The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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A Contemplation touching Atheism.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
A Contemplation touching Atheism.
What e'er a Race of impious Men have writ,
Or argu'd in their Wine to shew their Wit,
There never yet was one so hardy found
But in his secret Thought the GOD-HEAD own'd;
Nor cou'd, with all his Labour and Debate,
Suppress the Notions of a FUTURE STATE:
CONSCIENCE wou'd thro' all Prejudice appear,
And what he wou'd not Credit, make him Fear.
Or argu'd in their Wine to shew their Wit,
There never yet was one so hardy found
But in his secret Thought the GOD-HEAD own'd;
Nor cou'd, with all his Labour and Debate,
Suppress the Notions of a FUTURE STATE:
CONSCIENCE wou'd thro' all Prejudice appear,
And what he wou'd not Credit, make him Fear.
'Tis true, we grant it might much better be
For such were there indeed no Deitie:
Who wholly following a perverted Will,
(As if Created only to be Ill)
Wou'd fain perswade us no Reward succeeds
A Vertuous Life, or Hell for impious Deeds;
But as before our Births we nothing knew,
So after Death we shall be nothing too
Vain Men! that, for the poor Repute of Wit,
Will stand eternal Fools in sacred Writ!
'Tis such that in their Hearts themselves deceive,
And say what Reason never can believe;
There is no GOD they softly whisper there,
But softly whisper, least a GOD shou'd hear:
So go on frontless, cleaving to the Sin,
In Spite of Self-Conviction from within.
For such were there indeed no Deitie:
Who wholly following a perverted Will,
(As if Created only to be Ill)
Wou'd fain perswade us no Reward succeeds
A Vertuous Life, or Hell for impious Deeds;
But as before our Births we nothing knew,
So after Death we shall be nothing too
Vain Men! that, for the poor Repute of Wit,
Will stand eternal Fools in sacred Writ!
'Tis such that in their Hearts themselves deceive,
And say what Reason never can believe;
There is no GOD they softly whisper there,
But softly whisper, least a GOD shou'd hear:
403
In Spite of Self-Conviction from within.
Nor is this Method (I presume) a vain
Ungenuine way that Scripture to explain.
For how can any Creature that has ran
Thro' Childhood, Youth, and now is reach't to Man;
Whom Providence with it's own Hand has led,
From Danger sav'd, and with Abundance fed,
Perhaps while better Christians wanted Bread,
How can this Wretch (tho' much a Sceptick dares)
Doubt of that Goodness he so largely shares?
Did he these Hints but seriously apply,
And use his clearer Reason with his Eye,
He wou'd not then so faithless look on high;
Where the bright Sun has thro' all Times been found
To take his Regular and Glorious Round,
Create the Seasons as he comes and goes,
Want it Himself, and give the World Repose.
Where the pale Moon the Earth's low Globe befriends,
And freely all her borrow'd Lustre lends;
While her bright Train of Stars around appear,
And shew 'tis only GOD cou'd place 'em there.
Where Thunder rolls, and, breaking from the Cloud,
Tells out Heav'n's angry Messages aloud;
While pale the Atheist at the Sound appears,
And owns at least th'Almighty in his Fears.
Nor less the Work, when Thetis, to supply
Th'exhausted watry Magazins on high,
Does seem to lade the Sea into the Sky;
Where with Prolifick Pow'r indu'd, in Rain
The Genial Moisture spreads, and Covers all the Plain:
While, Phœnix like, we Life from Death behold,
And a New Nature rising from the Old!
But most the Heav'ns his Majesty declare;
The Fabrick shews who 'tis Inhabits there.
Nor as on High (did we those Wonders prize)
We neither shou'd in vain cast down our Eyes;
Where such a strange Variety is shown,
So vast a Bank of Treasure all our Own;
What Man can wish, as Eden yet were new,
With like Profusion op'ning to our view!
