And founds prophetic are too rough to fuit
Ears long accuftom'd to the pleafing lute;
'They scorn'd his infpiration and his theme,
Pronounced him frantic and his fears a dream
With felf-indulgence wing'd the fleeting hours,
'Till the foe found them, and down fell the tow'rs.
Long time Affyria bound them in her chain,
Till penitence had purg'd the public ftain,
And Cyrus, with relenting pity mov'd,©
Return'd them happy to the land they lov'd;
There, proof against profperity, awhile
They stood the teft of her enfnaring fmile,
And had the grace in fcenes of peace to show
The virtue they had learn'd in scenes of woe.
But man is frail and can but ill fuftain
A long immunity from grief and pain,
And after all the joys that plenty leads,
With tip-toe step, vice filently fucceeds.
When he that rul'd them with a fhepherd's rod,
In form a man, in dignity a God,
Came, not expected in that humble guise,
To fift and fearch them with unerring eyes,
He found conceal'd beneath a fair outfide,
The filth of rottennefs, and worm of pride;
Their piety a system of deceit,
Scripture employed to fanctify the cheat,
The pharifee the dupe of his own art,
Self-idoliz'd and yet a knave at heart.
When, nations are to perish in their fins,
'Tis in the church the leprofy begins;
The priest, whofe office is with zeal fincere
To watch the fountain, and preserve it clear,
Carelessly nods and sleeps upon the brink,
While others poison what the flock must drink;
Or waking at the call of luft alone,
Infufes lies and errors of his own :
His unfufpecting sheep believe it
And, tainted by the very means of cure,
Catch from each other a contagious fpot,
The foul forerunner of a general rot:
Then truth is hush'd that heresy may preach,
And all is trash that reason cannot reach;
Then God's own image on the foul imprefs'd,
Becomes a mock'ry and a standing jeft;
And faith, the root whence only can arife
graces of a life that wins the skies,
Lofes at once all value and esteem,
Pronounc'd by grey-beards a pernicious dream :
Then ceremony leads her bigots forth,
Prepar❜d to fight for fhadows of no worth,
While truths on which eternal things depend,
Find not, or hardly find, a fingle friend :
As foldiers watch the fignal of command,
They learn to bow, to kneel, to fit, to stand,
Happy to fill religion's vacant place
With hollow form and gesture and grimace.
Such, when the teacher of his church was there, People and priest, the fons of Ifrael were,
Stiff in the letter, lax in the defign
And import, of their oracles divine;
Their learning legendary, false, absurd,
And yet exalted above God's own word,
They drew a curfe from an intended good,
Puff'd up with gifts they never understood.
He judg'd them with as terrible a frown,
As if, not love, but wrath had brought him down:
Yet he was gentle as foft fummer airs,
Had grace for other fins, but none for theirs
Through all he spoke a noble plainness ran,
Rhet'ric is artifice, the work of man,
And tricks and turns that fancy may devise,
Are far too mean for him that rules the fkies.
Th' astonish'd vulgar trembl'd while he tore
The mask from faces never feen before;
He stripp'd th' impoftors in the noon-day fun,
Show'd that they follow'd all they feem'd to fhun,
Their pray'rs made public, their exceffes kept-
As private as the chambers where they slept ;
The temple and its holy rites profan'd,
By mumm'ries he that dwelt in it difdain'd;
Uplifted hands that at convenient times
Could act extortion and the worst of crimes,
Wash'd with a neatnefs fcrupulously nice,
And free from ev'ry taint but that of vice.
Judgment, however tardy, mends her pace:
When obftinacy once has conquer'd grace.
They faw diftemper heal'd, and life reftor'd,
In answer to the fiat of his word;
Confefs'd the wonder, and with daring tongue,
Blafphem'd th' authority from which it fprung.
They knew by fure prognostics feen on high,
The future tone and temper of the sky,
But grave diffemblers, could not understand
That fin let loofe fpeaks punishment at hand.
Afk now of history's authentic page,
And call up evidence from ev'ry age,
Display with bufy and laborious hand
The bleffings of the moft indebted land,
What nation will you find whose annals prove
So rich an int'reft in almighty love?
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