The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
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Free Thoughts upon Faith: Or the Religion of Reason.
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
Free Thoughts upon Faith: Or the Religion of Reason.
Oh, thou!—who-ere, what—ere, where-ere, thou art,
Sole—or associated—conceiveless power!
In search of whom, o'erstretch'd Idea bursts;
And sense rolls back, on darkness—cause, uncaus'd!
Progressive un-beginner—without end!
Giver, of thought, oh, guide it.—Arm a mind,
Tremblingly struck,—to stem but one short glimpse,
One distant, transient, momentary, flash
Of thy keen light—and live!—oh!—far from dream
To draw th' Almighty's deign'd approach too near—
All, that my soul's touch'd sense aspires to tell
Is,—that she dares not view thee—thou, who know'st
The muse's conscious rev'rence—aid her song.
Sole—or associated—conceiveless power!
In search of whom, o'erstretch'd Idea bursts;
And sense rolls back, on darkness—cause, uncaus'd!
Progressive un-beginner—without end!
Giver, of thought, oh, guide it.—Arm a mind,
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One distant, transient, momentary, flash
Of thy keen light—and live!—oh!—far from dream
To draw th' Almighty's deign'd approach too near—
All, that my soul's touch'd sense aspires to tell
Is,—that she dares not view thee—thou, who know'st
The muse's conscious rev'rence—aid her song.
Awefully shrinking from th' assumer's hand,
That points me to thy place, thy power, thy will,
Astonish'd at his pride! I start—and fly.
O, pityer of presumption! whence aspires
Awak'ning dust's brief glance of shadowy life,
To launch its little plummet—into depths,
Profounder, than Eternity!—how dare
O'erweening, mole-blind, furro'wers of dark earth
Engross, to their low selves, their God's whole care?
Slight nobler orbs,—as skirts to this dim ball,
That, day by day, rolls round its eye-less bulk,
To beg light's needful alms, from one, kind sun—
While tracts, superior to conception's bound,
See suns, in millions, o'er new Worlds, pour blaze—
Yet, reach but confines of new Suns—and die!
That points me to thy place, thy power, thy will,
Astonish'd at his pride! I start—and fly.
O, pityer of presumption! whence aspires
Awak'ning dust's brief glance of shadowy life,
To launch its little plummet—into depths,
Profounder, than Eternity!—how dare
O'erweening, mole-blind, furro'wers of dark earth
Engross, to their low selves, their God's whole care?
Slight nobler orbs,—as skirts to this dim ball,
That, day by day, rolls round its eye-less bulk,
To beg light's needful alms, from one, kind sun—
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See suns, in millions, o'er new Worlds, pour blaze—
Yet, reach but confines of new Suns—and die!
Require not these vast works of God God's grace,
Proportion'd to their vastness?—how, then, dares
Conceit's proud pref'rence of its own clay'd cott
O'erleap those azure voids—where thought, and space,
And number, and immensity,—are lost:
And comprehension akes, to scale repulse!
Whence had man's insect arrogance of guess
Such impotent out-starting—to presume,
His momentary nothingness of grasp
Cou'd know, task, limit, and describe—his God!
Proportion'd to their vastness?—how, then, dares
Conceit's proud pref'rence of its own clay'd cott
O'erleap those azure voids—where thought, and space,
And number, and immensity,—are lost:
And comprehension akes, to scale repulse!
Whence had man's insect arrogance of guess
Such impotent out-starting—to presume,
His momentary nothingness of grasp
Cou'd know, task, limit, and describe—his God!
Say, bigot boaster of unmanner'd zeal,
Thou, that art impudently sure, of heaven!
And, cov'ring blasphemy, behind faith's name,
Sin'st deepest, where, most, sanctified!—weigh, pause,
Think—answer not, from custom's light assent:
But the try'd soul's true test, un-warp'd, within.
—Is it in Revelation's aweful claim,
That dust should dare mis-plead th' almighty's Will,
For insult on his Justice?—dare men pass
For intimates of heaven, who, thus, degrade
Th' all-gladd'ning Lord of all those wid'ning worlds—
To one poor partial care, of one poor part,
Of one poor corner, of one world's poor clan?
Thou, that art impudently sure, of heaven!
And, cov'ring blasphemy, behind faith's name,
Sin'st deepest, where, most, sanctified!—weigh, pause,
Think—answer not, from custom's light assent:
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—Is it in Revelation's aweful claim,
That dust should dare mis-plead th' almighty's Will,
For insult on his Justice?—dare men pass
For intimates of heaven, who, thus, degrade
Th' all-gladd'ning Lord of all those wid'ning worlds—
To one poor partial care, of one poor part,
Of one poor corner, of one world's poor clan?
Out with this av'rice of fanatic scrape!
That, pinching, to itself, God's nibbled grants,
Hedg'd in th' eternal's common! Greedily,
Forestall'd all power of op'ning mystery's gate,
For it's own pick-lock tribe—un-key'd by heaven.
—Why, if enlighten'd most, should will most dark
Bid these few, fav'rite, hand-led, spies, of grace,
Conceal from modest doubt their arts to know?
—Why, if possess'd of some eductive clue,
That shews lost diffidence truth's lucid ray,
Claim they consent, implicit!—Why submits
Belief, to bold assumption?—tasteless faith
Dishonours, where it worships. Heaven disdains
Obedience from the blind: and every sect
Were orthodox—if to believe is Proof.
That, pinching, to itself, God's nibbled grants,
Hedg'd in th' eternal's common! Greedily,
Forestall'd all power of op'ning mystery's gate,
For it's own pick-lock tribe—un-key'd by heaven.