Here smiling Flora does the Meads adorn,
There bounte'ous Ceres loads the Earth with Corn:
Next Autumn with her Riches courts the Eye,
Aurora so does paint the Morning Sky!
Ruddy her Fruits, and mellow'd for the Tast,
As Brides with Blushes call to be embrac'd.
But as all this were yet too small to give,
And we amid'st such Wealth cou'd wanting live,
No Distant Region but it's Product pours
Upon our Soil, and makes it's Plenty Ours;
Nor yet is Providence but bounteous here;
But rains on all alike so vast a Share,
That the most barren Country has to spare.
From each to each, sent on the Watry Fields,
No Nation wants what any Nation yields.
Nor is the Winter of her Blessings short:
But recompences naked Fields with Sport:
The Horn and Hound revive us with their sound,
And Wat's loud Knell is rung the Country round.
Nor yet does Reynard scape the unequal Strife,
But with his Death compensates for his Life.
Return'd, in Bowls the Wine does spark'ling rise,
And cheerful Fire the distant Sun Supplies;
Nor stop we there, but with Discourse pursue
The noble Theme, and run the Chase a new:
A Subject that does Converse better fit
Than fulsom Lewdness, or abusive Wit.
Here Woods their Shady Fronts Expose to view,
Which give us Fewel and our safety too;
From these our Strength, our sailing Forts, we draw,
Right injur'd States, and give Ambition Law.
There humble Vales, and here aspiring Hills
Are plac'd, and at their Feet harmonious Rills,
Which from the Mountains are with Pleasure seen,
Like the blue Veins thro' a transparent Skin;
Alike their Office; for, (as Blood does do)
Thro' Earth they take their Circulation too:
While on their Banks the Shepherds chant their Lays,
And the whole Theme is their Creator's Praise.
Thus Order is by ev'ry thing obey'd,
Order! the Word by which the World was made.
The Rav'nous Beasts to their own Haunts repair,
The Birds possess the Regions of the Air,
The Fish thro' the Transparent Currents glide,
And watch the Ebbs and Flowings of the Tyde;
And when by Rain the Streams are rais'd, they post
With them to Sea, and there with them are lost.
There sportive Whales, those Living Islands, play,
And scarce have room, tho' half the Globe is Sea.
Thus, as above, below a GOD we see,
And all his Works full of the Deity.
Ungenuine way that Scripture to explain.
For how can any Creature that has ran
Thro' Childhood, Youth, and now is reach't to Man;
Whom Providence with it's own Hand has led,
From Danger sav'd, and with Abundance fed,
Perhaps while better Christians wanted Bread,
How can this Wretch (tho' much a Sceptick dares)
Doubt of that Goodness he so largely shares?
Did he these Hints but seriously apply,
And use his clearer Reason with his Eye,
He wou'd not then so faithless look on high;
Where the bright Sun has thro' all Times been found
To take his Regular and Glorious Round,
Create the Seasons as he comes and goes,
Want it Himself, and give the World Repose.
Where the pale Moon the Earth's low Globe befriends,
And freely all her borrow'd Lustre lends;
While her bright Train of Stars around appear,
And shew 'tis only GOD cou'd place 'em there.
Where Thunder rolls, and, breaking from the Cloud,
Tells out Heav'n's angry Messages aloud;
While pale the Atheist at the Sound appears,
And owns at least th'Almighty in his Fears.
Nor less the Work, when Thetis, to supply
Th'exhausted watry Magazins on high,
Does seem to lade the Sea into the Sky;
Where with Prolifick Pow'r indu'd, in Rain
The Genial Moisture spreads, and Covers all the Plain:
While, Phœnix like, we Life from Death behold,
And a New Nature rising from the Old!
But most the Heav'ns his Majesty declare;
The Fabrick shews who 'tis Inhabits there.
404
We neither shou'd in vain cast down our Eyes;
Where such a strange Variety is shown,
So vast a Bank of Treasure all our Own;
What Man can wish, as Eden yet were new,
With like Profusion op'ning to our view!
