The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse :: :: University of Virginia Library

What living Mortal not of limbs bereft,
While one faint spark of active Spirit's left,
By Hope attracted, and impell'd by Fear,
Would wish to fix Time's tabernacle there?
Except some Vision, or some obvious voice
Had charm'd his faculty, and fix'd his choice—
Some Messenger commission'd from the Sky
On whom both Sense and Reason might rely—
Whom Conscience might with confidence receive,
And Christian scrupulosity believe,
Had warn'd him, at his peril still to stay,
To 'scape dire evils of much drearier day;
Lest countless tribulations new, and strange,
Might wound his heart, and make him wail a change.

128

Had he possess'd such floods of wealth as flow
To Nabob's treasury from Want and Woe,
Or such as greater Savages can get
From kidnapp'd Negroe's blisters, blood, and sweat—
Such as from Courtier's Posts and pensions rise,
Or Conqu'rors gather 'midst groans, tears, and cries—
Wealth Peers possess, from Providence's hands,
With larger cultur'd lots of neighb'ring Lands,
He ne'er had sought such companies to quit,
For Wealthier Friends, with Learning, Taste, and Wit;
But gladlier giv'n his native Poor support,
Than share the sunshine of a canting Court.
Had rather spent on Toil superfluous hoards
Than heard his own applause round splendid boards;
Or adding guilty gold, those heaps to swell,
Like Dives, leave, and count the cost in Hell!
With Wealth, he might have tasted, there, those joys
That Mortals rarely reach below the Skies!
Those genuine joys, those raptures, never known
By Sycophants, that throng round earthly Throne!
Disinterested transports! heavenly bliss!
Felt by pure Faith alone in Scenes like this!
Pure happiness! by grandeur ne'er enjoy'd,
'Mong idol hosts of Vanity and Pride!
By Ostentation never understood;
Bliss, giv'n to all, by Heav'n—while doing good!

It was not whim nor merely love of change,
That made Crispinus long again to range.
Not for Himself he dreaded Fortune's frown,
He'd pass'd Life's summit, and was wandering down.
The prospect look'd less dazzling while more clear,
His near horizon narrowing every Year.
Example prov'd, and Self-reflection found
His head grew hourly nearer to the ground;
While strong, or weak, whene'er he waked, or slept,
Still on his downward way he constant kept.
Whether he spent his time in sigh, or song,
His pains, or pleasures, could not, now, be long—
And, whether in his movement swift or slow,
He soon must sink in some small spot below!

His youthful troop was labouring to ascend,
And ill could spare a Father, Guide, and Friend.
Tho' conscious many sojourners must drop,
Before their youthful feet attain'd the top,
Their breasts beat high while clambering up the Hill,
For every step their prospects open'd, still.
The curve extended—objects multiplied—
Which call'd attention from the farther side.
Imagination wing'd each new-wak'd hope,
While vernal Suns illum'd the swelling slope;
Diffusing o'er the whole a brightening beam,
To draw back vision from the dark extreme:
All seem'd attainable—all rich—all gay—
Like painted harlots, plotting to betray!
Fair by Creation—but deprav'd by Sin—
Yet Fancy found enough her wish to win;
All so disguised by meritricious Art,
Each bosom panted to obtain a part.
He warn'd them, daily, of each dangerous snare,
Which youthful inclination longs to share;
For, till Experience proves those cautions right,
Frail Flesh will follow Sense, and Appetite.
He knew no earthly joys were long enjoy'd,
And wish'd to check all falshood, lust, and pride.
Still strove in prayer each offspring might be blest
With peace, and comfort, in some place of rest—
In some sequester'd cove each anchor cast,
Secure from shipwreck, want, and blustering blast;
When all his doubts, and fears, and cares, might cease,
Then, calmly, close his aged eyes in peace!

Such happy, enviable, stablish'd, state,
Is ne'er dispens'd by Fortune, or by Fate;
Nor springs, alone, from prudence, care, or skill,
From personal graces, or the World's Good-Will;
But from that boundless Wisdom, Love, and Pow'r,
Which still bestows, on all, each bounteous dow'r,
And must those gifts with mental Graces bless,
Ere Man's endeavours meet with wish'd success.
But every Soul that seeks those gifts to share,
Must ask of Heav'n, with penitence, by Pray'r;
And seek such counsel, from that faithful Friend,
As Reason's and Religion's calls commend;
For Conscience calls, and Heav'n's injunctions, join'd,
Press those plain Duties upon all Mankind.

Some recent favours, from the former Source,
Reach'd Crispin's cottage, in appropriate course—
Some reflex rays that earthly Luna shed,
Which sooth'd his Soul, and eas'd his pensive head;
Renewing Gratitude, with wonted glow,
And pure Affection's sentimental flow,
Till Hate and Envy turn'd the stream aside,
And Cruelty and Scorn all debts destroy'd.

129

He fondly felt his grateful bosom burn,
To make his Friends, and Patrons, full return—
For each true Christian, who believes his Creeds,
Tho' he appreciates proud Delinquent's deeds;
Yet, finding Self so full of earthly leav'n,
So oft offending 'gainst the God of Heav'n—
While Faith—Hope—Love—within his bosom live,
Hears Christ, and Conscience, whisper, “Friend—forgive.”

How can a Man his Master's pray'r repeat,
Whose ears refuse to hear a Friend intreat;
Or all Heav'n's gracious blessings hope to gain,
Who, unconcern'd, can hear that Friend complain!
Who never feels his flinty heart relent,
When Fellow-Sinners prove their Souls repent!
These were the clear conditions Heav'n display'd,
When God's dear Son the perfect pattern made;
And so ordain'd the stipulated plan
Of mutual Mercy, shewn by Man, to Man!
Such peccant Creatures should no Culprits spurn,
Who, back to Duty, by repentance, turn;
Nor persecute, with spite, tho' oft perverse,
But pardon, still, to 'scape Heav'n's fatal curse:
How can fall'n Man perform a Christian's part,
Who harbours hatred in his vengeful heart?
Frail, sinful, Souls, ought all revenge forego,
When pardon'd Friend appears no more a Foe;
Yea, all revengeful punishment suspend,
Tho' persecuting Foe ne'er proves a Friend—
Much more should Brethren pardon Brethren's crimes,
Repented, still, to thrice ten thousand times:
Should blot each blemish out—forgive disgrace—
And cordially renew the kind embrace:
Not hurried on by Passion, or by Pride,
With finite Knowledge forfeitures decide;
But, with Christ's Grace, believing in God's Word,
Leave in His hands the balance and the sword—
His Vengeance may, awhile, at rest remain,
But His strict Justice bears no sword in vain!

That Being whence all others boast their birth,
Bright Hosts of Heav'n—and Habitants of Earth—
At one vast view, past, present, future, sees,
And knows their fate—but not by fixt decrees—
While by his boundless Pow'r—Love—Wisdom—Will,
He actuates—governs—guides—supports them, still;
Bestowing ample bounty free, to all,
Which crowd the Skies, and range this rounded Ball;
But not to Spirits pure, or Man, is known
Their future lot, but Deity alone.