—Why, if enlighten'd most, should will most dark
Bid these few, fav'rite, hand-led, spies, of grace,
Conceal from modest doubt their arts to know?
—Why, if possess'd of some eductive clue,
That shews lost diffidence truth's lucid ray,
Claim they consent, implicit!—Why submits
Belief, to bold assumption?—tasteless faith
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Obedience from the blind: and every sect
Were orthodox—if to believe is Proof.
To
me:—nor let the rev'rence of my pause
Offend the power that caus'd it!—it shou'd seem
More impious, to decide, of God, than doubt.
Offend the power that caus'd it!—it shou'd seem
More impious, to decide, of God, than doubt.
Oft, when I pant for aid, to shake distrust,
Humbling imperious reason, while I bend
With meek attention, to the calls of faith,
Where pious fury lends the pastor gall:
And what falls short in proof o'erflows, in rage—
—While revelation, thund'ring on my ear,
Low-rates my hearts admission—help me, heaven!
To check th' impassive struggler's infelt hint;
That asks, how God's almighty? if his Will
Who made this captious world, whereon we crawl
Cou'd to the worm call'd man, be shewn, in vain.
—If 'twas the maker's law—to man proclaim'd,
By man's resistless God—my trembling soul
Whispers in shiv'ring horror,—Oh 'tis strange!—
God will'd—God spoke that will—yet, Man—proud dirt!
Divides, disputes, examines—disobeys!—
—Had heav'n requir'd, cou'd heav'n want force to cause?
Or, not requiring, why was heav'n profan'd?
Humbling imperious reason, while I bend
With meek attention, to the calls of faith,
Where pious fury lends the pastor gall:
And what falls short in proof o'erflows, in rage—
—While revelation, thund'ring on my ear,
Low-rates my hearts admission—help me, heaven!
To check th' impassive struggler's infelt hint;
That asks, how God's almighty? if his Will
Who made this captious world, whereon we crawl
Cou'd to the worm call'd man, be shewn, in vain.
—If 'twas the maker's law—to man proclaim'd,
By man's resistless God—my trembling soul
Whispers in shiv'ring horror,—Oh 'tis strange!—
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Divides, disputes, examines—disobeys!—
—Had heav'n requir'd, cou'd heav'n want force to cause?
Or, not requiring, why was heav'n profan'd?
Hum, from thy dusky hive, unreas'ning drone,
Stretch thy tame wings—heave thy dull search along;
Leave thy cav'd home behind—and look, more wide.
—Seest thou not, every where, earth's emmet swarms,
Scheming their busy mount's loose-crumbling hope—
For the next cataract shower,—that sweeps down all.
—Such are the toils of Mufti's, Popes, Pauwau's,
Lhamas and Rabbis, Morabuhts, Bonzees,
All the long-labouring props, of faith's lost boast;
Fabricks of tow'ry air—that fright—and die.
Stretch thy tame wings—heave thy dull search along;
Leave thy cav'd home behind—and look, more wide.
—Seest thou not, every where, earth's emmet swarms,
Scheming their busy mount's loose-crumbling hope—
For the next cataract shower,—that sweeps down all.
—Such are the toils of Mufti's, Popes, Pauwau's,
Lhamas and Rabbis, Morabuhts, Bonzees,
All the long-labouring props, of faith's lost boast;
Fabricks of tow'ry air—that fright—and die.
O'er worships thus distinct, have sep'rate Gods
Presided?—or, beneath but sep'rate names,
Did one sole power inspire divided prayers,
And smilingly accept 'em?—Nature feels
This question: and, methinks, I hear her voice,
Bid reason thus reply—If but one light
Insur'd salvation's course,—un-socketed,
Un-lanthern'd, It had known no curtail'd shine.
All dark had been illumin'd;—ne'er withheld
Just heaven, from more than half th' extended globe,
All glimpse of dawn, yet curs'd, the gloom he caus'd!
Presided?—or, beneath but sep'rate names,
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And smilingly accept 'em?—Nature feels
This question: and, methinks, I hear her voice,
Bid reason thus reply—If but one light
Insur'd salvation's course,—un-socketed,
Un-lanthern'd, It had known no curtail'd shine.
All dark had been illumin'd;—ne'er withheld
Just heaven, from more than half th' extended globe,
All glimpse of dawn, yet curs'd, the gloom he caus'd!
Or, grant some race indulg'd with kinder smile,
Why partial to the proud? Sin's haughtiest sons?
Yet heedless of unfolded flocks, more meek,
More aw'd, more simply serious, in faith's field;
Anxious, in adoration's twilight gleam,
And prostrate, tho' neglected?—Why again!
In truth's appropriate and selected seats,
Shoots Eden's heaven-watch'd tree, for-ever prun'd,
For-ever fruitless? into monstrous growths,
Of thorn-branch'd opposition?—If, to doubt
Religion's lifeless form were to destroy
The essence of her purpose, why, o'er lands,
That boast high claim to systems heav'n-inspir'd,
Spread schemes, of diff'rent texture?—Each avow'd
God's own injoin'd sole path, reveal'd, to save?
Why partial to the proud? Sin's haughtiest sons?
Yet heedless of unfolded flocks, more meek,
More aw'd, more simply serious, in faith's field;
Anxious, in adoration's twilight gleam,
And prostrate, tho' neglected?—Why again!
In truth's appropriate and selected seats,
Shoots Eden's heaven-watch'd tree, for-ever prun'd,
For-ever fruitless? into monstrous growths,
Of thorn-branch'd opposition?—If, to doubt
Religion's lifeless form were to destroy
The essence of her purpose, why, o'er lands,
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Spread schemes, of diff'rent texture?—Each avow'd
God's own injoin'd sole path, reveal'd, to save?
