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Britannia's voice! that awes the world to peace.
How yon enormous mole projecting breaks
The mid-sea, furious waves! their roar amidst,
Out-speaks the Deity, and says, O main!
Thus far, nor farther: new restraints obey.'
Earth's disembowell'd! meas r'd are the skies!
Stars are detected in their deep recess !
Creation widens! vanquish'd nature yields!
Her secrets are extorted! Art prevails!
What monuments of genius, spirit, pow'r!

And now, Lorenzo, raptured at this scene,
Whose glories render heav'n superfluous! say,
Whose footsteps these?-Immortals have been here.
Could less than souls immortal this have done?

Earth's cover'd o'er with proofs of souls immortal; And proofs of immortality forgot.

To flatter thy grand foible, I confess,

These are ambition's works; and these are great;
But this, the least immortal souls can do:

Transcend them all.-But what can these transcend?
Dost ask me, What?-One sigh for the distrest.
What then for infidels?—a deeper sign!
"Tis moral grandeur makes the mighty man:
How little they, who think aught great below!
All our ambitions death defeats, but one;

And that it crowns. Here cease we: but, ere long,
More pow'rful proof shall take the field against thee,
Stronger than death, and smiling at the tomb.

PREFACE

ΤΟ

PART II.

OF

THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED.

As we are at war with the power, it were well if we were at war with the manners, of France. A land of levity is a land of guilt. A serious mind is the native soil of every virtue, and the single character that does true honour to mankind. The soul's immortality has been the favourite theme with the serious of all ages. Nor is it strange; it is a subject by far the most interesting and important that can enter the mind of man. Of highest moment this subject always was, and always will be. Yet this its highest moment seems to admit of increase, at this day; a sort of occasional importance is superadded to the natural weight of it, if that opinion which is advanced in the Preface to the preceding Night be just. It is there supposed that all our infidels, whatever scheme, for argument's sake, and to keep themselves in countenance, they patronise, are betrayed into their deplorable error, by some doubt of their immortality at the bottom. And the more I consider this point, the more I am persuaded of the truth of that opinion. Though the distrust of a futurity is a strange error, yet it is an error into which bad men may naturally be distressed. For it is impossible to bid defiance to final ruin, without some refuge in imagination, some presump

tion of escape. And what presumption is there? There are but two in nature; but two within the compass of human thought; and these are,―That either God will not, or cannot, punish. Considering the Divine attributes, the first is too gross to be digested by our strongest wishes. And, since omnipotence is as much a Divine attribute as holiness, that God cannot punish is as absurd a supposition as the former. God certainly can punish, as long as wicked men exist. In non-existence, therefore, is their only refuge; and, consequently, non-existence is their stronger wish. And strong wishes have a strange influence on our opinions; they bias the judgment in a manner almost incredible. And since on this member of their alternative, there are some very small appearances in their favour, and none at all on the other, they catch at this reed, they lay hold on this chimera, to save themselves from the shock and horror of an immediate and absolute despair.

On reviewing my subject by the light which this argument, and others of like tendency, threw upon it, I was more inclined than ever to pursue it, as it appeared to me to strike directly at the main root of all our infidelity. In the following' pages, it is accordingly pursued at large; and some arguments for immortality, new, at least to me, are ventured on.in them. There, also, the writer has made an attempt to set the gross absurdities and horrors of annihilation in a fuller and more affecting view, than is, I think, to be met with elsewhere.

The gentlemen for whose sake this attempt was chiefly made, profess great admiration for the wisdom of heathen antiquity: what pity it is they are not sincere! If they were sincere, how would it mortify them to consider with what contempt and abhorrence their notions would have been received by those whom they so much admire! What degree of contempt and abhorrence would fall to their share, may be conjectured by the following matter of fact, in my opinion extremely memorable. Of all their heathen worthies, Socrates, it is well known, was the most guarded,

dispassionate, and composed: yet this great master of temper was angry; and angry at his last hour; and angry with his friend; and angry for what deserved acknowledgment; angry for a right and tender instance of true friendship towards him. Is not this surprising? What could be the cause? The cause was for his honour: it was a truly noble, though, perhaps, a too punctilious regard for immortality; for his friend asking him, with such an affectionate concern as became a friend, Where he should deposit his remains ?' it was resented by Socrates, as implying a dishonourable supposition, that he could be so mean as to have regard for any thing, even in himself, that was not immortal.

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This fact, well considered, would make our infidels withdraw their admiration from Socrates; or make them endeavour, by their imitation of this illustrious example, to share his glory: and, consequently, it would incline them to peruse the following pages with candour and impartiality; which is all I desire, and that for their sakes: for I am persuaded, that an unprejudiced infidel must, necessarily, receive some advantageous impressions from them.

JULY 7, 1744.

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Containing the Nature, Proof, and Importance of
Immortality.

HEAV'N gives the needful, but neglected, call.
What day, what hour, but knocks at human hearts,
To wake the soul to sense of future scenes?
Deaths stand, like Mercuries, in ev'ry way;
And kindly point us to our journey's end.
Pope, who couldst make immortals! art thou dead?
I give thee joy: nor will I take my leave,
So soon to follow. Man but dives to death;
Dives from the sun, in fairer day to rise:
The grave, his subterranean road to bliss.
Yes, infinite indulgence plann'd it so;
Through various parts our glorious story_runs:
Time gives the preface, endless age unrols
The volume (ne'er unroll'd!) of human fate.

This, earth and skies* already have proclaim'd.
The world's a prophecy of worlds to come;
And who, what God foretells (who speaks in things
*Night the Sixth,

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