Trembling, at once, with Eagerness and Age?
With Av'rice, and Convulfions grafping hard?
Grafping at Air! for what has Earth beside ?
Man wants but Little; nor that Little, long;
How foon must he resign his very Duft ;
Which frugal Nature lent him for an Hour!
Years unexperienc'd rush on num'rous Ills;
And foon as Man, expert from Time, has found
The Key of Life, it opes the Gates of Death.
When in this Vale of Years I backward look, And mifs fuch Numbers, Numbers too of fuch, Firmer in Health, and greener in their Age, And stricter on their Guard, and fitter far To play Life's fubtle Game, I scarce believe I ftill furvive: And am I fond of Life, Who scarce can think it poffible, I live? Alive by Miracle! or, what is next, Alive by MEAD! If I am still alive,
Who long have bury'd what gives Life to live, Firmness of Nerve, and Energy of Thought. Life's Lee is not more fhallow, than impure, And vapid; Senfe and Reason fhew the Door, Call for my Bier, and point me to the Duft.
O thou great Arbiter of Life and Death! Nature's immortal, immaterial Sun! Whofe all-prolific Beam late call'd me forth From Darkness, teeming Darkness, where I lay
The Worm's Inferior, and, in Rank, beneath
The Duft I tread on, high to bear my Brow,
To drink the Spirit of the golden Day,
And triumph in Existence; and could't know
No Motive, but my Blifs; and haft ordain'd
A Rife in Bleffing! with the Patriarch's Joy,
Thy Call I follow to the Land unknown;
I truft in Thee, and know in whom I trust
Or Life, or Death, is equal; neither weighs :
All Weight in this-O let me live to Thee!
Tho' Nature's Terrors, thus, may be repreft; Still frowns grim Death; Guilt points the Tyrant's Spear. And whence all human Guilt! from Death forgot. Ah me! too long I fet at nought the Swarm Of friendly Warnings, which around me flew ; And fmil'd, unfmitten: Small my Cause to smile! Death's Admonitions, like Shafts upwards shot, More dreadful by Delay, the longer ere They strike our Hearts, the deeper is their Wound. O think how deep, LORENZO! bere it stings : Who can appease its Anguish? How it burns! What Hand the barb'd, invenom'd, Thought can draw? What healing Hand can pour the Balm of Peace? And turn my Sight undaunted on the Tomb?
With Joy, with Grief, that healing Hand I fee; Ah! too confpicuous! It is fixt on high.
On high!-What means my Phrenfy? I blafpheme;
Alas! how low! how far beneath the Skies?
The Skies it form'd; and now it bleeds for me-
But bleeds the Balm I want-yet ftill it bleeds;
Draw the dire Steel-Ah no!-the dreadful Bleffing
What Heart or can fuftain, or dares forego?
There hangs all human Hope: That Nail fupports.
Our falling Univerfe: That gone, we drop;
Horror receives us, and the difmal With
Creation had been fmother'd in her Birth
Darkness His Curtain, and His Bed the Duft;
When Stars and Sun are Duft beneath his Throne!
In Heav'n itself can fuch Indulgence dwell?
O what a Groan was there? A Groan not His.
He feiz'd our dreadful Right; the Load sustain'd;
And heav'd the Mountain from a guilty World.
A thousand Worlds, fo bought, were bought too dear.
Senfations new in Angels Bofoms rife ;
Sufpend their Song; and make a Pause in Bliss.
O for their Song to reach my lofty Theme!
Inspire me, Night! with all thy tuneful Spheres inspire;
Whilft I with Seraphs fhare feraphic Themes,
And fhew to Men the Dignity of Man;
Left I blafpheme my Subject with my Song,
Shall Pagan Pages glow celeftial Flame,
And Chriftian languish? On our Hearts, not Heads,
Falls the foul Infamy: My Heart! awake.
What can awake thee, unawak'd by this,
Expended Deity on human Weal ?"
Feel the great Truths, which burft the tenfold Night
Of Heathen Error, with a golden Flood
Of endless Day: To feel, is to be fir'd;
And to believe, LORENZO!, is to feel.
Thou moft indulgent, moft tremendous Pow'r!
Still more tremendous, for thy wond'rous Love!
That arms, with Awe more awful, thy Commands;
And foul Tranfgreffion dips in fevenfold Night;"
How our Hearts tremble at thy Love immense !
In Love immenfe, inviolably Juft!
Thou, rather than thy Justice should be ftain'd,
Didft ftain the Cross; and, Work of Wonders, far
The greatest, that thy Dearest far might bleed.
Bold Thought! Shall I dare speak it? or reprefs?
Should Man more execrate, or boaft, the Guilt
Which rous'd fuch Vengeance? which fuch Love inflam'd?
O'er Guilt (how mountainous !) with outftrecht Arms,
Stern Justice, and foft-fmiling Love, embrace,
Supporting, in full Majefty, thy Throne,
When feem'd its Majefty to need Support,
Or That, or Man, inevitably loft.
What, but the Fathomlefs of Thought divine,
Could labour fuch Expedient from Despair,
And rescue both? Both refcue! Both exalt!
O how are both exalted by the Deed!
The wond'rous Deed! or fhall I call it more?
A Wonder in Omnipotence itself!
A Mystery, no lefs to Gods than Men!
Not, thus, our Infidels th' Eternal draw,
A God all o'er, confummate, abfolute,
Full-orb'd, in his whole Round of Rays complete :
They fet at odds Heav'n's jarring Attributes;
And, with one Excellence, another wound;
Maim Heav'n's Perfection, break its equal Beams,
Bid Mercy triumph over-God himself,
Undeify'd by their opprobrious Praise :
A God All Mercy, is a God unjuft.
Ye brainless Wits! ye baptiz'd Infidels!
Ye worfe for mending! wafh'd to fouler Stains!
The Ranfom was paid down, the Fund of Heaven,
Heav'n's inexhauftible, exhaufted Fund,
Amazing, and amaz'd, pour'd forth the Price,
All Price beyond: Tho' curious to compute,
Archangels fail'd to caft the mighty Sum:
Its Value vast ungrafpt by Minds Create,
For ever hides, and glows in, the Supreme.
And was the Ranfom paid? It was: And paid (What can exalt the Bounty more?) for You. The Sun beheld it-No, the fhocking Scene Drove back his Chariot: Midnight veil'd his Face; Not fuch as This; not fuch as Nature makes;
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