Through all their souls; but not in equal stream,
Profufe, or frugal, of th' afpiring God,
As his wife plan demanded; and when past
Their various trials in their various spheres,
If they continue rational, as made,
Reforbs them all into Himself again;
His throne their centre, and his fmile their crown. 530 Why doubt we, then, the glorious truth to fing, Though yet unfung, as deem'd, perhaps, too bold? Angels are men of a fuperior kind;
Angels are men in lighter habit clad,
High o'er celestial mountains wing'd in flight;
And men are angels, loaded for an hour,
Who wade this miry vale, and climb with pain,
And flippery step, the bottom of the fteep.
Angels their failings, mortals have their praise;
While Here, of corps ethereal, fuch enroll'd,
And fummon'd to the glorious Standard foon,
Which flames eternal crimson through the skies.
Nor are our brothers thoughtless of their kin,
Yet abfent; but not abfent from their love.
Michael has fought our battles; Raphael fung
Our triumphs; Gabriel on our errands flown,
Sent by the Sovereign: and are these, O man!
Thy friends, thy warm allies? and Thou (fhame burn
The cheek to cinder!) rival to the brute?
Religion's All. Defcending from the skies
To wretched man, the goddess in her left,
Holds out this world, and, in her right, the next;
Religan! the fole voucher man is man;
Ev'n in this night of frailty, change, and death,
Supporter fole of man above himself;
She gives the foul a foul that acts a god.
Religion! Providence! an After-state !
Here is firm footing; here is folid rock!
This can support us; all is sea besides
Sinks under us; beftorms, and then devours.
His hand the good man faftens on the skies,
And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl.
As when a wretch, from thick, polluted air,
Darkness, and stench, and fuffocating damps,
And dungeon-horrors, by kind fate, discharg'd, 565-
Climbs fome fair eminence, where ether pure
Surrounds him, and Elyfian prospects rife,
His heart exults, his fpirits caft their load;
As if new-born, he triumphs in the change;
So joys the foul, when, from inglorious aims,
And fordid sweets, from feculence and froth
Of ties terreftrial, fet at large, fhe mounts
To Reason's region, her own element,
Breathes hopes immortal, and affects the skies.
Religion! thou the foul of happiness;
And, groaning Calvary, of thee! There fhine
The noblest truths; there strongest motives fting;
There facred violence affaults the foul;
There, nothing but compulfion is forborn.
Can love allure us; or can terror awe?
He weeps the falling drop puts out the fun;
He fighs the figh earth's deep foundation shakes.
If in his love fo terrible, what then
His wrath inflam'd? his tenderness on fire ?
Like foft, fmooth oil, outblazing other fires?
585 Can prayer, can praise, avert it ?-Thou, my All! My theme! my infpiration! and my crown! My ftrength in age! my rife in low estate ! My foul's ambition, pleasure, wealth!-my world! My light in darkness! and my life in death! My boast through time! blifs through eternity! Eternity, too fhort to speak thy praise ! Or fathom thy profound of love to man!
To man of men the meanest, ev'n to me;
My facrifice! my God!—what things are thefe! 595. What then art Thou? by what name fhall I call Thee? Knew I the name devout archangels use,
Devout archangels should the name enjoy,
By me unrival'd; thousands more fublime,
None half fo dear, as that, which, though unfpoke, 600
Still glows at heart: O how omnipotence
Is loft in love! Thou great Philanthropist !
Father of angels! but the friend of man!
Like Jacob, fondeft of the younger born!
Thou, who didft fave him, fnatch the fmoking brand 605
From out the flames, and quench it in thy blood!
How art thou pleas'd, by bounty to diftrefs!
To make us groan beneath our gratitude,
Too big for birth! to favour, and confound;
To challenge, and to distance all return!
Of lavish love ftupendous heights to foar,
And leave praise panting in the distant vale !
Thy right, too great, defrauds thee of thy due;
And facrilegious our fublimeft fong.
But fince the naked will obtains thy fmile,
Beneath this monument of praise unpaid,
And future life fymphonious to my ftrain,
(That nobleft hymn to heaven!) for ever lie
Intomb'd my fear of death! and every fear,
The dread of every evil, but Thy frown.
Whom fee I yonder, fo demurely fmile?
Laughter a labour, and might break their reft.
Ye quietifts, in homage to the skies!
Serene! of foft addrefs! who mildly make
An unobtrufive tender of your hearts,
Abhorring violence! who halt indeed;
But, for the bleffing, wrestle not with heaven!
Think you my fong too turbulent? too warm?
Are passions, then, the pagans of the soul !
Reafon alone baptiz'd? alone ordain'd
To touch things facred? Oh for warmer still!
Guilt chills my zeal, and age benumbs my powers;
Oh for an humbler heart! and prouder fong!
Thou,
my much injur'd theme! with that soft eye
Which melted o'er doom'd Salem, deign to look 635
Compaffion to the coldness of my breast;
And pardon to the winter in my. ftrain.
Oh ye cold-hearted, frozen, formalifts! On fuch a theme, 'tis impious to be calm; Paffion is reafon, tranfport temper, here.
Shall heaven, which gave us ardour, and has fhewn Her own for man so strongly, not disdain
What smooth emollients in theology,
Recumbent virtue's downy doctors, preach;
That profe of piety, a lukewarm praise ?
Rife odours sweet from incenfe uninflam'd?
Devotion, when lukewarm, is undevout ;
But when its glows, its heat is ftruck to heaven;
To human hearts her golden harps are ftrung;
High heaven's orchestra chaunts amen to man.
Hear I, or dream I hear, their distant ftrain,
Sweet to the foul, and tasting strong of heaven,
Soft-wafted on celestial pity's plume,
Through the vaft spaces of the universe,
To chear me in this melancholy gloom?
Oh when will death (now ftinglefs), like a friend,
Admit me of their choir? O when will death
This mouldering, old, partition-wall throw down?
Give beings, one in nature, one abode ?
Oh death divine! that giv'ft us to the skies!
Great future! glorious patron of the past,
And prefent! when fhall I thy shrine adore?
From nature's continent, immensely wide,.
Immensely bleft, this little ifle of life,
This dark, incarcerated colony,
Divides us. Happy day! that breaks our chain;
That manumits; that calls from exile home;
That leads to nature's great metropolis,
And re-admits us, through the guardian hand
Of elder brothers, to our Father's throne;
Who hears our Advocate, and, through his wounds
Beholding man, allows that tender name.
"I is this makes Chriftian triumph a command:
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