With means, that were not till by thee employed,

Worlds, that had never been hadft thou in ftrength
Been lefs, or less benevolent than strong.

They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power
And goodness infinite, but speak in ears,
That hear not, or receive not their report.
In vain thy creatures teftify of thee,
Till thou proclaim thyfelf. Their's is indeed
A teaching voice; but 'tis the praife of thine,
That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn,
And with the boon gives talents for its use.
Till thou art heard, imaginations vain
Poffefs the heart, and fables falfe as hell

;

Yet, deemed oracular, lure down to death
The uninformed and heedlefs fouls of men.
We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind,
The glory of thy work; which yet appears
Perfect and unimpeachable of blame,
Challenging human fcrutiny, and proved
Then skilful moft when most severely judged.
But chance is not; or is not where thou reigneft:
Thy providence forbids that fickle power

(If power she be that works but to confound)
To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws.
Yet thus we dote, refufing while we can
Inftruction, and inventing to ourselves

Gods fuch as guilt makes welcome; gods that fleep,

Or difregard our follies, or that fit

Amufed fpectators of this bufiling stage.

Thee we reject, unable to abide

Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure,

Made fuch by thee, we love thee for that cause
For which we fhunned and hated thee before.
Then we are free. Then liberty, like day,
Breaks on the foul, and by a flash from heaven
Fires all the faculties with glorious joy.

A voice is heard, that mortal ears hear not
Till thou haft touched them; 'tis the voice of fong,
A loud Hofanna fent from all thy works;
Which he that hears it with a fhout repeats,
And adds his rapture to the general praife.
In that bleft moment Nature, throwing wide
Her veil opaque, difclofes with a smile
The author of her beauties, who, retired
Behind his own creation, works unieen
By the impure, and hears his power denied.
Thou art the fource, and centre of all minds,
Their only point of reft, eternal Word!
From thee departing they are loft, and rove
At random without honour, hope, or peace.
From thee is all, that fooths the life of man,
His high endeavour, and his glad fuccefs,

His ftrength to fuffer, and his will to ferve.
But oh thou bounteous giver of all good,
Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown!
Give what thou canft, without thee we are poor;
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.

THE TASK.

BOOK VI.