Here smiling Flora does the Meads adorn,
There bounte'ous Ceres loads the Earth with Corn:
Next Autumn with her Riches courts the Eye,
Aurora so does paint the Morning Sky!
Ruddy her Fruits, and mellow'd for the Tast,
As Brides with Blushes call to be embrac'd.
But as all this were yet too small to give,
And we amid'st such Wealth cou'd wanting live,
No Distant Region but it's Product pours
Upon our Soil, and makes it's Plenty Ours;
Nor yet is Providence but bounteous here;
But rains on all alike so vast a Share,
That the most barren Country has to spare.
From each to each, sent on the Watry Fields,
No Nation wants what any Nation yields.
Nor is the Winter of her Blessings short:
But recompences naked Fields with Sport:
The Horn and Hound revive us with their sound,
And Wat's loud Knell is rung the Country round.
Nor yet does Reynard scape the unequal Strife,
But with his Death compensates for his Life.
Return'd, in Bowls the Wine does spark'ling rise,
And cheerful Fire the distant Sun Supplies;
Nor stop we there, but with Discourse pursue
The noble Theme, and run the Chase a new:
A Subject that does Converse better fit
Than fulsom Lewdness, or abusive Wit.
Here Woods their Shady Fronts Expose to view,
Which give us Fewel and our safety too;
From these our Strength, our sailing Forts, we draw,
Right injur'd States, and give Ambition Law.
405
Are plac'd, and at their Feet harmonious Rills,
Which from the Mountains are with Pleasure seen,
Like the blue Veins thro' a transparent Skin;
Alike their Office; for, (as Blood does do)
Thro' Earth they take their Circulation too:
While on their Banks the Shepherds chant their Lays,
And the whole Theme is their Creator's Praise.
Thus Order is by ev'ry thing obey'd,
Order! the Word by which the World was made.
The Rav'nous Beasts to their own Haunts repair,
The Birds possess the Regions of the Air,
The Fish thro' the Transparent Currents glide,
And watch the Ebbs and Flowings of the Tyde;
And when by Rain the Streams are rais'd, they post
With them to Sea, and there with them are lost.
There sportive Whales, those Living Islands, play,
And scarce have room, tho' half the Globe is Sea.
Thus, as above, below a GOD we see,
And all his Works full of the Deity.
Ev'n our own Weakness (strong in such a Cause)
Shou'd humble us, and make us own His Laws;
Not foolishly (and yet pretending Sense)
With Impious Notions charge his Providence.
We do not know why Grass that Colour wears,
Or why our Blood the Sanguin Tincture bears;
What makes the Painting in Heav'n's radiant Bow,
Or gives that matchless Whiteness to the Snow:
How dare we then the Sacred Name decry,
And tax Incomprehensibility?
A strange Perverseness, sure, to Man is giv'n,
That knows so little, yet prescribes to Heav'n;
That Gracious Pow'r who pardons, tho' blasphem'd;
For Man Created how to be esteem'd!
And how (O boundless Love!) for Man Redeem'd.
Shou'd humble us, and make us own His Laws;
Not foolishly (and yet pretending Sense)
With Impious Notions charge his Providence.
We do not know why Grass that Colour wears,
Or why our Blood the Sanguin Tincture bears;
What makes the Painting in Heav'n's radiant Bow,
Or gives that matchless Whiteness to the Snow:
How dare we then the Sacred Name decry,
And tax Incomprehensibility?
A strange Perverseness, sure, to Man is giv'n,
That knows so little, yet prescribes to Heav'n;
That Gracious Pow'r who pardons, tho' blasphem'd;
For Man Created how to be esteem'd!
And how (O boundless Love!) for Man Redeem'd.
406
But shou'd not this Great World incline our Sense
To have a due Belief of Providence,
The Lesser, MAN, at least shou'd Man convince.
