University of Virginia Library

FUTURITY.

Why should the shrinking pinion fear to rise?
Why dread the mental journey of the skies?
Why still to native earth ignobly cling,
And tune to transient themes the vocal string?
What though dark Error dims the searching gaze,
Though Wisdom wanders in the lucid maze;
Though trembling Doubt retard the lofty flight,
And strong Belief cries loudly, All is right;
Yet let us follow the mysterious clue,
While smiling Hope, and dauntless Faith pursue;
This brave excursion, this sublime desire,
Marks some faint impulse of celestial fire,
Some ling'ring lustre of angelic sense,
To former, future bliss some fond pretence:
Nor shun the path where saints and sages trod,
Lo! Nature urges on to know our God!
Each finer spring, each secret link to trace,
Each streaming glory of his effluent grace,
Each depth to dive, each pointless height to scan,
And own his mercy justified to Man!
O! while the mighty subject lifts my soul,
Let no vain muse with fabling voice control;
Far from my breast, by simpler knowledge smit,
The brilliant diction, and the meteor wit;
Sublimely plain, I scorn the glitt'ring guile,
All bursts of fancy, and all forms of style!
What then is Man? why born? why born to die,
Doom'd a vile worm to crawl, a seraph fly?
Did strong necessity enforce his birth,
Does Heav'n repose upon the child of earth!
Hangs there, of sympathy, a social claim,
By angels shar'd, to raise him up again?
Or, quickly mould'ring in congenial clay,
Are all the vital traces worn away?
Is God offended with his moulded dust?
Can he forgive a sin, for he is just?
Can he condemn the faults of flesh and blood,
By his own hand instill'd? for he is good.
Can he destroy, when, trick'd in specious guise,
Vice undermines the breast? for he is wise.
These dark enigmas, this important spell,
Unerring oracle of reason tell!
For surely, purest essence, thou dost know
If folly is not all our sense below!
Say, should the mortal lord exalt his slave,
Grace him with gifts, then plunge him in the grave?
Would'st thou not, gracious spirit, curse the deed,
And bid the victor with the victim bleed?
Who then so impious, who so madly blind,
To think Almighty, spotless, meek, refin'd,
Mid burning gulphs prepares that gloomy bed,
Where the tir'd pilgrim shall recline his head?
To wrath immortal, fiercest tortures ty'd;
Was it for this the Son, the Saviour dy'd?
What need of final judgment's awful hour,
If instant flames the parted soul devour?
If, through cold realms of ever-during frost,
Through ever-kindling fires, the soul is lost!
Seiz'd by due penance, when redeem'd by death,
Dark dæmons brooding o'er the gasping breath,
The gasping breath, that seeks some dismal shore,
Where the red deluge forms a mingled roar
Of wretches, to immortal gibbets chain'd,
By stars oppress'd, or whirlwind force sustain'd,
Hurl'd to and fro, the gibe of yelling sprites,
Through days uncheerful, and infernal nights!