What, night eternal, but a frown from thee? What, heaven's meridian glory, but thy smile? And shall not praise be thine, not human praise ? While heaven's high hoft on hallelujahs live ?
I breathe no longer, than I breathe My foul in praise to Him, who gave my foul,
And all her infinite of prospect fair,
Cut through the fhades of hell, great Love! by thee
O moft Adorable! moft Unador'd!
Where fhall that praise begin, which ne'er fhould end?
Where'er I turn, what claim on all applause!
How is night's fable mantle labour'd o'er
How richly wrought with attributes divine!
What wisdom fhines! what love! this midnight pomp, This gorgeous arch, with golden worlds inlay'd! Built with divine ambition! nought to thee; For others this profufion: Thou, apart, Above! Beyond! O tell me, mighty Mind! Where art thou? Shall I dive into the deep? Call to the fun, or afk the roaring winds, For their Creator? Shall I queftion loud The thunder, if in that th' Almighty dwells?
Or holds he furious forms in ftreighten'd reins,
And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car?
What mean these queftions?-Trembling I retract; My proftrate foul adores the prefent God:
Praise I a distant deity? He tunes
My voice (if tun'd); the nerve, that writes, sustains: Wrapt in his being, I refound his praise : But though past all diffus'd, without a shore,
His effence; local is his throne (as meet), To gather the difperft (as ftandards call The lifted from afar): to fix a point, A central point, collective of his fons,
Since finite every nature but his own.
The nameless He, whofe nod is nature's birth;
And nature's fhield, the fhadow of his hand;
Her diffolution, his fufpended fmile! The great Firft-Laft! pavilion'd high he fits, In darkness from exceffive fplendor borne, By gods unfeen, unless through luftre loft. His glory, to created glory, bright,
As that to central horrors; he looks down
On all that foars; and fpans immensity.
Though night unnumber'd worlds unfolds to view, Boundless creation! what art thou? A beam,
A mere effluvium of his majesty:
And fhall an atom of this atom-world
Mutter, in duft and fin, the theme of heaven?
Down to the centre fhould I fend my thought Through beds of glittering ore, and glowing gems, Their beggar'd blaze wants luftre for my lay; Goes out in darkness: if, on towering wing,
I fend it through the boundless vault of stars! The stars, though rich, what dross their gold to thee, Great! good! wife! wonderful! eternal King! If to those conscious ftars thy throne around, Praise ever-pouring, and imbibing blifs;
And ask their ftrain; they want it, more they want, Poor their abundance, humble their fublime,
Languid their energy, their ardour cold, Indebted ftill, their highest rapture burns ;
Short of its mark, defective, though divine.
Still more This theme is man's, and man's alone; Their vast appointments reach it not: they fee On earth a bounty not indulg'd on high;
And downward look for heaven's fuperior praife! 440 First-born of Ether! high in fields of light! View man, to see the glory of your God! Could angels envy, they had envy'd here ; And some did envy; and the reft, though gods, Yet ftill gods unredeem'd (there triumphs man, Tempted to weigh the dust against the skies) They lefs would feel, though more adorn, my theme. They fung Creation (for in that they shar'd):
How rofe in melody, that child of love! Creation's great fuperior, man! is thine; Thine is redemption; they just gave the key: 'Tis thine to raise, and eternize, the fong; Though human, yet divine; for fhould not this Raise man o'er man, and kindle seraphs here ? Redemption ! 't was creation more fublime; Redemption! 't was the labour of the skies; Far more than labour-It was death in heaven. A truth fo ftrange! 't were bold to think it true; If not far bolder ftill to difbelieve!
Here pause, and ponder: was there death in heaven? 460 What then on earth? On earth, which struck the blow? Who ftruck it? Who? O how is man enlarg'd Seen through this medium! how the pigmy towers!
How counterpois'd his origin from duft! How counterpois'd, to duft his fad return!
How voided his vaft diftance from the fkies! How near he preffes on the feraph's wing!
Which is the feraph? Which the born of clay? How this demonstrates, through the thickest cloud Of guilt, and clay condens'd, the son of heaven! 470 The double fon; the made, and the re-made! And shall heaven's double property be loft ? Man's double madness only can destroy. To man the bleeding cross has promis'd all; The bleeding cross has sworn eternal grace; Who gave his life, what grace shall He deny ? O ye! who, from this Rock of ages, leap, Apoftates, plunging headlong in the deep! What cordial joy, what confolation ftrong, Whatever winds arife, or billows roll, Our intereft in the mafter of the ftorm! Cling there, and in wreck'd nature's ruins fmile; While vile apoftates tremble in a calm.
Man! know thyfelf. All wisdom centres there: To none man seems ignoble, but to man ; Angels that grandeur, men o'er-look, admire: How long shall human nature be their book, Degenerate mortal! and unread by Thee? The beam dim reafon fheds fhews wonders There; What high contents! Illuftrious faculties !
But the grand comment, which displays at full Our human height, scarce fever'd from divine, By heaven compos'd, was publish'd on the Cross.
Who looks on That, and fees not in himself An awful ftranger, a terreftrial god? A glorious partner with the Deity
In that high attribute, immortal life? If a God bleeds, he bleeds not for a worm: I gaze, and, as I gaze, my mounting foul Catches ftrange fire, Eternity! at Thee; And drops the world-or rather, more enjoys: How chang'd the face of nature! how improv'd! What feem'd a chaos, fhines a glorious world,
Or, what a world, and Eden; heighten'd all! It is another scene! another self!
And ftill another, as time rolls along; And that a self far more illuftrious still. Beyond long ages, yet roll'd up in fhades Unpierc'd by bold conjecture's keenest ray, What evolutions of furprising fate!
How nature opens, and receives my foul
In boundless walks of raptur'd thought! where gods Encounter and embrace me! What new births
Of ftrange adventure, foreign to the fun;
Where what now charms, perhaps, whate'er exifts, 515 Old time, and fair creation, are forgot!
Is this extravagant? Of man we form Extravagant conception, to be juft:
Conception unconfin'd wants wings to reach him: Beyond its reach, the Godhead only, more. He, the great Father! kindled at one flame The world of rationals; one fpirit pour'd From fpirit's aweful fountain: pour'd himself
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