Alas! 'tis man's proud heart—that, idly fill'd,
With self-paid rev'rence, for desert mis-claim'd,
Grown impious, in imagin'd rectitude,
Hugs his own day-dreams, idoliz'd within—
And styles 'em revelation!—Hence the buz
Of honeyless, and stingful wasps of zeal:
Alike, on all sides heard—and felt on all!
Each, charg'd, in heaven's pretence, with menace'd hell!
Jews, Tartars, Bramins, bord'ring Ganges' flood,
Swift hords, of hot Arabia's swarthy sons;
Far China's dateless race—Long Nile's old claim
To superstition's childhood.—Each, heav'ns choice
Yet, each from each distinct, all, spurn'd by all,
Split revelation, into canton'd snarls:
And murder, to shew Mercy!—damn—to save!
With self-paid rev'rence, for desert mis-claim'd,
Grown impious, in imagin'd rectitude,
Hugs his own day-dreams, idoliz'd within—
And styles 'em revelation!—Hence the buz
Of honeyless, and stingful wasps of zeal:
Alike, on all sides heard—and felt on all!
Each, charg'd, in heaven's pretence, with menace'd hell!
Jews, Tartars, Bramins, bord'ring Ganges' flood,
Swift hords, of hot Arabia's swarthy sons;
Far China's dateless race—Long Nile's old claim
To superstition's childhood.—Each, heav'ns choice
Yet, each from each distinct, all, spurn'd by all,
Split revelation, into canton'd snarls:
And murder, to shew Mercy!—damn—to save!
Even these divisions, sub-dividing on,
Break from their center, like the wind's wide points,
Yet, every radius right!—and every, wrong!
—All err—but each,—peace be to that, alone!
The rest, let war involve—and curse their creeds!
Break from their center, like the wind's wide points,
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—All err—but each,—peace be to that, alone!
The rest, let war involve—and curse their creeds!
Where art thou found, fair Charity?—sweet power!
That stills the stormy soul!—soft Cherub's eye!
That weep'st, at all this mischief—see'st man's pride
Mistaken, for his virtue!—arguing, low,
In the calm voice of pity's whisp'ring God,
The od'rous breathings of thy balmy hush
Fly, scatter'd, on the winds of keen debate.
That stills the stormy soul!—soft Cherub's eye!
That weep'st, at all this mischief—see'st man's pride
Mistaken, for his virtue!—arguing, low,
In the calm voice of pity's whisp'ring God,
The od'rous breathings of thy balmy hush
Fly, scatter'd, on the winds of keen debate.
Lost, and benighted, in this warring wild,
How shall a lightless wand'rer find, which front
Bears heav'n's commission'd stamp?—and which bold brow,
Fright'ning credulity, miscals it faith?
How shall a lightless wand'rer find, which front
Bears heav'n's commission'd stamp?—and which bold brow,
Fright'ning credulity, miscals it faith?
Bid Miracles decide contested claim.
Where are they? call aloud.—They shun to hear.
Prudent restraint forbids expectant prayer
To court renewal of old eye-sight proofs,
Which deign'd in days long past—to strike doubt dumb.
Dead time's departed ghost, recorded, holds
Millions of wonders done—Faith's grey supports!
—But, millions of pretences, too,—diffus'd
O'er earth's contentious face, each unlike each,
As night's dim veil, compar'd with sun-gilt day!
Match miracles 'gainst miracles, array'd,
And push back ev'ry Angel's vain descent,
Who comes, on errands hostile to their own.
Where miracles try truth, no faith is false.
What nameless, corner of the world—untouch'd
By trade's far-furrowing keel—even safely new
To the unquenchable, and sacred, thirst
Of missionary rapine's holy ken—
But boast believ'd descent of some kind God,
That chose their lov'd fore-fathers, blest their race,
And taught 'em, for his glory?—Fill'd with trust
In their transmitted tale, th' invited guests
Take place, at heaven's high table—upmost, all.
The white-fac'd, olive-hued, the sably jet,
The grease-anointed, woolly-headed, shorn,
Long-hair'd, and short-hair'd, curl'd and cropt Elect—
All, sagely satisfied, All else must err—
Swol'n with inflative zeal, catch martyr's flame:
And die—to live again—in scorn of pain.
Where are they? call aloud.—They shun to hear.
Prudent restraint forbids expectant prayer
To court renewal of old eye-sight proofs,
Which deign'd in days long past—to strike doubt dumb.
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Millions of wonders done—Faith's grey supports!
—But, millions of pretences, too,—diffus'd
O'er earth's contentious face, each unlike each,
As night's dim veil, compar'd with sun-gilt day!
Match miracles 'gainst miracles, array'd,
And push back ev'ry Angel's vain descent,
Who comes, on errands hostile to their own.
Where miracles try truth, no faith is false.
What nameless, corner of the world—untouch'd
By trade's far-furrowing keel—even safely new
To the unquenchable, and sacred, thirst
Of missionary rapine's holy ken—
But boast believ'd descent of some kind God,
That chose their lov'd fore-fathers, blest their race,
And taught 'em, for his glory?—Fill'd with trust
In their transmitted tale, th' invited guests
Take place, at heaven's high table—upmost, all.
The white-fac'd, olive-hued, the sably jet,
The grease-anointed, woolly-headed, shorn,
Long-hair'd, and short-hair'd, curl'd and cropt Elect—
All, sagely satisfied, All else must err—
Swol'n with inflative zeal, catch martyr's flame:
And die—to live again—in scorn of pain.
