Why this to thee?-Thee yet, perhaps, in doubt Of second life? But wherefore doubtful still? Eternal life is nature's ardent wish :
What ardently we wish, we soon believe;
Thy tardy faith declares that wish destroy'd:
What has destroy'd it?-Shall I tell thee, What?
When fear'd the future, 'tis no longer wished;
And when unwish'd, we strive to disbelieve.
"Thus infidelity our guilt betrays."
Nor that the sole detection! blush, Lorenzo,
Blush for hypocrisy, if not for guilt.
The future fear'd?-An infidel!-and fear!
Fear what? a dream? a fable? How thy dread,
Unwilling evidence, and therefore strong,
Affords my cause an undesign'd support?
How disbelief affirms, what it denies!
"It, unawares, asserts immortal life."-
Surprising! Infidelity turns out
A creed, and a confession of our sins:
Apostates, thus, are orthodox divines.
Lorenzo, with Lorenzo clash no more:
Nor longer a transparent vizor wear.
Think'st thou, religion only has her mask?
Our infidels are Satan's bypocrites,
Pretend the worst, and, at the bottom, fail.
When visited by thought (thought will intrude)”
Like him they serve, they tremble, and believe.
Is there hypocrisy so foul as this?
So fatal to the welfare of the world?
What detestation, what contempt, their due!
And if unpaid, be thank'd for their escape
That christian candour they strive hard to scorn.
If not for that asylum, they might find
A hell on earth; nor 'scape a worse below.
With insolence, and impotence of thought,
Instead of racking fancy, to refute,
Reform thy manners, and the truth enjoy.-
But shall I dare confess the dire result?
Can thy proud reason brook so black a brand?
From purer manners, to sublimer faith,
Is nature's unavoidable ascent;
An honest Deist, where the Gospel shines,
Matur'd to nobler, in the Christian ends.
When that blest change arrives, e'en cast aside
This song superfluous; life immortal strikes
Conviction, in a flood of light divine.
A Christian dwells, like * Uriel, in the sun.
Meridian evidence puts doubt to flight;
And ardent hope anticipates the skies.
Of that bright sun, Lorenzo, scale the sphere !
'Tis easy; it invites thee; it descends
From heav'n to woo, and waft thee whence it came:
Read and revere the sacred page; a page
Where triumphs immortality; a page
Which not the whole creation could produce;
Which not the conflagration shall destroy;
In nature's ruins not one letter lost:
"Tis printed in the mind of gods for ever.
In proud disdain of what e'en gods adore,
Dost smile?-Poor wretch; thy guardian angel weeps.
Angels, and men, assent to what I sing;
Wits smile, and thank me for my midnight dream.
How vicious hearts fume frenzy to the brain!
Parts push us on to pride, and pride to shame;
Pert infidelity is wit's cockade,
To grace the brazen brow that braves the skies,
By loss of being, dreadfully secure.
Lorenzo! if thy doctrine wins the day,
'And drives my dreams, defeated, from the field;
If this is all, if earth a final scene,
Take heed; stand fast; be sure to be a knave;
A knave in grain; ne'er deviate to the right:
Shouldst thou be good-How infinite thy loss!
Guilt only makes annihilation gain!
Blest scheme! which life deprives of comfort, death
Of hope; and which vice only recommends.
If so, where, infidels, your bait thrown out
To catch weak converts? Where your lofty boast Of zeal for virtue, and of love to man? Annihilation! I confess, in these.
What can reclaim you? Dare I hope profound Philosophers the converts of a song?
*See Milton's Paradise Lost.
Yet know, its't title flatters you, not me;
Yours be the praise to make my title good;
Mine, to bless heav'n, and triumph in your praise.
But since so pestilential your disease,
Tho' sov'reign is the medicine I prescribe,
As yet, I'll neither triumph nor despair:
But hope, ere long, my midnight dream will wake
Your hearts, and teach your wisdom--to be wise:
For why should souls immortal, made for bliss,
E'er wish (and wish in vain!) that souls could die?
What ne'er can die, Oh! grant to live; and crown
The wish, and aim, and labour of the skies;
Increase, and enter on the joys of Heav'n:
Thus shall my title pass a sacred seal,
Receive an imprimature from above,
While angels shout-An Infidel reclaim'd!
To close, Lorenzo! spite of all my pains,
Still seems it strange, that thou shouldst live for ever!
Is it less strange, that thou shouldst live at all?
This is a miracle; and that no more.
Who gave beginning, can exclude an end.
Deny thou art, then, doubt if thou shalt be.
A miracle with miracles inclos'd,
Is man and starts his faith at what is strange!
What less than wonders, from the wonderful;
What less than miracles, from God, can flow?
Admit a God-that mystery supreme!
That cause uncaus'd! All other wonders cease;
Nothing is marvellous for him to do:
Deny him-All is mystery besides;
Millions of mysteries; Each darker far
Than that thy wisdom would, unwisely, shun.
If weak thy faith, why choose the harder side?
We nothing know, but what is marvellous;
Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
So weak our reason, and so great our God,
What most surprises in the sacred page,
Or full as strange, or stranger, must be true.
Faith is not reason's labour; but repose.
To faith and virtue, why so backward, man? From hence: The present strongly strikes us all;
The future, faintly: can we, then, be men?
If men, Lorenzo! the reverse is right.
Reason is man's peculiar: sense, the brute's.
The present is the scanty realm of seuse;
The future, reason's empire unconfin'd:
On that expending all her godlike pow'r,
She plans, provides, expatiates, triumphs, there;
There builds her blessings; there expects her praise;
And nothing asks of fortune, or of men.
And what is reason? Be she, thus, defin'd;
Reason is upright stature in the soul.
Oh! be a man ;-and strive to be a god.
"For what? (thou say't)—to damp the joys of life?" No; to give heart and substance to thy joys. That tyrant, hope, mark how she domineers, She bids us quit realities for dreams; Safety, and peace, for hazard and alarm; That tyrant o'er the tyrants of the soul, She bids ambition quit its taken prize, Spurn the luxuriant branch on which it sits, Tho' bearing crowns, to spring at distant game; And plunge in toils and dangers-for repose. If hope precarious, and of things, when gain'd, Of little moment, and as little stay, Can sweeten toils and dangers into joys; What then, that hope, which nothing can defeat, Our leave unask'd? Rich hope of boundless bliss! Bliss, past man's pow'r to paint it; time's, to close! This hope is earth's most estimable prize › This is man's portion, while no more than man: Hope, of all passions, most befriends us here; Passions of prouder name befriend us less. Joy has her tears, and transport has her death; Hope, like a cordial, innocent, tho' strong, Man's heart, at once, inspirits and serenes; Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys; 'Tis all, our present state can safely bear, Health to the frame! and vigour to the mind! A joy attemper'd! a chastis'd delight! Like the fair summer-evening, mild and sweet! "Tis man's full cup; his paradise below!
A blest hereafter, then, or hop'd, or gain'd,
Is all;-our whole of happiness: full proof,
I chose no trivial or inglorious theme.
And know, ye foes to song! (well-meaning men,
Tho' quite forgotten half your Bible's praise!)
Important truths, in spite of verse, may please:
Grave minds you praise ; nor can you praise too much,
If there is weight in an eternity.
Let the grave listen ;-and be graver still.
* The poetical parts of it;
|