dares forego?
There hangs all human hope: That nail fupports
The falling univerfe! That gone, we drop;
Horror receives us, and the difmal wish
Creation had been fmother'd in her birth-
Darkness his curtain, and his bed the duft;
When ftars and fun are duft beneath his throne!
In heav'n itfelf can fuch indulgence dwell?
O what a groan was there! a groan not his.
He feiz'd our dreadful right; the load fuftain'd;
And heav'd the mountain from a guilty world.
A thoufand worlds, so bought, were bought too dear,
Senfations new in angels bofoms rise ;

Sufpend their fong, and make a paufe in blifs.

O for their fong, to reach my lofty theme! Infpire me, Night; with all thy tuneful fpheres ; Much rather Thou! who doft thofe fpheres infpire; Whilft I with Seraphs fhare feraphic themes,

And fhow to men, the dignity of man;

Left I blafpheme my fubject with my fong.
Shall Pagan pages glow celeftial flame,

And Christian languish? On our hearts, not heads,
Falls the foul infamy. My heart! awake;
What can awake thee, unawak'd by this,
"Expended Deity on human weal?"

Feel the great truths, which burft the tenfold night
Of Heathen error, with a golden flood
Of endless day: To feel, is to be fir'd;
And to believe, LORENZO! is to feel.

Thou moft indulgent, moft tremendous, Pow'r!
Still more tremendous, for thy wond'rous love!
That arms, with awe more awful, thy commands;
And foul tranfgreffion dips in fevenfold guilt;
How our hearts tremble at thy love immenfe !
In love immenfe, inviolably just !

Thou, rather than thy justice fhould be ftain'd,
Didft ftain the cross; and, work of wonders, far
The greateft, that thy deareft far might bleed.

Bold thought! fhall I dare fpeak it, or reprefs? Should man more execrate, or boast, the guilt

Which rous'd fuch vengeance? which fuch love inflam'd?

O'er guilt, (how mountainous !) with outstretched

arms,

Stern Justice, and foft fmiling Love, embrace,
Supporting, in full majefty, Thy throne,
When feem'd its majesty to need support,
Or that, or man, inevitably loft.

What but the fathomless of thought Divine,
Could labour fuch expedient from despair,
And rescue both? both refcue! both exalt!
O how are both exalted by the deed!
The wond'rous deed! or, fhall I call it more?
A wonder in Omnipotence itself!

A mystery, no lefs to gods than men !

Not thus our infidels th'Eternal draw. AGod all o'er, confummate, abfolute,

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Full-orb'd, in his whole round of rays complete :
They fet at odds Heaven's jarring attributes;
And, with one excellence, another wound;
Maim Heaven's perfection, break its equal beams;
Bid Mercy triumph over- -God himself,
Undeify'd by their opprobrious praife:
A God all mercy, is a God unjuft.

Ye brainless wits! ye baptis'd infidels!

Ye worse for mending! wafh'd to fouler stains!
The ranfom was paid down; the fund of heav'n,
Heaven's inexhaustible, exhausted fund,
Amazing and amaz'd, pour'd forth the price,
All price beyond: Tho'curious to compute,
Archangels fail'd to caft the Mighty fum:
Its value vaft, ungrafp'd by minds create,
For ever hides, and glows in the Supreme.

And was the ranfom paid? It was; and paid
(What can exalt the bounty more!) for you.
The fun beheld it-No, the fhocking scene
Drove back his chariot: Midnight veil'd his face;

Not fuch as this; not fuch as Nature makes;
A midnight, Nature fhudder'd to behold;
A midnight new! a dread eclipfe (without
Oppofing fpheres) from her Creator's frown!
Sun! dift thou fly thy Maker's pain? or start
At that enormous load of human guilt,
Which bow'd His bleffed head;

crofs;

o'erwhelm'd His

Made
groan the centre; burft earth's marble womb,
With pangs, ftrange pangs! deliver'd of her dead?
Hell howl'd; and Heav'n that hour let fall a tear;
Heav'n wept, that man might fmile! Heav'n bled, that

man

Might never die—------------

And is devotion virtue? Tis compell'd:

What heart of Rone, but glows at thoughts like these?
Such contemplations mount us; and fhould mount
The mind ftill higher: nor ever glance on man,
Unraptur'd, uninflam'd.Where roll my thoughts.
To reft from wonders? other wonders rife;

And ftrike where-e'er they roll; My foul is caught:
Heav'n's fov'reign bleffings, cluft'ring from the crof
Rush on her, in a throng, and close her round,
The pris'ners of amaze! In His bleft life,
I fee the path, and in His death, the price,
and in His great ascent, the proof supreme
Of immortality.And did He rife?
Hear, O ye nations! Hear it, Oye dead!
He rofe! he rofe! he burft the bars of death,
Lift up your heads, ye everlafting gates!
And give the King of glory to come in.
Who is the king of glory? He who left
His throne of glory, for the pang of death.
Lift up your heads, ye everlafting gates!
And give the King of glory to come in.
Who is the King of glory? He who flew
The rav'nous foe, that gorg'd all human race!
The king of glory, He whofe glory fill'd
Heav'n with amazement at his love to man;

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