By this he forms, as pleas'd he sports along,
His well pois'd eftimate of right and wrong,
And finds the modifh manners of the day,
Though loose, as harmless as an infant's play.
Build by whatever plan caprice decrees,
With what materials, on what ground you please,
Your hope fhall ftand unblam'd, perhaps admir'd,
If not that hope the fcripture has requir'd:
The strange conceits, vain projects and wild dreams,
With which hypocrify for ever teems,
(Though other follies ftrike the public eye,
And raise a laugh) pass unmolested by ;
But if, unblameable in word and thought,
A man arife, a man whom God has taught,
With all Elijah's dignity of tone,
And all the love of the beloved John,
To storm the citadels they build in air,
And finite th' untemper'd wall; 'tis death to spare.
To fweep away all refuges of lies,
And place, instead of quirks themselves devife,
LAMA SABACTHANI, before their eyes;
To prove that without Chrift, all gain is lofs,
All hope, despair, that ftands not on his cross:
Except the few his God may have imprefs'd,
A tenfold frenzy feizes all the rest.
Throughout mankind, the Chriftian kind at leaft,
There dwells a confciousness in ev'ry breast,
That folly ends where genuine hope begins,
And he that finds his heav'n must lose his fins a
Nature opposes with her utmost force,
This riving ftroke, this ultimate divorce,
And while religion feems to be her view,
Hates with a deep fincerity the true:
For this, of all that ever influenc'd man,
Since Abel worshipp'd, or the world began,
This only spares no luft, admits no plea,
But makes him, if at all, completely free,
Sounds forth the fignal, as fhe mounts her car
Of an eternal, univerfal war;
Rejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles,
Scorns with the fame indiff'rence frowns and frailes;
Drives through the realms of fin, where riot reels,
And grinds his crown beneath her burning wheels!
Hence all that is in man, pride, paffion, art,
Powr's of the mind, and feelings of the heart,
Infenfible of truth's almighty charms,
Starts at her first approach, and founds to arms!
While bigotry, with well-diffembled fears,
His eyes fhut faft, his fingers in his ears,
Mighty to parry, and push by God's word
With fenfeless noife, his argument the sword,
Pretends a zeal for godlinefs and grace,
And spits abhorrence in the Chriftian's face.
Parent of hope, immortal truth! make known Thy deathless wreaths, and triumphs all thine own: The filent progrefs of thy pow'r is fuch,
Thy means fo feeble, and defpis'd so much,
That few believe the wonders thou haft wrought,
And none can teach them but whom thou haft taught. Oh fee me fworn to ferve thee, and command,
A painter's fkill into a poet's hand.
That while I trembling trace a work divine,
Fancy may stand aloof from the defign,
And light and fhade and ev'ry ftroke be thine.
If ever thou haft felt another's pain,
If ever when he figh'd, haft figh'd again,
If ever on thine eye-lid ftood the tear
That pity had engender'd, drop one here.
This man was happy-had the world's good word,
And with it ev'ry joy it can afford;
Friendship and love feem'd tenderly at ftrife,
Which most should sweeten his untroubl'd life;
Politely learn'd, and of a gentle race,.
Good-breeding and good fenfe
And whether at the toilette of the fair
He laugh'd and trifled, made him welcome there;
Or, if in mafculine debate he shar'd,
Infur'd him mute attention and regard.
Alas how chang'd! expreffive of his mind,
eyes are funk, arms folded, head reclin'd,
Those awful fyllables, hell, death, and fin, Though whisper'd, plainly tell what works within,
That confcience there performs her proper part,
And writes a doomsday fentence on his heart;
Forfaking, and forfaken of all friends,
He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends;
Hard task for one who lately knew no care,
And harder ftill as learnt beneath despair:
His hours no longer pafs unmark'd away,
A dark importance faddens every day,
He hears the notice of the clock, perplex'd,
And cries, perhaps eternity ftrikes next :
Sweet mufic is no longer mufic here,
And laughter founds like madness in his ear:
His grief the world of all her power difarms,
Wine has no taste, and beauty has no charms:
God's holy word, once trivial in his view,
Now by the voice of his experience, true,
Seems, as it is, the fountain whence alone,
Muft fpring that hope he pants to make his own.
Now let the bright reverse be known abroad,
Say, man's a worm, and pow'r belongs to God.
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