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Since then, th' extremest polar tracts, of faith,
Where reason's one eye winks, unbeam'd for day,
Plead Miracles in proof—which none can try,
Because but, heard not seen—let Learning shun
Such hoary feebleness of palsied plea:
Which error must assert—or truth disclaim.
Where reason's one eye winks, unbeam'd for day,
Plead Miracles in proof—which none can try,
Because but, heard not seen—let Learning shun
Such hoary feebleness of palsied plea:
Which error must assert—or truth disclaim.
But, off! stand wide—make room, ye coarse profane!
Ye vulgar of religion's suburb world!
Ye Goats un-shepherded! un-fish'd-for shoals!
Un-mesch'd, by mystic union's indragg'd Net
Of never-erring sweep, deduc'd from heaven!
Room, for the papal Pontiff's triple crown!
Ye vulgar of religion's suburb world!
Ye Goats un-shepherded! un-fish'd-for shoals!
Un-mesch'd, by mystic union's indragg'd Net
Of never-erring sweep, deduc'd from heaven!
Room, for the papal Pontiff's triple crown!
NOW—heretic presumer!—bow, convinc'd
Infallibility unwinds her scroll:
—Saints, martyrs, angels, seventeen cent'ries down,
Link power to power, and lenght'ning truth's old rod,
Lend faith Tradition's line—to hook mankind.
Infallibility unwinds her scroll:
—Saints, martyrs, angels, seventeen cent'ries down,
Link power to power, and lenght'ning truth's old rod,
Lend faith Tradition's line—to hook mankind.
Hail, venerable weakness!—aweful dream!
Shade, of a shadow!—thou, that blindly hop'st,
By twice nine age's loud-concurring noise,
To drown soft reason's evidence!—yet, shun'st
To recollect, how thrice ten cent'ries join'd
Their vain support—yet saw Jove's fabrick fall!
Shade, of a shadow!—thou, that blindly hop'st,
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To drown soft reason's evidence!—yet, shun'st
To recollect, how thrice ten cent'ries join'd
Their vain support—yet saw Jove's fabrick fall!
Plead'st
thou duration? plead'st thou breadth of space?
What art thou, but an infant's tott'ring Step,
Compar'd to mightier growths, now found no more?
—Where are the Deities of muse-tongu'd Greece?
Greece, from whose hundred states, strong science flow'd:
And arms, and arts, in one mix'd blaze of power,
Held out high Freedom's torch, to half mandkind!
Where is her Phœbus?—where her Neptune—now?
What art thou, but an infant's tott'ring Step,
Compar'd to mightier growths, now found no more?
—Where are the Deities of muse-tongu'd Greece?
Greece, from whose hundred states, strong science flow'd:
And arms, and arts, in one mix'd blaze of power,
Held out high Freedom's torch, to half mandkind!
Where is her Phœbus?—where her Neptune—now?
Turn thy sight Eastward, o'er the time-hush'd plains,
Now graves, of vanish'd empire—once, gleam'd, o'er,
From flames on hallow'd altar's, hail'd by hymns
Of seers—awakeners of the worship'd Sun!
—Ask silent Tigris—bid Euphrates tell—
Where is the grove-crown'd Baal, to whose stern frown
Bow'd haughty Babylon?—Chaldea, fam'd
For star-taught sages: Hard Phoenicia's sons,
Fierce, fear-surmounting, curbers of the deep!
Who stretch'd a floating scepter o'er the seas,
And made mankind one empire?—Where is, now,
Egypt's wide-homag'd Isis?—where the Mars,
That shook, the shakers of the Roman world?
Where the Teutonic Woden! in his name,
Alone, still reverenc'd, each revolving week,
Even in fair Albion's isles!—If Age bore proof,
Why have these sunk? why all the lifeless Gods,
Lost Demi-gods, long, nameless, countless, powers!
That fill'd th' adoring world, with fabled fame?
Are they not dead? whelm'd o'er in time's black tide?
And known, but by contempt—to mem'ry's claim?
Now graves, of vanish'd empire—once, gleam'd, o'er,
From flames on hallow'd altar's, hail'd by hymns
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—Ask silent Tigris—bid Euphrates tell—
Where is the grove-crown'd Baal, to whose stern frown
Bow'd haughty Babylon?—Chaldea, fam'd
For star-taught sages: Hard Phoenicia's sons,
Fierce, fear-surmounting, curbers of the deep!
Who stretch'd a floating scepter o'er the seas,
And made mankind one empire?—Where is, now,
Egypt's wide-homag'd Isis?—where the Mars,
That shook, the shakers of the Roman world?
Where the Teutonic Woden! in his name,
Alone, still reverenc'd, each revolving week,
Even in fair Albion's isles!—If Age bore proof,
Why have these sunk? why all the lifeless Gods,
Lost Demi-gods, long, nameless, countless, powers!
That fill'd th' adoring world, with fabled fame?
Are they not dead? whelm'd o'er in time's black tide?
And known, but by contempt—to mem'ry's claim?
How was this possible—had noise been proof?
Of faith's extent in space, with realms, for guard,
Mellow'd mistake, to equity?—Far short
Of heaven, fall Time's perspective—vainly climbs
Guile-founded God-craft. Let proud fortune spread
The lye-tipt pyramid's broad covering base,
Till earth groans wounded, at th' oppressive weight,
Still, but, the wider ruins, mark its fall.