Who will against the Deity declare,
That asks himself how He himself came here?
Who 'twas that form'd him in the Womb, and who
The Lumpish Mass with Reason did endue?
What 'tis that makes him Argue, Think, and Move,
Invent, Design, Distinguish, and Approve;
And ev'n of old, so strongly in Debate
Assert a GOD, and hope a Future State?
When thro' a thicker Veil that Hope was shown,
And Revelation totally unknown?
What is all this but a most clear and bright
Reflection, streaming from Eternal Light,
And stampt into our Nature, to declare
Whose Work we are, and Image 'tis we bear?
Leaving it uncontestable, that none
Cou'd our Producer be but GOD alone;
Our Souls (that will a like Duration see)
Th'Infusion of his Immortality:
And tho' the Body must dissolve, it yet
But suffers Death a better Life to get;
As Gold and Silver, and sever'd from the Dross,
Are made but the more glorious by the Loss.
To have a due Belief of Providence,
The Lesser, MAN, at least shou'd Man convince.
Who will against the Deity declare,
That asks himself how He himself came here?
Who 'twas that form'd him in the Womb, and who
The Lumpish Mass with Reason did endue?
What 'tis that makes him Argue, Think, and Move,
Invent, Design, Distinguish, and Approve;
And ev'n of old, so strongly in Debate
Assert a GOD, and hope a Future State?
When thro' a thicker Veil that Hope was shown,
And Revelation totally unknown?
What is all this but a most clear and bright
Reflection, streaming from Eternal Light,
And stampt into our Nature, to declare
Whose Work we are, and Image 'tis we bear?
Leaving it uncontestable, that none
Cou'd our Producer be but GOD alone;
Our Souls (that will a like Duration see)
Th'Infusion of his Immortality:
And tho' the Body must dissolve, it yet
But suffers Death a better Life to get;
As Gold and Silver, and sever'd from the Dross,
Are made but the more glorious by the Loss.
Tremble, ye Wretches, that wou'd Truth disguise,
And tell us as the Body falls it lies;
The Dead, you'll find, will certainly arise.
I hear, methinks, the last loud Trumpet sound!
I see the Quick'ning Bodies cleave the Ground!
Lo! at the Gen'eral and Impartial Bar,
All that were ever born at once appear,
To take th'unalterable Sentence there!
There! on the Left, behold the Impious Crew,
Scarce thinking yet a Resurrection true!
But glorious and exulting, on the Right,
Rang'd by their SAVIOUR, stand the Sons of Light!
There Justice does a dismal Scene display!
Here Mercy opens an Eternal Day!
Rejoice my Soul!—for tho' the Human Frame
Must be dissolv'd, it yet will rise the same.
Were Revelation wholly silent, yet
Reason it self cou'd speak—and Reason's Wit.
Cannot that GOD (so manifested there)
Who did from Nothing make us what we are,
Who to the Lifeless Dust did Being give,
Raise up that Dust again, and bid it Live?
Advanc'd to Heav'n, and crown'd with Glory there,
If truly fitted by Obedience here.
Less wond'rous 'tis the Dead new Life shou'd see,
Than, e'er we did exist, it was to Be;
As easier 'tis with Timber, Brick and Stone,
To raise a stately Fabrick, than with none.
The first the harder Work to Human Sense,
Tho' both are equal to Omnipotence.
And tell us as the Body falls it lies;
The Dead, you'll find, will certainly arise.
I hear, methinks, the last loud Trumpet sound!
I see the Quick'ning Bodies cleave the Ground!
Lo! at the Gen'eral and Impartial Bar,
All that were ever born at once appear,
To take th'unalterable Sentence there!
There! on the Left, behold the Impious Crew,
Scarce thinking yet a Resurrection true!
407
Rang'd by their SAVIOUR, stand the Sons of Light!
There Justice does a dismal Scene display!
Here Mercy opens an Eternal Day!
Rejoice my Soul!—for tho' the Human Frame
Must be dissolv'd, it yet will rise the same.
Were Revelation wholly silent, yet
Reason it self cou'd speak—and Reason's Wit.
Cannot that GOD (so manifested there)
Who did from Nothing make us what we are,
Who to the Lifeless Dust did Being give,
Raise up that Dust again, and bid it Live?
Advanc'd to Heav'n, and crown'd with Glory there,
If truly fitted by Obedience here.
Less wond'rous 'tis the Dead new Life shou'd see,
Than, e'er we did exist, it was to Be;
As easier 'tis with Timber, Brick and Stone,
To raise a stately Fabrick, than with none.
The first the harder Work to Human Sense,
Tho' both are equal to Omnipotence.
This Life, that so Immoderately we Love,
Is but the Shadow of that Life above.
To Souls resign'd what Transport must it be
To think, Hereafter ev'ry Faculty
(So bounded here, and with such Frailties charg'd)
Shall like the Minds of Angels be enlarg'd!
I've said Y'are GODS—the Scripture does declare,
No Figure then, we shall be like 'em there;
All Truth shall know, all Knowledge shall comprize,
And be without Deliberation wise.
Those hidden Myste'ries that confound us Here,
No more Abstruse, shall all lie open there:
How Seeds of Things were first in Discord hurl'd,
And how but—LET IT BE—did form a World;
That Word which from old Chaos chas'd the Night,
And out of Darkness struck Eternal Light.
How the high Spheres were into Musick strung,
And lasting Order from Confusion sprung.
How Justice cou'd in Adam doom us all,
Unborn, and unconsenting to the Fall.
How in the Flesh th'Eternal Word abode,
And how a Mother-MAID conceiv'd a GOD.
How Mercy, to effect what it began,
Cou'd suffer Death it self to Rescue Man.
How ev'ry Language cou'd unlearn'd be known,
How Unity and Trinity are ONE.
There what has been from all Eternity,
And what to all Eternity shall be,
One endless Instant, we at once shall see!
Mean while in Hymns the sacred Quires will move,
They sing his Praise, and HE their Songs approve;
For Heav'n is Heav'n by Harmony and Love.
Is but the Shadow of that Life above.
To Souls resign'd what Transport must it be
To think, Hereafter ev'ry Faculty
(So bounded here, and with such Frailties charg'd)
Shall like the Minds of Angels be enlarg'd!
I've said Y'are GODS—the Scripture does declare,
No Figure then, we shall be like 'em there;
All Truth shall know, all Knowledge shall comprize,
And be without Deliberation wise.
Those hidden Myste'ries that confound us Here,
No more Abstruse, shall all lie open there:
How Seeds of Things were first in Discord hurl'd,
And how but—LET IT BE—did form a World;
408
And out of Darkness struck Eternal Light.
How the high Spheres were into Musick strung,
And lasting Order from Confusion sprung.
How Justice cou'd in Adam doom us all,
Unborn, and unconsenting to the Fall.
How in the Flesh th'Eternal Word abode,
And how a Mother-MAID conceiv'd a GOD.
How Mercy, to effect what it began,
Cou'd suffer Death it self to Rescue Man.
How ev'ry Language cou'd unlearn'd be known,
How Unity and Trinity are ONE.
There what has been from all Eternity,
And what to all Eternity shall be,
One endless Instant, we at once shall see!
Mean while in Hymns the sacred Quires will move,
They sing his Praise, and HE their Songs approve;
For Heav'n is Heav'n by Harmony and Love.
On then my Soul! the happy Path pursue
This Noble Contemplation sets in view,
Quit not thy Hope for all the Globe can give;
'Tis here to Dream, and only there to Live!
This Noble Contemplation sets in view,
Quit not thy Hope for all the Globe can give;
'Tis here to Dream, and only there to Live!
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |