Here pause, and ponder: Was there death in heav'n?
What then on earth? On earth, which struck the blow?
Who struck it? Who?-O how is man enlarg'd,
Seen thro' this medium! How the pigmy tow'rs!
How counterpois'd his origin from dust!
How counterpois'd, to dust his sad return!
How voided his vast distance from the skies!
How near he presses on the seraph's wing!
Which is the seraph? Which the born of clay?
How this demonstrates, thro' the thickest cloud
Of guilt, and clay condenst, the son of heav'n!
The double son; the made, and the re-made!
And shall heav'n's double property be lost?
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,
Apostates plunging headlong in the deep!
What cordial joy, what consolation strong,
Whatever winds arise, or billows roll,
Our int'rest in the Master of the storm!
Cling there, and in wreck'd nature's ruins smile;
While vile apostates tremble in a calm.

Man! know thyself. 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,
Degen'rate mortal! and unread by Thee?

The beam dim reason sheds shews wonders There ;

What high contents! Illustrious faculties!
But the grand comment, which displays at full
Our human height, scarce sever'd from divine,
By heav'n compos'd, was publish'd on the Cross.
Who looks on That, and sees not in himself
An awful stranger, a terrestrial 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 soul Catches strange fire, Eternity! at Thee;

And drops the world-or rather, more enjoys:
How chang'd the face of nature! how improv'd!
What seem'd a chaos, shines a glorious world,
Or, what a world, an Eden; heighten'd all!
It is another scene! another self!

And still another, as time rolls along;
And that a self far more illustrious still.
Beyond long ages, yet roll'd up in shades
Unpierc'd by bold conjecture's keenest ray,
What evolutions of surprising fate!

How nature opens, and receives my soul

In boundless walks of raptur'd thought! where gods
Encounter and embrace me! What new births

Of strange adventure, foreign to the sun,
Where what now charms, perhaps, whate'er exists,
Old time and fair creation, are forgot!

Is this extravagant ? Of man we form
Extravagant conception, to be just :

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 spirit pour'd
From spirit's aweful fountain; pour'd Himself
Thro' all their souls; but not in equal stream,
Profuse, or frugal, of th' inspiring God,
As his wise plan demanded; and when past
Their various trials, in their various spheres,
If they continue rational, as made,
Resorbs them all into Himself again;

His throne their centre, and his smile their crown.
Why doubt we, then, the glorious truth to sing,
Tho' yet unsung, as deem'd, perhaps, too bold?
Angels are men of a superior 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 flipp'ry step, the bottom of the steep.
Angels their failings, mortals have their praise;
While Here, of corps ethereal, such enroll'd,
And summon'd to the glorious Standard soon,
Which flames eternal crimson thro' the skies.
Nor are our brothers thoughtless of their kin,
Yet absent; but not absent from their love.
MICHAEL has fought our battles; RAPHAEL Sung
Our triumphs; GABRIEL on our errands flown,
Sent by the SOV'REIGN: and are these, O man!
Thy friends, thy warm allies? And Thou (shame burn
The cheek to cinder!) rival to the brute?

Religion's All. Descending from the skies

To wretched man, the goddess in her left
Holds out this world, and, in her right, the next;
Religion! the sole voucher man is man;
Supporter sole of man above himself;

Ev'n in this night of frailty, change, and death,
She gives the soul a soul that acts a god.
Religion! Providence! an After-state!
Here is firm footing; here is solid rock!
This can support us; all is sea besides;
Sinks under us; bestorms, and then devours.
His hand the good man fastens on the skies,
And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl.
As when a wretch, from thick polluted air,
Darkness, and stench, and suffocating damps,
And dungeon-horrors, by kind fate, discharg'd,
Climbs some fair eminence, where Ether pure.
Surrounds him, and Elysian prospects rise,
His heart exults, his spirits cast their load;
As if new-born, he triumphs in the change;
So joys the soul, when from inglorious aims,
And sordid sweets, from feculence and froth
Of ties terrestrial, set at large, she mounts
To Reason's region, her own element,
Breathes hopes immortal, and affects the skies.
Religion! thou the soul of happiness;
And, groaning Calvary, of thee! There shine
The noblest truths; there strongest motives sting;
There sacred violence assaults the soul;

There, nothing but compulsion is forborn.

Can love allure us? or can terror awe?

He weeps

!-the falling drop puts out the sun;

He sighs the sigh earth's deep foundation shakes.
If in his love so terrible, what then

His wrath inflam'd? his tenderness on fire?
Like soft, smooth oil, outblazing other fires?
Can pray'r, can praise avert it ?—Thou, my All!
My theme! my inspiration! and my crown!
My strength in age! my rise in low estate !
My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth!—my world!
My light in darkness! and my life in death!
My boast thro' time! bliss thro' eternity!
Eternity, too short to speak thy praise!
Or fathom thy profound of love to man!
To man of men the meanest, ev'n to me;

My sacrifice! my God!-what things are these!
What then art THOU? by what name shall I call

Thee?

Knew I the name devout archangels use,
Devout archangels should the name enjoy,

By me unrival'd; thousands more sublime,
None half so dear, as that, which, tho' unspoke
Still glows at heart: O how omnipotence

Is lost in love! Thou great PHILANTHROPIST!
Father of angels! but the friend of man!
Like JACOB, fondest of the younger born!

Thou, who didst save him, snatch the smoking brand

From out the flames, and quench it in thy blood!
How art thou pleas'd, by bounty to distress!

To make us groan beneath our gratitude,