—Let him, who boasts blind multitudes convinc'd,
Or builds on time, for truth's imagin'd test,
Ask his unjudging rashness—what rent heart
Of celtic Druid, but had shook, more bow'd,
Than his storm-lab'ring oak—cou'd some pale shade,
That scann'd futurity, pointing thro' fate,
Have shewn him his insulted God-head's doom!
Of faith's extent in space, with realms, for guard,
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Of heaven, fall Time's perspective—vainly climbs
Guile-founded God-craft. Let proud fortune spread
The lye-tipt pyramid's broad covering base,
Till earth groans wounded, at th' oppressive weight,
Still, but, the wider ruins, mark its fall.
—Let him, who boasts blind multitudes convinc'd,
Or builds on time, for truth's imagin'd test,
Ask his unjudging rashness—what rent heart
Of celtic Druid, but had shook, more bow'd,
Than his storm-lab'ring oak—cou'd some pale shade,
That scann'd futurity, pointing thro' fate,
Have shewn him his insulted God-head's doom!
Nor let vain pref'rence of our own touch'd sense,
Our own-seen surer lights, our own safe trust,
Degrading antient stubbornness in faith,
O'er-rate attachment's warmth, as, now, most strong.
—What aw'd allegiance, what more firm belief,
What haughtier sureness, more imprints the soul,
By modern truth's new cast of thought inspir'd,
Than sway'd the solemn Pagan's breast, of old,
When bow'd, before his Idols?—Idols, (now)—
But (then)—vindictive Gods, who shook mankind.
Our own-seen surer lights, our own safe trust,
Degrading antient stubbornness in faith,
O'er-rate attachment's warmth, as, now, most strong.
—What aw'd allegiance, what more firm belief,
What haughtier sureness, more imprints the soul,
By modern truth's new cast of thought inspir'd,
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When bow'd, before his Idols?—Idols, (now)—
But (then)—vindictive Gods, who shook mankind.
Where are faith's Certainties—if time's best boasts,
Sacred to arts, arms, numbers, learning—all!—
All, fam'd, beyond fate's dread, found, all Unsure?
Sacred to arts, arms, numbers, learning—all!—
All, fam'd, beyond fate's dread, found, all Unsure?
Whence, then, th'imperious, positive, disdain,
That spurns back modest doubt—and damns debate?
Where, the foundation, of that holy scorn,
Which lifts the Bigot's brow, to scowl reproach?
To pity, sects, that hurl his pity back,
And hate him,—for his hatred?—If nor Time,
Nor Numbers, who sustain'd th' attested cause,
Nor Miracles, renown'd in reverend hoards,
So aweful, that no sacrilegious mouse
Dare satiate hunger on the dust-veil'd roll,
But dies, to leave, untouch'd, the dry record—
If evidence, like these, falls short of proof,
Where, in what dark domain, of thought's deep maze,
Shall reason—through doubt's crooked windings drawn,
Find truth's white face, un-spotted?—Think: and tell.
That spurns back modest doubt—and damns debate?
Where, the foundation, of that holy scorn,
Which lifts the Bigot's brow, to scowl reproach?
To pity, sects, that hurl his pity back,
And hate him,—for his hatred?—If nor Time,
Nor Numbers, who sustain'd th' attested cause,
Nor Miracles, renown'd in reverend hoards,
So aweful, that no sacrilegious mouse
Dare satiate hunger on the dust-veil'd roll,
But dies, to leave, untouch'd, the dry record—
If evidence, like these, falls short of proof,
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Shall reason—through doubt's crooked windings drawn,
Find truth's white face, un-spotted?—Think: and tell.
What, if we seek her, in man's moral walks?
Judge her by Life's try'd practice!—what, more just,
Than to conclude, the Saint's uncensur'd deeds
Lend sanction, to his doctrine?—Here, methinks,
Truth loves to chuse her test. Yet, here, (again)
We wander—into new defect of plea,
That proves too much—or nothing.—Cou'd loose life
Infer false faith,—how stain'd even Christian zeal!
Where avarice, and revenge, and pride's big bloat,
Taught guilt's blood-colour'd hat to hint church Spleen:
Whence, murders, robb'ries, treach'ries, perj'ries, rise,
Like taints effluvient from infectious fens,
Dispeopling, in their progress!—un-aten'd,
Till death-bed sanctity absolves remorse,
By scar'd conformity, to faith's flat modes—
To mock'ries of belief—and rotes of prayer!
Judge her by Life's try'd practice!—what, more just,
Than to conclude, the Saint's uncensur'd deeds
Lend sanction, to his doctrine?—Here, methinks,
Truth loves to chuse her test. Yet, here, (again)
We wander—into new defect of plea,
That proves too much—or nothing.—Cou'd loose life
Infer false faith,—how stain'd even Christian zeal!
Where avarice, and revenge, and pride's big bloat,
Taught guilt's blood-colour'd hat to hint church Spleen:
Whence, murders, robb'ries, treach'ries, perj'ries, rise,
Like taints effluvient from infectious fens,
233
Till death-bed sanctity absolves remorse,
By scar'd conformity, to faith's flat modes—
To mock'ries of belief—and rotes of prayer!
Since then, bad
life, must leave no stain on faith,
Try, if life's Purity refines coarse creeds?
Try, if the good man's virtues church his claim?
No—If they cou'd—then pole from pole but bounds
Th' extensive, true-nam'd, Church's general pale.
Dreadful indeed were (then) th'excluder's power!
Then—excommunication's reachful hand
Had push'd off exiles, to new worlds—ere dead!
For, this had, all, been Church—one truth's known claim:
Turks, Jews, wild Afra's Wood-men,—India's Mopes,
Who pine, in pang-ful abstinence from sin,
And shudder, but, to crush the trodden fly:
Australia's art-untasting solitudes,
Where all ambition's wealth is ease from care;
And hope's consumptive diet starves desire:
Columbia's many-peopled bow'ry groves,
Fanning, in feath'ry pomp, her tawny tribes,
From the sun's down-driv'n ray:—Cold Zemhla's cots,
Of fish-fed shiv'rers, furr'd in shaggy mail,
Trampling the ice-bound ocean, whiten'd o'er
With endless snows, to spoil the spoilful Bear:
All, among these, who love not vice, draw claim,
From Lives, of simplest sanctity—to heaven:
And multiply th' elect—were virtue faith.
Try, if life's Purity refines coarse creeds?
Try, if the good man's virtues church his claim?
No—If they cou'd—then pole from pole but bounds
Th' extensive, true-nam'd, Church's general pale.
Dreadful indeed were (then) th'excluder's power!
Then—excommunication's reachful hand
Had push'd off exiles, to new worlds—ere dead!
For, this had, all, been Church—one truth's known claim:
Turks, Jews, wild Afra's Wood-men,—India's Mopes,
Who pine, in pang-ful abstinence from sin,
And shudder, but, to crush the trodden fly:
Australia's art-untasting solitudes,
Where all ambition's wealth is ease from care;
And hope's consumptive diet starves desire:
234
Fanning, in feath'ry pomp, her tawny tribes,
From the sun's down-driv'n ray:—Cold Zemhla's cots,
Of fish-fed shiv'rers, furr'd in shaggy mail,
Trampling the ice-bound ocean, whiten'd o'er
With endless snows, to spoil the spoilful Bear:
All, among these, who love not vice, draw claim,
From Lives, of simplest sanctity—to heaven:
And multiply th' elect—were virtue faith.
PAUSE here, encompass'd soul. Look round. reflect.
Engulph'd and central to this whirl of tides,
With each proud vortex threat'ning—all, to shun
Seems safer, than trust either. Hark! they roar.
Look, with what rage they whiten!—All foam sure:
All climb, to drown each other. None recede:
None conquer. Universal uproar reigns—
And faith's a fighting Chaos—Is this truth?
This, revelation's word, disclos'd by heaven?
Boldly, refuse consent—It cannot be.
Engulph'd and central to this whirl of tides,
With each proud vortex threat'ning—all, to shun
Seems safer, than trust either. Hark! they roar.
Look, with what rage they whiten!—All foam sure:
All climb, to drown each other. None recede:
None conquer. Universal uproar reigns—
And faith's a fighting Chaos—Is this truth?
This, revelation's word, disclos'd by heaven?
Boldly, refuse consent—It cannot be.
235
What, then, must be believ'd?—Believe God
kind—
To fear, were to offend him. Fill thy heart
With his felt laws: and act the good he loves.
Rev'rence his power. Judge him, but, by his works:
Know him, but in his mercies. Rev'rence, too,
The most mistaken schemes, that mean his praise.
Rev'rence his Priests—for, every priest is his,—
Who finds him, in his conscience—by what name
So-ere distinguish'd—howso-ere misdrawn,
They deviously believe—What, tho' they preach
Perdition to the mod'rate! Truth dares owe
Respect, to Error: if it's end is grace,
And aims at reformation. Mindful, yet,
Men are but men. Where most thou trust'st—beware.
Stretch not esteem, to homage. Be, nor slave,
Nor censurer: but, hear strong Reason's voice,
Tongu'd, by the power who loves it. And, since that
Crys Liberty, too loud for law to drown,
Free thy chain'd thought, from fears unworthy God,
And know him for himself—Were one prim form,
One forc'd identity, the maker's wish,
Ne'er had that wish prov'd frustrate. Dare not doubt
But he, whose will was power—whose wish compels,
Had moulded all, to that one form, he lov'd.
To fear, were to offend him. Fill thy heart
With his felt laws: and act the good he loves.
Rev'rence his power. Judge him, but, by his works:
Know him, but in his mercies. Rev'rence, too,
The most mistaken schemes, that mean his praise.
Rev'rence his Priests—for, every priest is his,—
Who finds him, in his conscience—by what name
So-ere distinguish'd—howso-ere misdrawn,
They deviously believe—What, tho' they preach
Perdition to the mod'rate! Truth dares owe
Respect, to Error: if it's end is grace,
And aims at reformation. Mindful, yet,
Men are but men. Where most thou trust'st—beware.
Stretch not esteem, to homage. Be, nor slave,
Nor censurer: but, hear strong Reason's voice,
Tongu'd, by the power who loves it. And, since that
Crys Liberty, too loud for law to drown,
Free thy chain'd thought, from fears unworthy God,
236
One forc'd identity, the maker's wish,
Ne'er had that wish prov'd frustrate. Dare not doubt
But he, whose will was power—whose wish compels,
Had moulded all, to that one form, he lov'd.
Loves he not Unity? He does.—But, know,
The unity, God loves, is lodg'd in mind.
'Tis the heart's conscious glow—that beats to thank,
Not scrutinize, his bounty. 'Tis the chain,
That links Intention—in one warmth of Will:
Not binds to one forc'd act, of outward Form.
The unity, God loves, is lodg'd in mind.
'Tis the heart's conscious glow—that beats to thank,
Not scrutinize, his bounty. 'Tis the chain,
That links Intention—in one warmth of Will:
Not binds to one forc'd act, of outward Form.
Thus thinking—thou wilt feel the Godhead, right:
Unclosing, in a house of jointed stone,
Him—in whose temple twenty thousand Suns
Serve but as lamps—and all their spangly Worlds
Form footsteps to his altar—This, believe:
And dread no vengeance, on mistaken man,
Unadequate, to man's brief power in sin,
Offending grain, of animated dust!
'Gainst him, beneath whose smile the Stars catch fire!
Unclosing, in a house of jointed stone,
Him—in whose temple twenty thousand Suns
Serve but as lamps—and all their spangly Worlds
Form footsteps to his altar—This, believe:
237
Unadequate, to man's brief power in sin,
Offending grain, of animated dust!
'Gainst him, beneath whose smile the Stars catch fire!
Fill'd with ideas, thus becoming heaven,
Pity the hag-ridd'n quiv'rer, who contracts
To superstition's gloom, religion's Joy,
And humbles adoration, into dread.
Who, eke-ing his inch'd measure, from within,
Peeps thro' his narrow soul's dim loop-hole wink,
And insolently, by his own scale, takes
The altitude of Heaven—But, if, compell'd
To lend thy patient ear,—and press'd too hard,
By self-sufficiency of teazing faith,
—That—nothing knowing,—will be sure of all—
Hear, with dumb smile: and, ask'd, why reason's range
Acquits dissention—teach thy judging Eye
To read God's answer, in his works for man:
Where do they tell thee, Sameness was his choice?
Pity the hag-ridd'n quiv'rer, who contracts
To superstition's gloom, religion's Joy,
And humbles adoration, into dread.
Who, eke-ing his inch'd measure, from within,
Peeps thro' his narrow soul's dim loop-hole wink,
And insolently, by his own scale, takes
The altitude of Heaven—But, if, compell'd
To lend thy patient ear,—and press'd too hard,
By self-sufficiency of teazing faith,
—That—nothing knowing,—will be sure of all—
Hear, with dumb smile: and, ask'd, why reason's range
Acquits dissention—teach thy judging Eye
To read God's answer, in his works for man:
Where do they tell thee, Sameness was his choice?
238
How
various are his creatures! various, all,
His animal, his vegetable, tribes:
Earth's, air's, wide ocean's products—all, un-like.
In qualities, forms, colours, diff'rent, all.
—Tread but th' enamell'd Mead—or, o'er yon Fields,
'Twixt the wind-waving Corn, indent thy way.
Or, partial to the Garden's painted proofs,
Lend there, thy first, pleas'd noting—Snuff this air:
How numberless the scents, yet each distinct,
Of every tree's known bloom!—Lean o'er these flow'rs—
Lowliest, yet loveliest! Excellence, depress'd!
Worth trod on by despisers! short-liv'd sweets!
How oppositely soft, the streak-touch'd shades,
That tinge their fragrant families!—Turn short,
From pity due, to life so lov'd, so brief!
Wish'd long, by ev'ry shortner!—Now, look out,
On yon fair op'ning plain—There herb meets herb,
All green—yet none resembling! Shades, less deep,
Touch lights, more soft'ning: feastful to the eye,
That dwells, on their distinctions!—Still, new glows
Diversify the verdure's fluid Surge:
And dance, delightful, to the breezy bend!
His animal, his vegetable, tribes:
Earth's, air's, wide ocean's products—all, un-like.
In qualities, forms, colours, diff'rent, all.
—Tread but th' enamell'd Mead—or, o'er yon Fields,
'Twixt the wind-waving Corn, indent thy way.
Or, partial to the Garden's painted proofs,
Lend there, thy first, pleas'd noting—Snuff this air:
How numberless the scents, yet each distinct,
Of every tree's known bloom!—Lean o'er these flow'rs—
Lowliest, yet loveliest! Excellence, depress'd!
Worth trod on by despisers! short-liv'd sweets!
How oppositely soft, the streak-touch'd shades,
That tinge their fragrant families!—Turn short,
From pity due, to life so lov'd, so brief!
Wish'd long, by ev'ry shortner!—Now, look out,
On yon fair op'ning plain—There herb meets herb,
All green—yet none resembling! Shades, less deep,
Touch lights, more soft'ning: feastful to the eye,
239
Diversify the verdure's fluid Surge:
And dance, delightful, to the breezy bend!
Next, up this steepy shelve, ascending slow,
Win we the Down's high top—whose carpet mound
Ends at the jutting Cliff, that shades the shoar.
Hence, to the wing-divided air, extend
Survey's charm'd outlet—O'er this upper sea,
Where meditation founders,—flights immense
Cross-cut the winnow'd Æther. Black, white, grey,
Red, blue, brown, golden, verdant, motley-stain'd—
Distant in size, as colours!—'Mongst 'em all,
None looks, nor calls, like other. No sweet bird,
That beats the pathless void, but pours new notes;
Distinct, from every plumey rival's song.
Win we the Down's high top—whose carpet mound
Ends at the jutting Cliff, that shades the shoar.
Hence, to the wing-divided air, extend
Survey's charm'd outlet—O'er this upper sea,
Where meditation founders,—flights immense
Cross-cut the winnow'd Æther. Black, white, grey,
Red, blue, brown, golden, verdant, motley-stain'd—
Distant in size, as colours!—'Mongst 'em all,
None looks, nor calls, like other. No sweet bird,
That beats the pathless void, but pours new notes;
Distinct, from every plumey rival's song.
Stop thy endanger'd foot. Recal the range
Of thy recovering eye—bend o'er the brow
Of this touch'd precipice: and, hence, look down,
Where the broad sea, scarce heard, rolls murmering, in.
Ponder the Deep's dumb legions—Infinite
Their numbers! still more infinite, their shapes,
Bulks, movements!—Swift, slow, timid, fierce, horn'd, barb'd,
Coatless, finn'd, scaly, shell'd, wing'd, motionless:
All diff'ring—till immensity grows tir'd,
To note their changeful natures!—Can it be,
That he, who fill'd each crowded element,
With unresembling sons of endless change—
Peopled each puny drop, with varied states—
Each leaf, with new-shap'd nations too minute
To dread ambition's ravage—veil'd each path
To heaven's blue lawns, with clouds, that shift each hour,
Form, texture, hue—to suit their painted glow
To man's undazzled gaze—attemp'ring lights,
That teach the sun's too fervid beam to break
In coloury rays, and touch the sight, more safe!
—Can it be possible—that He,—pleas'd power!
Who o'er Creation's glebe, sow'd seeds of change,
Shou'd, but from Unity's bald harvest, reap!
And burn,—for tares—those beauteous growths, he rais'd,
To smile such lov'd variety!—'Twere Sin—
'Twere blasphemously blind—to dream such wrong.
Of thy recovering eye—bend o'er the brow
Of this touch'd precipice: and, hence, look down,
Where the broad sea, scarce heard, rolls murmering, in.
240
Their numbers! still more infinite, their shapes,
Bulks, movements!—Swift, slow, timid, fierce, horn'd, barb'd,
Coatless, finn'd, scaly, shell'd, wing'd, motionless:
All diff'ring—till immensity grows tir'd,
To note their changeful natures!—Can it be,
That he, who fill'd each crowded element,
With unresembling sons of endless change—
Peopled each puny drop, with varied states—
Each leaf, with new-shap'd nations too minute
To dread ambition's ravage—veil'd each path
To heaven's blue lawns, with clouds, that shift each hour,
Form, texture, hue—to suit their painted glow
To man's undazzled gaze—attemp'ring lights,
That teach the sun's too fervid beam to break
In coloury rays, and touch the sight, more safe!
—Can it be possible—that He,—pleas'd power!
Who o'er Creation's glebe, sow'd seeds of change,
Shou'd, but from Unity's bald harvest, reap!
And burn,—for tares—those beauteous growths, he rais'd,
To smile such lov'd variety!—'Twere Sin—
'Twere blasphemously blind—to dream such wrong.
241
No—let me, fill'd with awe, think fear a fault.
Fear but affronts the God, I'm born, to love.
I am, but by his pity: and want weight
To justify his anger.—If I err
'Gain'st in-lodg'd impulse, by his goodness lent,
To guide man's choice to virtue, some sure fate,
From suff'rings adequate, must punish guilt.
But what, where, how—he, who decreed, can tell.
—If, by mistake, on life's blind rocks I split,
By no safe Pilot pointed out, to shun,
There—erring weakness meets avoidless sin:
And needs no pardon: for it meant no wrong.
Fear but affronts the God, I'm born, to love.
I am, but by his pity: and want weight
To justify his anger.—If I err
'Gain'st in-lodg'd impulse, by his goodness lent,
To guide man's choice to virtue, some sure fate,
From suff'rings adequate, must punish guilt.
But what, where, how—he, who decreed, can tell.
—If, by mistake, on life's blind rocks I split,
By no safe Pilot pointed out, to shun,
There—erring weakness meets avoidless sin:
And needs no pardon: for it meant no wrong.
Doubt all faiths, boldly, then—undoubting God,
Appendant to no pride, mis-rob'd like zeal,
Hope all men bless'd alike—and injure none,
Grateful, I'll trace the fainter lights I find,
Un-envying other's blazing:—humbly, own
My aw'd conviction, of man's reachless power
To pierce omnipotence—and know it, near.
Let me, with distant rev'rence, pond'ring, dumb,
Dread arrogant decision; persecute
No fancied heresy—but, closing, calm,
Opinion's dazzled eye, bow darkly down,
And hail th' unfathom'd vastness! Thro the dusk
Thought fails to penetrate, revere what is—
Undaring to describe it. Let no pomp
Of positive presumption swell my soul,
To self-preferring scorn, of alien creeds,
Uncertain, in my own: Yet—sure, of this,
That virtue cannot err, but judgment may.
Appendant to no pride, mis-rob'd like zeal,
Hope all men bless'd alike—and injure none,
Grateful, I'll trace the fainter lights I find,
Un-envying other's blazing:—humbly, own
My aw'd conviction, of man's reachless power
To pierce omnipotence—and know it, near.
Let me, with distant rev'rence, pond'ring, dumb,
Dread arrogant decision; persecute
242
Opinion's dazzled eye, bow darkly down,
And hail th' unfathom'd vastness! Thro the dusk
Thought fails to penetrate, revere what is—
Undaring to describe it. Let no pomp
Of positive presumption swell my soul,
To self-preferring scorn, of alien creeds,
Uncertain, in my own: Yet—sure, of this,
That virtue cannot err, but judgment may.
Peacefully patient, let me travel out
Life's unoffending journey. Mark, well-pleas'd,
New prospects, manners, tastes, beliefs, chang'd modes,
New systems—Every view, that sides my way,
Unprejudic'd to any: till—at last
Death opening truth's barr'd gate, 'tis time, to see
God's meanings—in the light, his presence lends.
Life's unoffending journey. Mark, well-pleas'd,
New prospects, manners, tastes, beliefs, chang'd modes,
New systems—Every view, that sides my way,
Unprejudic'd to any: till—at last
Death opening truth's barr'd gate, 'tis time, to see
God's meanings—in the light, his presence lends.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |