University of Virginia Library

Of true benevolence, its charms divine,
With other motives to call forth its power,
And its grand triumphs, multiplied beyond
All former bounds, in this its golden age,
Humbly I sing, awed by the holy theme;
A theme exalted, though as yet unsung,
In beauty rich, of inspiration full,
And worthy of a nobler harp than that
From which heroic strains sublimely sound.

Thou who art only and supremely good,
Thee, thee alone, with trembling I invoke,
From no pretended consciousness of need,
And for no vain imaginary aid.
Deign thou to smile upon my poor attempt
To sing the glories of thy truth and love,
Thyself and kingdom. With extended hand
Bear me along; surround me with thy light;
My heart enlarge and soften; every power
Make sacred for thyself; and let thy love
Constrain me. Give me purity of aim,
By selfishness untainted, lest my lips
Thy truth profane. O make my whole intent,
Thy glory to promote by doing good;
And, if successful, thine shall be the praise.

If in the universe there be a world
Uncursed by sin, beyond conception fair,
Inhabited with intelligences pure,
Of more exalted nature than our own,
And perfect in enjoyment, what it is
That forms their excellence and chief delight,
Not one of human kind, without a soul
Of its sublime capacity to rise
Unmindful, and a heart to virtue dead,
Can think it vain to know, or, knowing, fail
To imitate. Of such a world so fair,
Filled with inhabitants so pure and blest,
And with the visible presence of the Source
Of all existence, long have mortals heard;
And of each being in that happy world,
From Him who sits on its eternal throne
To him that holds the humblest station there,
Love is the bliss, the glory doing good.

Of God's benevolence, proof in his works
From their beginning, and in all his ways,
Illustrious shines. What motive, but desire
To give felicity, called forth his might
To build this fair creation; to surround
His dwelling in the immensity of space
With orb encircling orb, to give to dust
The happiness of life in countless forms
Delightful, and to creatures rational
His pure immortal nature to impart?
Was it his glory? 'Twas his goodness still;
For both are one, inseparably one.
God seeks not his, as men their glory seek;
From vain ambition. Earth and heaven sublime
Were not created for the mere display
Of power and skill immeasurably great;
Nor men and angels merely to admire
The wondrous fabric, and its Author praise
With lofty songs. The whole grand universe
Is not an empty monument of fame;
Nor yet a monument, on a wide waste
Erected, for no purpose known to man.
'Tis not a pageant bright, o'er an expanse
Illimitable, moving with vain pomp,
In revolutions vain. The glory sought
In its creation, is but that which flows
From giving happiness with bounteous hand.
Its Maker, full of goodness infinite,
Self-moved, in acts beneficent poured forth
Of his abundance, as the sun, all light
And heat itself, cannot but shine and warm.

On each created thing within his view,
From the most humble to the most sublime,
Man while yet sinless, in a world prepared
For happy innocence a fit abode,
Beheld, in characters entire and bright,
The impress of benevolence divine.
And e'en apostate man, by reason led,
Unaided reason, in a world defaced
For his revolt, beholds remaining marks
Of like benevolence, in mercy spared,
When just had been a universal curse.
Marks of its primitive glory he beholds
Amid its desolations, as he views
Among the ruins of a city, famed
For ancient splendour, many a precious stone,
And marble fragment beautifully wrought.
He sees them in the grateful interchange
Of day and night, and the propitious round
Of seasons;—in the growth of forests vast
Where winter's cold requires the cheering flame,
And, when these fail, in mines of fuel found
Beneath earth's surface;—in the countless streams
That streak its map immense, so duly ranged,
Like the thick branching fibres of a leaf,
The less along the greater on each side,
Watering the whole;—in genial suns and rains,
Combining their sweet influences, to crown
The year with plenty;—in the thousand plants
Of healing virtue, of all various kinds,
Growing at hand where human pain is felt;—
And in the powers by which each living thing,
Down to the meanest and the most minute,
Finds out its food, where'er its lot is cast,
Provided there. From what but kindness flow
These and like blessings? Or if such be deemed
Means requisite existence to prolong,
E'en though unhappy, other proofs remain
Of kindness, clear to reason's naked eye.
Why this profusion in the fruits of earth,
And sweet variety, so far beyond
The mere supply of nature's simple wants?
Why not the fruit without the fragrant flower?
Or if the fragrance to its proper food
Attract the wandering insect, why the hues,
Their endless beautiful diversities,
Enamelling the fields and verdant groves?
Why is man fitted to receive delight
From aught that he beholds? Why, in its use,
Is not each sense an instrument of pain,
Instead of pleasure? Why with objects fair
Is the eye charmed, and with melodious sounds
The listening ear? Why at the frugal board,
As at a banquet, is the taste regaled,
When food as well might nourish, though devoid
Of flavour, or unpleasant, and the love
Of life instinctively constrain to eat?
'Twas pure good-will, that for ungrateful man
Enjoyment thus for its own sake prepared
Nor less apparent is the will to bless,
In that delight inferior creatures feel;
The sporting insects, and the warbling birds,
The bounding and the ruminating flocks,
Yea, all the tribes, that walk, or swim, or fly.
His providence the Lord of all extends
O'er all his works, not merely to uphold,
But to impart enjoyment to all ranks
Of conscious being. This his kind extent,
To unassisted reason, if not blind
From deep and wilful turpitude of heart,
How brightly clear, when in some rural scene
Blooming and sunny, fertile fields, green woods,
Pure air and water, with fair creatures swarm,
Seeming, in their exuberance of good,
Too full of pleasure for a moment's rest;
And when this rural beauty and delight,
Are heightened by some renovating change,
From drought to showers, or from foul skies to fair!

The spring, made dreary by incessant rain,
Was well nigh gone, and not a glimpse appeared
Of vernal loveliness, but light-green turf
Round the deep bubbling fountain in the vale,
Or by the rivulet on the hill-side, near
Its cultivated base, fronting the south,
Where in the first warm rays of March it sprung
Amid dissolving snow:—save these mere specks
Of earliest verdure, with a few pale flowers,
In other years bright blowing soon as earth
Unveils her face, and a faint vermil tinge
On clumps of maple of the softer kind,
Was nothing visible to give to May,
Though far advanced, an aspect more like her's
Than like November's universal gloom.
All day beneath the sheltering hovel stood
The drooping herd, or lingered near to ask
The food of winter. A few lonely birds,
Of those that in this northern clime remain
Throughout the year, and in the dawn of spring,
At pleasant noon, from their unknown retreat
Come suddenly to view with lively notes,
Or those that soonest to this clime return
From warmer regions, in thick groves were seen,
But with their feathers ruffled, and despoiled
Of all their glossy lustre, sitting mute,
Or only skipping, with a single chirp,
In quest of food. Whene'er the heavy clouds,
That half way down the mountain side oft hung,
As if o'erloaded with their watery store,
Were parted, though with motion unobserved,
Through their dark opening, white with snow appeared
Its lowest, e'en its cultivated, peaks.
With sinking heart the husbandman surveyed
The melancholy scene, and much his fears
On famine dwelt; when, suddenly awaked
At the first glimpse of daylight, by the sound,
Long time unheard, of cheerful martins, near
His window, round their dwelling chirping quick,
With spirits by hope enlivened up he sprung
To look abroad, and to his joy beheld
A sky without the remnant of a cloud.
From gloom to gayety and beauty bright
So rapid now the universal change,
The rude survey it with delight refined,
And e'en the thoughtless talk of thanks devout.
Long swoln in drenching rain, seeds, germs, and buds,
Start at the touch of vivifying beams.
Moved by their secret force, the vital lymph
Diffusive runs, and spreads o'er wood and field
A flood of verdure. Clothed, in one short week,
Is naked nature in her full attire.
On the first morn, light as an open plain
Is all the woodland, filled with sunbeams, poured
Through the bare tops, on yellow leaves below,
With strong reflection: on the last, 'tis dark
With full-grown foliage, shading all within.
In one short week the orchard buds and blooms;
And now, when steeped in dew or gentle showers,
It yields the purest sweetness to the breeze,
Or all the tranquil atmosphere perfumes.
E'en from the juicy leaves, of sudden growth,
And the rank grass of steaming ground, the air,
Filled with a watery glimmering receives
A grateful smell, exhaled by warming rays.
Each day are heard, and almost every hour,
New notes to swell the music of the groves.
And soon the latest of the feathered train
At evening twilight come;—the lonely snipe,
O'er marshy fields, high in the dusky air,
Invisible, but, with faint tremulous tones,
Hovering or playing o'er the listener's head;—
And, in mid-air, the sportive night-hawk, seen
Flying awhile at random, uttering oft;
A cheerful cry, attended with a shake
Of level pinions, dark, but when upturned
Against the brightness of the western sky,
One white plume showing in the midst of each,
Then far down diving with loud hollow sound;—
And, deep at first within the distant wood,
The whip-poor-will, her name her only song.
She, soon as children from the noisy sport
Of hooping, laughing, talking with all tones,
To hear the echoes of the empty barn,
Are by her voice diverted, and held mute,
Comes to the margin of the nearest grove;
And when the twilight deepened into night,
Calls them within, close to the house she comes,
And on its dark side, haply on the step
Of unfrequented door, lighting unseen,
Breaks into strains articulate and clear,
The closing sometimes quickened as in sport.
Now, animate throughout, from morn to eve
All harmony, activity, and joy,
Is lovely nature, as in her blest prime.
The robin to the garden, or green yard,
Close to the door repairs to build again
Within her wonted tree; and at her work
Seems doubly busy, for her past delay.
Along the surface of the winding stream,
Pursuing every turn, gay swallows skim;
Or round the borders of the spacious lawn
Fly in repeated circles, rising o'er
Hillock and fence, with motion serpentine,
Easy and light. One snatches from the ground
A downy feather, and then upward springs,
Followed by others, but oft drops it soon,
In playful mood, or from too slight a hold,
When all at once dart at the falling prize.
The flippant blackbird with light yellow crown,
Hangs fluttering in the air, and chatters thick
Till her breath fail, when, breaking off, she drops
On the next tree, and on its highest limb,
Or some tall flag, and gently rocking, sits,
Her strain repeating. With sonorous notes
Of every tone, mixed in confusion sweet,
All chanted in the fulness of delight,
The forest rings:—where, far around enclosed
With bushy sides, and covered high above
With foliage thick, supported by bare trunks,
Like pillars rising to support a roof,
It seems a temple vast, the space within
Rings loud and clear with thrilling melody.
Apart, but near the choir, with voice distinct,
The merry mocking-bird together links
In one continued song their different notes,
Adding new life and sweetness to them all.
Hid under shrubs, the squirrel that in fields
Frequents the stony wall and briery fence,
Here chirps so shrill that human feet approach
Unheard till just upon him, when with cries
Sudden and sharp he darts to his retreat,
Beneath the mossy hillock or aged tree;
But oft a moment after re-appears,
First peeping out, then starting forth at once
With a courageous air, yet in his pranks
Keeping a watchful eye, nor venturing far
Till left unheeded. In rank pastures graze,
Singly and mutely, the contented herd;
And on the upland rough the peaceful sheep;
Regardless of the frolic lambs, that, close
Beside them, and before their faces prone,
With many an antic leap, and butting feint,
Try to provoke them to unite in sport,
Or grant a look, till tired of vain attempts;
When, gathering in one company apart,
All vigour and delight, away they run,
Straight to the utmost corner of the field
The fence beside; then, wheeling, disappear
In some small sandy pit, then rise to view;
Or crowd together up the heap of earth
Around some upturned root of fallen tree,
And on its top a trembling moment stand,
Then to the distant flock at once return.
Exhilarated by the general joy,
And the fair prospect of a fruitful year,
The peasant, with light heart, and nimble step,
His work pursues, as it were pastime sweet.
With many a cheering word, his willing team,
For labour fresh, he hastens to the field
Ere morning lose its coolness; but at eve
When loosened from the plough and homeward turned,
He follows slow and silent, stopping oft
To mark the daily growth of tender grain
And meadows of deep verdure, or to view
His scattered flock and herd, of their own will
Assembling for the night by various paths,
The old now freely sporting with the young,
Or labouring with uncouth attempts at sport.

When so luxuriant, and so fair, is all
Of vegetative growth, and on all sides
Creatures so happy, single, and in groups,
And countless multitudes, attract the eye,
The thoughtfully observant, with no light
But that reflected hence, if such there be
Without that clearer light from heaven direct,
Cannot o'erlook the goodness of the Power
Invisible, that thus delights to bless.

But why at nature gaze with pagan eyes,
And only at her fairest happiest scenes,
When revelation shines, and gilds the whole?
That God is good, and nothing does but good,
Is the one truth of his whole written word.
'Tis the deep root, that to this tree of life
All its vitality and beauty gives.
Turn we again to nature, with the book
Of inspiration open in our hands
To be our guide, no longer need we seek
For single tokens of Jehovah's love.
All things declare it, and with accents loud
Call for loud songs of gratitude and praise.
The gifts of heaven, innumerable, descend
On all the earth, silent, and uniform,
Like dew distilling from a smiling sky,
Or like the steady falling of a shower
When the sun shines, and gilds the drops in air,
And on the quivering leaves, and bending grass.
Look where it may, the opened eye of faith
Beholds the fulness of benevolence,
And oft its overflowing, as in showers
Falling on seas, on barren rocks and sands;—
In wholesome fruit within the wilderness,
Growing each year, and perishing uncropt;—
In myriads of living atoms, found
In every turf, and leaf, and breath of air,
Too small indeed for unassisted sight,
But not too small to feel the good they have,
Nor yet unworthy care that knows no bound.
Illumined by the rays of truth divine,
The universe a lovely aspect wears,
From its Creator's universal smile.
About its vast circumference his arms
In tender love are stretched, in one embrace
The whole encircling, as the milky zone
Surrounds the starry firmament immense.

His six days' work completed, God ordained
A day of rest; but not from further care
Of his creation rested he, concealed
In a pavilion of impervious clouds,
Nor, like a Hindoo deity, entranced
Or sleeping on some consecrated height,
Nor merely watching with all-seeing eye
The movement of his works. His outstretched hand,
When he had sent into the boundless void
The rolling spheres, dropt not to let them find
Their untried way, unguided, unsustained,
And by the force of that first impulse run
Their ceaseless round. No—had he thus withdrawn
His active power immediate, from the worlds,
Created by his might, and hid himself
Above the highest, careless of them all,
How in an instant had they burst their bond
Of sweet attraction, flying all apart,
Systems and constellations mingling wild,
And far asunder vanished into nought,
Like parted bubbles by the whirlwind driven!
Or how had they together rushed, and sunk,
A mass of ruins, in a vortex, formed
By their own motion, into the abyss!
Had he once turned his countenance away
From this fair earth, and from these nether skies,
And risen to show its light no more below,
Darkness and chaos had returned amain,
Closed in behind him even to his throne.
And should he now depart, no long-fixed laws
Could still preserve the spheres in harmony,
And in accustomed orbits roll them on
Through regions wide of unsubstantial air.
As when the massy weights, that move the clock
Of some superb cathedral, for its age
And sanctity a venerable pile,
By small disorder loosened from their hold,
Run down at once, with sound of rushing wheels,
While hands enormous, flying their wonted round,
Seem to the thoughtful, gazing silently,
Thus in a moment whirling months away,
So this stupendous complicate machine
Of suns and systems, wheeling round the skies,
Were but the pressure of God's finger gone,
Would on a sudden hasten to its end
With tumult loud, cut short the reign of time,
And spend its force till every motion ceased
With deadened stop. Should the Most High let loose
From his controlling grasp, the elements
Of this calm globe, the sea would burst its bars,
And deluge every land; or furious winds,
With earthquakes and volcanoes, rage and waste
With universal sway. Or should he leave
To work alone, what men call principles
Of animal and vegetable life,
How would the fields and forests, though arrayed
In summer's gay profusion, all at once
To wintry nakedness and gloom return,
And every creature, though with vigour flushed
Or pleasure, die as with a single stroke!
How desolate were nature, and how void
Of every charm, how like a naked waste
Of Africa, were not a present God
Beheld employing, in its various scenes,
His active might to animate and adorn!
What life and beauty, when in all that breathes,
Or moves, or grows, his hand is viewed at work!—
When it is viewed unfolding every bud,
Each blossom tinging, shaping every leaf,
Wafting each cloud that passes o'er the sky,
Rolling each billow, moving every wing
That fans the air, and every warbling throat
Heard in the tuneful woodlands. In the least,
As well as in the greatest of his works,
Is ever manifest his presence kind;
As well in swarms of glittering insects, seen
Quick to and fro within a foot of air
Dancing a merry hour, then seen no more,
As in the systems of resplendent worlds
Through time revolving in unbounded space.
His eye, while comprehending in one view
The whole creation, fixes full on me;
As on me shines the sun with his full blaze,
While o'er the hemisphere he spreads the same.
His hand, while holding oceans in its palm,
And compassing the skies, surrounds my life,
Guards the poor rush-light from the blast of death.

O'er men and angels, and o'er all beside
With understanding formed and moral sense,
If other ranks there be, unknown on earth,
Dominion absolute the King of heaven,
In majesty maintains, but with a care
And tenderness parental, claiming nought
But filial love, and that obedience, due
To excellence and kindness infinite,
Their gain to yield, their true felicity
Unspeakable and endless. Here shines out
Jehovah's glory, in his government
Of countless beings to himself allied;
Here in his moral kingdom, in its worth
All computation of created powers
Transcending far, as far as it transcends
The universe of life irrational
And senseless matter, made but for the use
Of this superior universe of minds,
And but for this preserved, ennobled thus
With grandeur, and with beauty thus adorned.
Through his intelligent creation reigns
The eternal Sovereign, with supreme control
O'er all events, all actions, and all hearts,
In pure benevolence directing all,
One object to accomplish, good immense,
The best and greatest good by boundless power
To be attained, or e'en to be conceived
By the omniscient mind. For this he doomed
Apostate angels to the pit of wo
Interminable, and the faithful fixed
In everlasting innocence and bliss
On heavenly thrones. For this alone he rules
Among the nations, here exalting one,
And there another humbling to the dust;
Here sending peace, and there the scourge of war;
Here planting, and there rooting out from earth.
O the consoling thought, that, from this world
With violence covered, shaken by the tread
Of giant conquerors stalking o'er its realms,
The shock of armed hosts together dashed,
The revolutions and the frequent fall
Of mighty empires, whose will, may lift
His pained eye to heaven, and find relief
In viewing there, high on a spotless throne,
A God all goodness overruling all
Himself to show, his glory to augment,
And swell the tide of happiness and praise,
To roll unmingled through eternity,
And unrestrained, when earth has passed away!

But, far above all others, though sublime,
One grand display of goodness infinite
Rises to view, astonishes, attracts,
Commands the admiration of high heaven,
The gratitude of earth. All eyes at once
To Calvary look, for this supreme display
Of greatness and benevolence combined;
To man's redemption from the curse deserved
Of death eternal, at the price of blood
Poured from the wounds of God's expiring Son,
Poured from his heart of overflowing love.
Here all the glories of the Godhead meet,
And in one splendid constellation shine;
Here with consummate harmony they blend
Their various beauties, and together form
A token of mercy, thrown across that cloud
Suspended o'er the world, with vengeance charged,
Threatening destruction. Wisdom, justice, power,
All measureless, to this stupendous work
The grandeur of divinity impart;
But love imparts the loveliness divine.
Love, love unspeakable, pervades the whole,
Throughout diffusing its immortal charms.
Love was its source in the eternal mind,
And its accomplishment was wrought by love.
Love made the covenant ere time began,
And love fulfilled it at the destined hour.
'Twas love that wept, and agonized, and died;
That rose to intercede, and judge, and reign.
'Tis love unquenchable, its great design
Pursuing still intently, that sends down
The gracious Spirit, to constrain, and fit,
The guilty proffered pardon to receive
The lost, salvation; and almighty love
Its work to finish, in despite of earth,
Sin, death, and hell, combined for its defeat,
Safely, triumphantly, to heaven conveys
Trophies innumerable, there to shine
Forever, to its everlasting praise.

The bleeding cross, howe'er by thankless man
Scorned as the monument of his deep guilt,
His utter helplessness, ruin entire,
Entire dependence on another's aid,
Is yet the only monument that shows,
In all the greatness of his high descent
And destiny immortal, his true worth
In Heaven's account. The cross, howe'er despised,
And to a curse perverted by the blind,
Is yet the only ladder to the skies,
For men to climb, or angels to descend.
Between this world and that of spirits blest,
Glad intercourse, without the cross, were none.
The earth, united by no golden chain
Of mercy, to the realm of innocence,
By none united to the throne above,
Would run alone its melancholy course,
By its Creator's never-changing frown
Blasted throughout, presenting to the sight
Of heaven's pure beings, keeping all aloof,
A spectacle of horror unrelieved.
Torn from the anchor of hope, a wreck immense,
With what rapidity and terrible force,
Straight toward destruction would it drive along,
From its whole surface sending to the skies
The shrieks and wailings of despairing men!
Without the radiance of ethereal day,
From the third heaven let down, a cheering stream,
Through the one skylight opened by the cross,
With what thick darkness were this dungeon filled,
That nothing could remove and none endure,
And live there those, within this heavenly light,
Who, fond of darkness, madly shut their eyes,
And grope, at every step, in painful doubt
Which way to turn, though on the fatal brink?
As if upon a world of one long night
A sun should rise, and its inhabitants,
In wilful blindness, should still feel their way,
Stumbling at noon. Is there, within this light,
A single eye, that overlooks the cross,
As fabled, or not needed? Can there be
An eye, that never watered it with tears
Of penitence and love? a stubborn knee,
That never bowed before it? or a hand
That never clasped it with the energy
Of hope, in that glad moment when it springs
From deep despair? O, can there be a heart,
That never, at its foot, poured out itself
In supplications, thanks, and humble vows
Of unreserved devotedness till death?
Away with every refuge from the woes,
Here and hereafter, but the bleeding cross!
Who flees to any other, for relief
From conscious guilt, and misery, is undone;
Who leads to any other, them that wait
His guidance, adds their ruin to his own,
And on himself redoubled vengeance draws.
Wo to the men who tear away the cross!
Sole prop and pillar of a sinking world,
If its foundation by unhallowed hands
Be undermined, what, what can give support?
But, hush, my fears! it rests not on the sand;
The raging waves, that dash against its base,
Sink harmless, after foaming out their shame:
Quick, at the voice of the Almighty Word,
Away they shrink, their shallowness betray,
Stir up, and leave exposed to every eye,
The foulness at the bottom ill concealed.
From Calvary springs the only fount of life,
Knowledge, and truth, celestial. Whoso drinks
Feels immortality begun within,
And his dim vision cleared from every mist
Of doubt and ignorance; its virtues high
He that contemns, is wholly dead at heart,
And, in a maze of errors without end
Bewildered, darkling winds his joyless way.
Divine Redeemer, thou art truth itself;
In thee are found its sum and living source,
Its boundless and inestimable stores.
They that forsake thee, that with hands profane
From thee thy uncreated glory wrest,
Thy independent throne, and in the pride
Of false philosophy, refuse to sit
Meek learners at thy feet, how fast they pass
From one delusion to another worse,
Gone, from the earliest hesitating thought
Of leaving thee, well nigh beyond the hope
Of restoration, as if left in turn!
One step from thee, thy Godhead, and thy cross
Inseparable, and down a steep descent,
Down, down they go, with bold and bolder strides,
Till, all restraint thrown off, one desperate plunge
Sink them below the light of truth and heaven,
In the dread gulf of infidelity,
The fatal gulf. Between this rayless depth,
And that celestial height, from which they leap
Who once from thee depart, exists no ground
On which to rest; all is but empty air;
In which wide void each pause the falling make,
Is but a transient hovering on the wing.
Saviour of men, almighty as thou art,
And infinite in mercy, to thy throne,
Though human argument and friendship fail,
Restore the wandering, there to kneel again
In adoration, and repeat the praise
Of thy divine perfections, once their song.
Turn back the tide of error flowing wide,
Bearing away the boundaries of truth
For ages fixed, the enclosure breaking down
Of many a garden planted by thy hand,
Laying it open to the world's wide waste.

'Tis when the cross is preached, and only then,
That from the pulpit a mysterious power
Goes forth to renovate the moral man.
The cross imparts vitality divine,
And energy omnipotent, to truth;
To its whole system, ineffectual else,
Inanimate. He that, without it, wields
The sacred sword, at best, in mock display,
A useless weapon flourishes in its sheath;
None feel its edge, none fear it. Men there are,
Men of illustrious name, that have employed
Years in portraying to admiring crowds,
In vivid colours, with the magic hand
Of genius guided by refining taste,
The loveliness of virtue, and of vice
The hideous features, and in urging all,
With eloquent tongue, to make the happy choice,
And, at the end, with grief and self-reproach,
Have looked around in vain for the reformed.
On all the moral field within its reach,
Their beautiful philosophy has fallen
Powerless, as moonlight cold on the cold snow.
Convinced at length of this its impotence,
And taught divinely to proclaim instead
Messiah crucified, on the same field
With joy have they beheld an aspect new,
From fruits abundant of immortal growth.
When amid frozen seas, mountains of ice,
And all the horrors of a polar clime,
Moravia's humble but heroic sons
The bold attempt began, truth to make known
To the besotted Greenlander, and lead
His feet into the path of virtue and life,
They pointed to the heavens thick set with stars,
All, to the least, twinkling with vivid beams,
Presenting a whole living firmament
Through the clear atmosphere, intensely cold,
Of his long wintry night; and to the sun,
Duly returning to spread o'er his vales
A sudden, transitory, summer smile—
To these, and objects visible like these,
His eye they long directed, and from them
To their Creator laboured long to raise
His grovelling thoughts, devotion to inspire,
And teach obedience; while with stupid awe
He gazed and listened, or with wonder wild,
But still to vice remained a willing slave,
Till, of success from efforts thus pursued
Despairing, they conducted him at once
A ruined wretch to Calvary, when with guilt
He trembled at the sight, melted in love,
Shook off the long-fixed clinging habit of sin,
And from his bestial degradation rose,
To intellectual and virtuous life.
What though the cross, presented to the view
With all the humbling but momentous truths
Inscribed on it, offend the pride of man?
Shall it be hidden, or its truths effaced?
Shall dying men be pleased rather than saved?
When one who traverses some polar waste,
Feels the benumbing influence of the cold
Steal o'er him in a grateful drowsiness,
Too strong to be resisted, and repays
With bitter words, while sinking in the snow,
The efforts of his comrades to alarm
And rouse him, or support and drag him on,
Is it philanthrophy to please, or save?
Will not their hated care be recompensed,
When, borne beyond the danger, and restored
To feeling and to reason, he pours forth
The weeping gratitude of a full heart?
And will the kind severity, that seeks
To rescue those seized by a lethargy,
Ending, not broke, in ever-dying death,
Receive a recompense of thanks less rich
From the delivered. Or the transient scoff
Of those delivered never, can this pain
Like their eternal curse, and that of Heaven,
For ministering an opiate to the soul,
To gain its momentary favour here?
Cruel the tenderness, that whispers peace
To men at war with their Redeemer, men
Who scorn his clemency, and dare his wrath!
And O how false the friendship, that unites
Preacher and hearer in the ruinous work
Of mutual flattery!—that together joins
The sacred guide, and those who make him theirs,
In travelling merrily on the high way
Of sin and error, as the path to heaven,
Praising its breadth and smoothness, each in turn
Cheering and cheered, deceiving and deceived,
Undoing and undone! Learn'd he may be,
And eloquent, who yet the name deserves
Of a false teacher, false in head and heart;
But learning, with its boasted powers, arrayed
Against the sweet simplicity of truth,
And eloquence from counterfeited warmth,
The painted passion of a mind at ease,
How vain and pitiful in all their pride!
He is the true ambassador of Heaven,
Whose learning is the knowledge of the truth,
Whose eloquence is that of piety
Enlightened and impassioned—now a flame
Of pure devotion rising to the skies,
And now a stream of pure benevolence
Poured down on man. Of such the mighty theme,
That takes supreme possession of the soul,
The bosom swelling, glowing on the lips,
Is Christ, the Lord of Life, dying to give
Blest immortality to wretched foes;
Exchanging, in the plenitude of love,
His own imperishable crown of light
For man's mock diadem of wreathed thorns,
The praise of angels for the scoff of worms,
The infinite beatitude of heaven
For pain unutterable on the cross.

In man's redemption what o'erwhelming proof
Of God's benevolence! From first to last
'Tis one stupendous scheme for doing good.
'Tis not the power and wisdom, though immense,
But the unfathomable depth of love,
In it disclosed, that makes it what it is,
The hope of earth, the glory of the skies,
Of both the wonder. Needless 'tis to seek
Beyond it, for the excellence supreme
Of heaven's Almighty, and his chief delight.

But here, as if intent on robbing God
Of goodness, in revenge for being compelled,
Against the strongest wishes to confess
E'en his existence, with a fiendlike joy
The infidel exclaims, and thousands, wronged
In their own view if ranked with him, repeat,
With the same spirit the presumptuous cry,
Why were men ruined only to be saved?
Why all destroyed that part might be restored?
No answer needs perversion of the truth
So wilful, and its authors look for none,
Content with the relief of vented hate.
With thoughts less impious, others fondly ask,
Why was man suffered to destroy himself?
Why was there one by previous wickedness
Prepared to tempt him to the fatal deed?
Slept the Most High, while Satan, full of guile,
Lurked in the bowers of Eden, to seduce
From their allegiance the first happy pair?
And after their revolt did he awake
Like one surprised, and, not to be quite foiled
By what was done and could not be undone,
Resolve on their redemption as a shift,
The best expedient of a straitened mind,
An unforeseen dilemma to escape?
Or held he, when rebellion in the breasts
Of angels rose, the reins of government
With hand relaxed, till sin had worked its way
Into the heart of heaven? and then in wrath
Resumed he them with more determined grasp,
To drive it thence? Lacked he the knowledge, power,
Or vigilance, its entrance to prevent?
If not, why left he, in the universe,
One door unbarred, by which this enemy
Could gain admission? Why not shut it out
From his whole kingdom with a single word,
As he excludes it now, and will henceforth,
From all the heavenly regions? Other cause
Than his eternal will, acting in view
Of good to be effected by its means
Under his full controul, is sought in vain
By groping mortals. Of its origin,
Its first conception in a heart upright,
And in the power, too, of the Holy One,
They nothing know, and nothing need to know,
But that, created free, angels and men
Fell from the height of rectitude and bliss
Divinely pure, by their own willing act,
Nor thwarted in the least God's perfect plan
Unalterable, nor involved in guilt
His character with theirs. A mystery this!
A truth to be believed, and not explained!
The proud demand of mortals, that its depths
Be fathomed, and laid open to their view,
To gain their faith, is vain impiety.
'Tis prompted by a wish to take the throne,
And, knowing good and evil, be as gods.
Rather should thanks be offered, that while here
That only is revealed to claim their thoughts,
Which leads to present duty, and prepares
For an eternity of light and joy.
It best befits them, with absorbing awe,
Childlike simplicity of mind and heart,
And meek dependence on the Spirit of truth
For needful aid, to make it their employ
To learn what their Creator has declared
In his pure oracles, and that receive
Without a doubt or murmur, nor inquire
Beyond it for the secrets of his will.

On many a sacred page resemblance clear
Of that sublimer good, from sin controlled
By God's benevolence to be secured
To his great kingdom, shines in some event
Of transient date. The picture is complete;
A hand divine has given, with matchless skill,
The last bright touches; and their beauty strikes
More for the previous shades and darker ground.
The whole transaction meets the view at once;
And, nothing doubting what part to ascribe
To guilty men, what to their righteous King,
We render homage, willing or constrained,
To his transcendent grace, their wickedness
Controlling, and directing to produce
A tenfold blessing for the curse they meant:
Their malice, burning only to destroy,
He overrules in clemency to save.
All darkness seems at first, and all along
The following course; but on the close is poured
A flood of light, whose splendour, shining back
O'er the past gloom, reveals to our dim eyes
The golden thread of providence benign
Through the dark tissue drawn, and brighter far
Than if around it all had been as bright.

Since, then, in the events of days and years
Our faint and limited vision oft discerns
Evil, as used by the all-wise Supreme,
To greater good redounding, wherefore doubt
The like result of that grand system, formed
Of these combined, as ocean of its drops?
Will goodness infinite expend itself
On these inferior parts, and leave the whole
Without its care, to a disastrous fate?
If either, sure the former were o'erlooked
By heaven's great Monarch. Of his kind regard
Both, as they need, receiving, both e'en now
Were seen to be o'erruled alike for good
Were they alike complete, and brought within
The sphere of vision now the lot of man.

Of God's whole plan, in its infinitude
Of length and breadth, how little, in this state
Of imperfection, can we mortals know!
What influence of great moment hid from us
The part revealed may have beyond itself,
On universal being, none can tell.
In his obscure economy below,
Designs the Governor of all may have,
Of which no human mind has ever dreamed.
Earth, with its mingled scenes of good and ill,
Judgment and mercy, to the universe
For which he acts, may bear, beside its known,
Other relations, of extent immense,
And infinite weight. Were myriads of stars
Made but for nightly lamps to this one globe,
When hung so high in the cerulean vault,
That all the feeble scattered rays, prolonged
Down to this depth, scarce make the darkness less?—
And when a single orb, low in the sky,
Outshines them all? If, rather, like our own,
Suns to attendant spheres they kindly roll;
Rising and setting to give interchange
Of light and darkness; vallies, hills, and plains
Clothing with yearly or perennial fruits,
And flowery verdure; shine they not to bless
Creatures of rational immortal kind,
Throughout their wide dominion? Or has God,
All spirit and intelligence himself,
And these esteeming infinitely best
Of all his works, and when recorded stands
His declaration, that he formed the earth
To be inhabited, and not in vain,
Built the whole fabric of celestial orbs
But to exist a mass of matter void,
A wilderness enormous, where are none
Of the delightful sights and sounds of life,
But awful silence, splendid barrenness
And desolation? Ill conceived of thee,
Father of lights! Thy wisdom prompts the thought
That here must be the populous abodes
Of beings, formed to serve thee, and enjoy.
These all, perhaps, are sinless, and now reap
The fruits of their obedience;—feel no pain
And fear no evil; in communion live
With God and angels; and, forever near
The world of glory, bask in its full blaze.
And he, in understanding, may not err,
More than in heart, who oft, at peaceful eve,
Looks on the sky as filled with peopled orbs,
Whence universal hymns of praise ascend
To the third heaven—till, earth and e'en himself
Forgetting, living like a spirit free,
In thoughts ethereal rapt, he seem to hear
The distant melody. As in a day,
When earth is darkened by thick stormy clouds,
The sun, above those clouds, shines unobscured,
Covering their restless waves with changing hues,
Spangles, and rainbows; and on high is nought
But one immensity of radiance bright,
Of clear and tranquil beauty one expanse;
So, in the intelligent creation, all
Beyond this world and that of hell beneath,
Beyond the gloom that overhangs this scene,
All may be light, and purity, and peace,
And perfect loveliness. This, and the world
Infernal, may then, haply, be set forth
Examples for the subjects of a realm
Extended o'er the globes, the systems wide,
Lighted by eighty millions of bright suns,
Whose beams the telescope has brought to earth,
And by those millions more, in the blue deep
Yet undescried—examples for their good;
The one of justice, for their warning given;
The other of sweet mercy, for their faith.
The Ruler of a kingdom thus immense
In its extent, and weighty in its charge,
Might deem it best that his whole character
Be tried and proved; that righteousness and grace,
Seeming at variance, be together brought
In union wonderful, and thus displayed,
Before all eyes, in living monuments,
Like other attributes in other works.

But cease these fancies! death may dissipate
The whole at once, for a more glorious scene.
To firmer ground I gladly turn for rest.
Though on this theme, the wonder of the sage
In every country, and the scoff of fools,
In spite of reason and conjecture, much
Remain unsolved, and must while time endures,
Enough is seen in providence, and fixed
By sacred promise, for unwavering trust,
Till the full end, when vision will be full.
Assured that sin the limit cannot pass
Of Heaven's permission, that omnipotence
Has bounded its proud waves, and that, at length,
The eternal Being, who surveys the end
From the beginning, will reveal its use,
In that superior good, to be wrought out
From all its evil, wherefore should we scorn
The wisdom bidding us our murmurs hush
And vain alarms, renounce our arguments
And fond surmises, and in silence wait
Till the great terminating scene arrive?
Why should we be like savages untaught,
Who, while the sun is shrouded in eclipse,
Raise their tumultuous outcries, thence to drive
The fancied monster, in their narrow view
Extinguishing the luminary of day,
When standing still an hour, with watching eye,
Would show him moving onward as before,
With lustre unimpaired? Why should we fear
The blotting or diminishing of the light
Of heaven and earth, the glory of their King,
Ere the result of what may seem awhile
Mysterious interruption? Why pronounce
The scheme of providence in aught unwise
Or undesirable, till it be known
E'en to the end? The end is coming on;
The issue of these mixed events below,
The winding up of all terrestrial scenes;
The day of consummation;—solemn close
Of past eternity, of that to come
Beginning grand;—a common centre, both
In one uniting, like a strait between
Two shoreless oceans, at which all things meet,
Their only passage;—rendezvous sublime
Of angels and of men, in that dead pause
Between the old creation and the new,—
What time harmonious orbs in stillness wait,
Their changes broken, for Jehovah's voice
To bid their moving concert be resumed;—
Of all things, great and small, evil and good,
A full review, when the first heaven and earth
Have pass'd away, and ere a second rise.

The set time this to ope the sealed book
Of providence, before assembled worlds.
Come all and meditate the wondrous scenes,
The joyful and the terrible, that pass
In order, at the opening of each seal.
See the disclosure, now, of hidden things
In God's impartial plan; of others, wrapt
In dubious gloom the evolution full.
See now the clearing up of time's dark day,
The clouds dispersed, the elements at rest,
And all more beautiful than ere the storm:
The sun sends forth a brighter blaze of beams;
Glad nature rings with more melodious notes;
And sweeter smiles, with renovated charms,
Beneath a purer and serener sky.

Thus when this growing system is mature;
When it has reached its limits, and the day
Set for the full review of its concerns
Varied and countless, has arrived, and passed,
Then shall the morning of eternity,
Its inexpressible perfection show.
'Tis now like the creation in the midst
Of that eventful week, in which the work
Was in its progress under God's right hand,
But half completed; when illumined here,
There darksome still; exulting here with life,
There wholly desolate; here finely formed,
And there yet shapeless. But, as at the end
Of that grand period the Creator viewed,
With infinite delight, his finished works,
And their surpassing excellence pronounced,
So shall it be at the concluding scene
Of checkered time. Then, too, the morning stars
Shall sing together; the bright sons of God
Shall shout for joy; and heaven a loud response
From all her ransomed multitudes resound.

Now from all quarters of the universe,
Streams of pure glory, due to Him who thus
In the supremacy of goodness reigns,
Come pouring into paradise, that vast
And central ocean. At the gathering flood
Transported gaze, they, who for this result
Waited with humble confidence in time.
Of the Most High, his various works and ways,
Immeasurably more they now behold
In one glad hour, than, in their mortal state,
Imagination, though by faith enlarged,
And purified by love, had e'er conceived.
All former knowledge shrinks to nothing now.
The wisest of astronomers, when a child,
What knew he of the sun, and starry hosts?—
Their revolution, distance, magnitude,
And order intricate and yet complete?
What saw he in the lighted sky at eve,
But twinkling sparks, as in the dusky air,
Almost within the reach of his fond hands,
Thrown upward in the wildness of delight?
A Newton in his infancy, is he,
Who, while on earth, is future heir of heaven.
Yet, when, in full maturity, he comes
To his inheritance, he but begins
The glories of the Godhead to discern,
And of a few know something; destined thence
To make sublime advances without end,
In this the only knowledge of true worth.
More of that universal government,
Established and administered in love,
He still discovers, after ages spent
In contemplation on the wondrous theme.
As up the heights of immortality
He climbs unwearied, to his ravished eye
The prospect larger grows on every side,
The firmament swells upward and around,
While its apparent splendours every hour
In number and in brilliancy increase.
Thus, in progression endless, toward the Source
Of light, move onward all the saints above,
With joyful ardour, never to be quenched.

But where are now the men of stubborn heart,
Who, all the season allotted to make peace
With their Creator, placable though just,
Stood out against him? In what guise appear
Before the last tribunal, they, who oft,
Despising faith where comprehension fails,
At reason's bar pronounced their Judge unjust,
Because his footsteps were unsearchable,
Now in the clouds, and now along the deep?
They stand convinced, appalled, and silently
Await their doom. Now the rebellious words,
Utter'd against the providence of Heaven,
Whene'r it frown'd on them, or seem'd to frown,
Like arrows impiously and vainly shot,
By Thracians, at the lowering thundercloud
When low and near, on their own heads return
In righteous vengeance. Now in agony
They own the justice of the Lord of all,
While under its condemning power they sink
To uttermost perdition, the desert
Of unrepented sin, their destiny
Ordained by thee, thou Arbiter supreme.
The certainty, and rectitude, of this
Thy dread decree, what mortal dare deny?
Great Lawgiver of all worlds, 'tis thine to fix
The statutes of thy kingdom, and enforce
Their due observance, by the penalty
In thy unerring wisdom deem'd the best.

No pleasure from the misery of his foes
Can God derive; His character and word
Forbid, that, like a tyrant, he should feast
Upon their torments. His benevolence,
Shown in the blessings lavished on them here;
In that transcendent gift, forfeited heaven
To purchase for them; in the offer made
Of pardon on repenting, made again
Oft as rejected, with entreaties pressed
And warnings merciful, forbids the thought.
But from their punishment, in its effects
Upon a government with wisdom planned,
He does derive such pleasure as becomes
A gracious Monarch, who the welfare loves
Of his whole kingdom, more than that of those
Who break its sacred laws, madly abuse
All clemency, and enemies remain
Incorrigible. 'Tis the general weal,
That calls for vengeance on the rebel's head.
Thus justice to benevolence is changed,
And judgment into mercy. Hell is made
The woful dungeon of the universe,
Where universal foes, and only such,
In sad imprisonment forever lie.
Its depths were hollowed out, its gloomy walls
Raised, for the peace of heaven; and for the peace
Of God's whole empire they remain, and will
Until rebellion be no more a crime.
Those everduring chains were forged in love
Impartial; perfect goodness binds them on,
And turns the fatal key, that locks up all,
Who enter once that dreadful gate, unlocked
To none returning. To the inmost seat
Of feeling tortured by this thought, how writhe
The guilty sufferers! Could they but discern,
On the white throne above, the slightest stain
Of cruelty or injustice, 'twere enough
To give them fortitude to bear the worst.
But how can they be strong, in hand or heart,
To suffer or resist, when they behold
Benevolence and equity combined,
In their eternal exile from the climes
Of light and happiness? How can they meet
Love armed in the dread panoply of wrath,
To take its righteous vengeance? How endure
From their Redeemer to receive their doom?
How can they stand before the Lamb incensed?
The meek, the spotless, self-devoted Lamb?
How will it give to their despair a sting
Of keen and piercing agony, to think
That He, who on the seat of judgment high,
Arrayed in robes of majesty supreme,
Sits to condemn them, is that Prince of Peace,
Who once, in accents of compassion sweet,
Of weeping condescension infinite,
Pleaded for their acceptance of his love!
Ah me! what bitterness, to drink, and drink
Forever, of the cup of penal wrath
Unmingled, from the hand that once held out
The cup of free salvation; from that hand,
Which always gladly healed the broken heart,
And bound up all its wounds; from that same hand
Once stretched upon the cross, streaming with blood!

If, in that great development to come,
Of all things hidden, sin reflect no blame
On heaven's high Ruler, then will misery none;
For, sin admitted, misery should ensue,
Whither it goes should follow, where it dwells
Should with it dwell, inseparably joined;
A world of guilt should be a world of pain.
And if, from the insufferable woes
Of an undone eternity, no cry
Of just reproach ascend to heaven, then none
From all the slight calamities of time
Can e'er ascend. But wherefore will not God,
E'en now, from ills, on others brought, exempt
The offspring of regenerating grace,
The children of his love? Imperfect yet,
They need the chastenings of paternal care,
To save them from the wily blandishments
Of error, and to win their hearts away
From the polluting, ruining joys of earth.
Though from its height of sole authority,
O'er all the moving principles within,
Sin be deposed, it struggles to regain
Its lost dominion, till they half consent,
When all their trust is not in borrowed might,
To yield the conflict. Though his head be crushed,
The serpent lives, and shows what spite he can,
E'en till their sun go down. Not chastened then,
No proof were given they were not past reform,
And left as reprobate, to be prepared
By mercies for an aggravated doom.
See they not often now, and will they not
Hereafter see, that when they murmured most
They should have sung the highest notes of praise?
When from the skies they cast a look below,
Methinks they will esteem their path too smooth
And level, for transgressors bound to heaven.
O, had it been a steeper, rougher ascent,
Then had they risen more rapidly, and gained
An exaltation of superior bliss!
Becomes it them, to eye with sad distrust,
That hand of a compassionate Parent, laid
Heavily on them, while for their support
His other is extended underneath,
And filled with richer blessings in reserve?
Should they not rather welcome the kind stroke,
That humbles but to fit them for a throne?
Should they not even beg their heavenly Guide
To bar up, or to plant with thorns, each path,
However flowery, that would lead astray;
And to imbitter all forbidden fruit
Soliciting their taste, however fair?
Were not the world to them unlovely made,
Heaven were forgotten, or without desire
Remembered, and without foretasting faith.
Like the thick grove, that only when deprived
Of its gay foliage, through it shows, beyond,
Green fields, the ocean, the resplendent sky,
Earth must be stript of charms, to let them see
The loveliness of paradise beyond,
The vast bright prospect of eternity.
Were nothing but enjoyment theirs below,
Were all prosperity, their hearts were here,
And here their portion. Were they undisturbed,
Their day of trial were spent in fatal sleep.
'Tis when the world disowns them, turns them out
From every resting place as none of hers,
That they pursue with quick and vigorous step
Their pilgrimage, and muse upon its end
With panting hope and elevating joy.
When by affliction purified, and weaned
From sublunary toys, with what delight
They cleave to Him in whose embrace is found
The only rest, and welcome the approach
Of that great change of being, to be passed
Only to wing them for a speedy flight
Into his unveiled presence, there to find
Pleasures augmented by griefs left below!
There, long possessed, the due inheritance
Of angels, whom no suffering ever reached,
Is sweet indeed; but, the reward of saints,
Rest after toil, and after conflict peace,
Light out of darkness, out of sorrow joy,
Life from the grave, and paradise from earth,
Nay, from the brink of hell, how passing sweet!
There with what loveliness the spirit shines,
When, through afflictions, from defilement deep
Raised to angelic purity, from death
To the perfection of celestial life!
So from the filthy bottom of the pool,
Up through its waters, to the surface springs
The lily, and there blooms a perfect flower,
Of brilliant whiteness, beautifully pure.
And what more lovely object here below,
Or more exalted, than a mortal, weak
And tender, looking upward in the midst
Of painful visitations, with an eye
By faith illumined, and a brow serene
From heartfelt peace and acquiescence full
In Heaven's high will; and out of deep distress
Rising invigorated, and prepared
For generous deeds impossible before?
'Tis resignation, so unfeigned, entire,
And happy, by severe affliction proved,
When nature in her tenderness resists,
That shines the fairest victory of grace.

In early wedlock joined, when all things wore
An aspect bright with promised happiness,
Orville and Charlotte were a pair beloved
For intellectual and moral worth;
For knowledge, both the useful and refined.
Taste uncorrupt, feeling benevolent,
Sweetness of temper, gentleness of mien,
And undissembled piety, the soul
Of all their virtues. Undisturbed, awhile,
In their felicity, they passed along,
One in their studies, duties, pleasures pure,
Guiding and guided each, blessing and blessed.
Sweet intercourse between congenial minds!
And sweeter interchange of kindred hearts!
Together they with like devotion scanned
The heavenly orbs, traversed the map of earth
With equal skill, dwelt on her history
With like astonishment at human crimes
And God's forbearance, to exalted verse
Gave vocal melody with equal gust.
Nor did they for the fashionable muse
The classic quite forsake. Nigh them they kept
The poet of humanity and truth,
Of simple nature and religion pure,
The lovely Cowper; and, at every word
Against his fame, felt wounded in a friend.
Nor to the crowded shelf, to be forgot,
Was Milton e'er removed;—seraphic bard!
Sweetly sublime, in paradise above!
In paradise below, sublimely sweet!
There lofty numbers, and melifluous here,
Grandeur and beauty every where, command
Breathless attention, and within them wake
Those finer strings, that, at the thrilling touch
Of mighty genius, quiver with keen delight.
Together over flowery fields and woods
They rambled, in the not unuseful search
Of plants to be inspected in each part,
With nicety botanic; nor e'en passed
Unheeded any delicate shapely brake,
Or tuft of moss, upon bleak mountain rocks,
Like frostwork, fine, and white, and crumbling quick
Beneath the foot; on the low shady bank,
Like velvet, green and soft, or like a grove
Of pines inch-high, with noiseless pliancy
All bending prostrate at the lightest tread,
Or gentlest pressure of the stroking hand,
Then with elastic liveliness again
Rising unhurt. Not less in these minute,
Than in the vast of the Creator's works,
They loved to trace his hand, in every touch
Inimitably fair. The house of want,
Of ignorance, of mourning, of disease,
Together oft they humbly cheered with alms,
Instruction, sympathy, attendance kind.
Each weekly and each daily season, made
Sacred to acts of worship, with delight
Duly observing, oft, at other times,
They knelt together in devotion sweet,
As aught of signal interest called for thanks,
Or supplications of appropriate warmth;
And oft, at other times, together sung,
Not unassisted by the solemn chord,
Anthems of praise. Thus happily they lived,
Till, in their arms, a second pleasant babe
With a faint smile intelligent began
To answer theirs, and with a brighter that
Of its fond sister, standing by their side,
With frequent kisses prattling in its face;
While in its features, with parental joy,
And love connubial, they began to mark
Theirs intermingled;—when, with sudden stroke,
The blooming infant faded, and expired.
And soon its lonely sister, doubly dear
Now in their grief, was in like manner torn
From their united grasp. With patience far
Beyond her years, the little sufferer bore
Her sharp distemper, while she could behold
Both parents by her side; but, when from sleep
Transient and troubled waking, wept aloud,
As terrified, if either were not there.
To hear their voices singing of the love
Of her Redeemer, in her favourite hymn,
And praying for his mercy, oft she asked
With eagerness, and seemed the while at ease.
When came the final struggle, with the look
Of a grieved child, and with its mournful cry,
But still with something of her wonted tone
Of confidence in danger, as for help,
She called on them, on both alternately,
As if by turns expecting that relief
From each the other had grown slow to yield;
At which their calmness, undisturbed till then,
Gave way to agitation past control.
A few heart-rending moments, and her voice
Sunk to a weak and inarticulate moan,
Then in a whisper ended; and with that
Her features grew composed and fixed in death;
At sight of which their lost tranquillity
At once returned. 'Twas evening; and the lamp,
Set near, shone full upon her placid face,
Its snowy white illuming, while they stood
Gazing as on her loveliness in sleep,
The enfeebled mother on the father's arm
Heavily hanging, like the slender flower
On its firm prop, when loaded down with rain
Or morning dew; and laying her pale cheek
Upon his shoulder, with the simple air
Of infant weakness and dependence sweet.
Their lifeless child they tenderly bemoaned,
Yet opened their sad hearts, and not in vain,
To holy consolation from on high.
With unrepining sorrow, they beheld
That little cherished frame of beauteous clay
Apparelled for the grave, and covered deep
In its cold bosom. When, day after day,
No cheering sound of playful childhood broke
The stillness of their dwelling, and they felt
The new uneasiness of empty arms,
They sometimes wept together, but in tears
Showed a submissive look, almost a smile.
Now came the last and sorest in the train
Of their afflictions, the dissolving blow
To nature's first and most endearing ties.
By her loved little ones, ere yet the turf
Upon their graves its unsoiled green regained,
Charlotte, the amiable wife was laid;
And thus the partner of her bosom left,
To mourn in solitude the loss of all.
By her bed side, with unremitted care,
In all her painful sickness, day and night,
He watched, anticipating every want,
And sharing every pang. From a full heart,
Now audibly, now silently he poured
Incessant supplications for her life,
Or happiness in death; and when the hope
Of her recovery failed, with gratitude
He saw unshaken to the last, her trust
In His compassion, whom in health she served
With willing mind. Her end was full of peace,
Fitting her uniform piety serene.
'Twas rather the deep humble calm of faith,
Than her high triumph; and resembled more
The unnoticed setting of a clear day's sun,
Than his admired departure in a blaze
Of glory bursting from a clouded course.
When from her burial to his home returned
The broken-hearted Orville, and beheld
Around all still, all desolate within,
A feeling of his utter loneliness
Rushed on his soul with overwhelming power.
Entering his door ungreeted and unmet,
Missing her face that always brightened quick
At his approach, her voice that sweeter grew,
On the first seat presented, down at once,
As if all strength were in a moment gone,
He sunk, dissolving in a flood of tears;
Then, rising suddenly, walked to and fro,
And in impassioned accents mourned aloud.
When at his table, in her wonted seat
He first beheld another; when he saw
The last unfinished labours of her hand;—
Her needle, pen, and pencil, at his wish,
Untouched remaining, just as left by her;—
And when he cast an eye upon her plants
Perrenial, and her aromatic shrubs,
In their neat vases, left unwatered long,
Dropping untimely leaves and blighted buds;
His rising grief no effort could suppress.
If in his house, through its disordered rooms,
He wandered, or through alleys weedy grown
In his neglected garden, or along
The sylvan walks of her accustomed choice,
At every step, some object called to mind
Her worth, or her affection, and thus kept
Opening afresh the wound within his breast.
Yet though severely pained, he ne'er refused,
In sullen or in passionate despair,
The sympathy of friendship; ne'er returned
With coldness the warm pressure of the hand,
Nor heard unmoved from undissembling lips
Gentle condolence. E'en the pity shown
By giddy youth, in checking their loud mirth
While passing his lone dwelling, with an eye
Turned toward it oft, attracted by the sight
Of doors all closed and window curtains down,
Touched him with grateful joy, while it awaked
A sigh at the remembrance of his loss.
But other consolation, far above
Whate'er this world of vanity can yield,
He needed, with etherial fervour sought,
And in abundance found. So full his trust,
So high his joy, in Him, whose government
Is always equitable, always good,
And to the penitent of human kind
In all things merciful, that they who looked,
At first, to see his tender nature sink,
Ere long with admiration saw it changed
To exalted firmness;—not, indeed, his own;
Not the quick growth of philosophic pride,
But of the infused virtue of that grace
From heaven descending. In his grief, he seemed
Like the young tree, bowed low, as from its top
Some strong hand tears away the clinging vine,
Breaks by degrees the innumerable ties
Of branches and soft tendrils intertwined,
But, when quite parted, rising, and, despoiled
Of all its own with all its borrowed bloom,
Standing, in naked loneliness, sublime.
Thus stript, a solitary being, left
To feel united to the earth no more
By any outward bond, he looked on all
That he possessed, once valued for the sake
Of others dearer than himself, as now
No longer his, to be enjoyed alone;
And with a richer treasure in his view,
Restored it to the Giver, to augment
The knowledge of his will, and of his grace
The victories, among immortal men.
Not in a fit of discontented gloom,
But with the sober constancy of faith,
He viewed himself thenceforth a stranger here,
And looked on all the world, in all its charms,
As nought to him, intent upon his home,
And on whatever intervening means
Might best and soonest fit him for its joys.
By learning and meek piety prepared
To be the messenger of truth and grace,
Now doubly by affliction, and desire
Benevolent kindled to a quenchless flame,
And inly prompted by the Spirit divine
Inhabiting his bosom, forth he went
From all the abodes of elegance and ease,
To publish in the wilderness, to men
In mind and manners rude, dwelling in huts
Uncouth and comfortless, the welcome words
Of heavenly mercy, through the ransom high
On Calvary paid. From hardships, that would once
Have crushed him, gathering vigour in his course,
Onward till death, in this angelic work,
He pressed, with growing ardour and delight.
When in the great assembly of the just,
Walking in white,—his happy wife and babes,
Beautiful cherubs, smiling at his side,—
He meets with those by his exertion saved,
Beholds their glory, hears their rapturous songs,
And, forward looking with an angel's ken
Along the vista of unlimited years,
Contemplates their uninterrupted march
In excellence and bliss, and in them views
Immortal trophies of the Prince of Life,
Forever yielding honour to the love
Omnipotent of this his dearest friend,
How will the day of his bereavement here,
Like morning, break from its terrestial gloom,
And shine of all his days most luminous
In heaven's reflected and concentred light!
And how will his unchanging confidence
In God's mysterious goodness, with its fruits
Of rich and lasting growth, the height sublime
Of wisdom prove, and virtue, to the joy
Triumphant of his never-ending life!

If such the future good, the glory bright,
The bliss ineffable, of them that bear,
With holy fortitude of heart, the ills
Of vile mortality, and rise beneath
The accumulated weight to higher deeds,
Then let the deepest in affliction lift
The drooping head, beneath the heaviest load,
And, fired with hope, run with unfaltering step
Their sublunary course. The woes of earth
May thicken, and severer grow, till death;
But that last pang, like the last paroxysm
Of some long painful dream, waking the soul
To life and transport, makes amends at once
For all past sufferings, in a moment all
Forgotten in that plenitude of joy.
And if so glorious be the end of faith,
In that good providence, minutely employed
On its possessor; faith in God's kind care
Of his great kingdom of victorious grace,
With what transcendent glory will it reach
Its consummation! Of this last reward
E'en now the frequent prelibation cheers
The saddened spirit, when events within
This rising kingdom, seeming for a while
Disastrous, turn to unexpected good,
In greatness and extent surpassing far
The threatened ill. The good man, eminent
In station and endowments, one to whom
The virtuous of whole nations look with joy
And expectation high, dies in the prime
Of active excellence; but soon, to calm
The general grief, and all distrust reprove,
From his removal are divinely wrought,
And visibly to all, effects above
The highest ever hoped from life prolonged.
Few are the days, in which the friends of man,
With looks of fearful sorrow, when they meet,
Untimely and calamitous pronounce
His early death. On all the darkness thick,
Involving it at first, light shines anon,
With added glory; as when radiance bright,
After the sun's departure in deep gloom,
Suddenly shines on all the clouds of heaven,
And adds a splendour richer than of day.

In grand pre-eminence o'er every truth
Rises the goodness, pure and measureless,
Of that eternal Being, in whose hands
Are all things, at his sole disposal held,
And with a grasp that nothing can resist.
No matter what is truth, if this be not;
All is forever lost; despair like death
Reigns, and a horror of great darkness spreads,
O'er a lost universe. If this be truth,
No matter what is not; all, all is safe;
The living light of hope creation cheers.
This is enough for creatures of the dust
To know of their great Maker; of his will
And providence, in all their mysteries.
Let this suffice the wavering to confirm,
To hush the murmuring, and the sinking raise;
To drive from every breast rebellious thoughts
And sorrowful, and win the love supreme
Of every heart, the confidence entire;
And into each infuse divine delight,
Unmingled and unfailing as its source.
Sublimer consolation heaven has none
To give to mortals, no sublimer joy
For angels, than from the assurance flows,
That all is goodness in the government,
And in the character, of Him who reigns
Head over all things; that his holiness
Is but benevolence kindled to a flame,
Refining and consuming for like end,
His wisdom but the knowledge and the will
To make the height of happiness secure,
His justice a wall of fire about his throne
To guard it from defilement ruinous,
His truth the immutability of grace,
And his omnipotence the might of love.

Great is thy goodness, Father of all life,
Fount of all joy. Thou high and holy One,
Whom not thy glorious sanctuary, heaven,
Can e'er contain; Spirit invisible,
Whose omnipresence makes creation smile,
Great is thy goodness, worthy of all praise
From all thy works. Then let earth, air, and sea;
Nature, with every season in its turn;
The firmament, with its revolving fires;
And all things living; join to give thee praise.
Thou glorious sun, like thy Original,
A vital influence to surrounding worlds
Forever sending forth, yet always full;
And thou fair queen of night, o'er the pure sky,
Amid thy glittering company of stars,
Walking in brightness, praise the God above.
Ocean, forever rolling to and fro
In thy vast bed, o'er half the hollowed earth;
Grand theatre of wonders to all lands,
And reservoir of blessings, sound his praise.
Break forth into a shout of grateful joy,
Ye mountains, covered with perennial green,
And pouring crystal torrents down your sides;
Ye lofty forests, and ye humble groves;
Ye hills, and plains, and valleys, overspread
With flocks and harvests. All ye feathered tribes,
That, taught by your Creator, a safe retreat
Find in the dead of winter, or enjoy
Sweet summer all your days by changing clime,
Warble to him all your melodious notes;
To him, who clothes you with your gay attire,
And kindles in your fluttering breasts the glow
Of love parental. Beasts, that graze the fields,
Or roam the woods, give honour to the Power,
That makes you swift to flee, or strong to meet,
The coming foe; and rouses you to flight
In harmless mirth, or sooths to pleasant rest.
Shout to Jehovah with the voice of praise,
Ye nations, all ye continents and isles,
People of every tongue; ye that within
The verdant shade of palm and plantain sit,
Feasting on their cool fruit, on torrid plains;
And ye that in the midst of pine-clad hills,
In snowy regions, grateful vigour inhale
From every breeze. Ye, that inhabit lands,
Where science, liberty, and plenty dwell,
Worship Jehovah in exalted strains.
But ye, to whom redeeming mercy comes,
With present peace, and promises sublime
Of future crowns, and mansions in the skies,
Imperishable, raise the loudest song.
O, sing forever, with seraphic voice,
To Him, whose immortality is yours,
In the blest union of eternal love!
And join them, all ye winged hosts of heaven,
That in your Maker's glory take delight;
And ye, too, all ye bright inhabitants
Of starry worlds; and let the universe,
Above, below, around, be filled with praise.

Though held thus long in contemplation sweet
On heaven's high King, I may not leave his court
Till I have marked the godlike myriads
Of bright intelligences, that attend
In state celestial, ranged in order round
His throne adoring; at his bidding fly,
Swiftly and silently as beams of light,
From world to world, to execute his will;
From their creation this their blest employ,
And theirs for an eternity to come.
Not from the need of their almighty Lord,
To propagate the impulse of his hand
Beyond its reach, serve they throughout his realm.
Nor is his service deemed a menial task;
'Tis their high privilege, their whole delight.
Were they disbanded, and employed no more,
Their hearts would pine as o'er departed bliss,
Their station forfeited, their glory lost.
On errand sent of love or righteous wrath,
They oft appeared on earth, from that sad hour
When cherubs stood to guard, with sword of flame,
Fair paradise and its live-giving tree
From all access of banished ruined man,
To that most memorable day, when heaven
Sent down the flower of her exulting hosts,
To celebrate his birth in Bethlehem born.
Him they acknowledged as their Sovereign still,
Though clad in flesh, and to his human wants
Administered while in the lonely wild,
Strengthened his mortal frame when in the shades
Of sad Gethsemane it almost sunk,
Borne down by that insufferable load
Of a world's guilt; and legions, hovering near,
Gazing with trembling wonder, waited leave
To screen from danger his devoted head,
And pour contempt and ruin on his foes.
In shining garments mighty angels came,
To ope the tomb, and hail their rising Lord;
And came again—let gently down to earth
The golden cloud that bore him up the sky,
And them who gazed of his last coming warned.
That coming all his angels shall attend,
The trump to sound, and gather his elect
From the four winds, ere his avenging wrath
Come on the world, and bury it in flames.
Meanwhile they minister to saints below,
The tempted to deliver, and to guide
The wandering; hope to whisper to the sad,
And to the dying peace. Round the death bed
They take their stand, with wings invisible
And noiseless fan upon the burning brow
The cooling air, and light the lifted eye
With glimpses of celestial glory bright.
They wait, with arms extended, to receive
The liberated spirit, and up to climes
Of immortality, their happy home,
Bear it with the rapidity of thought.
Benevolence reigns a passion in their breasts,
While in the presence of their King they stand,
Begirt to fly the moment when he bids.
It spreads their pinions, quickens, and supports,
And guides them far and wide, on every wind,
Downward, and upward, and along the earth
From land to land, wherever virtue dwells.
Listening delighted, in assemblies, met
To join entreaties for the coming quick
Of the great kingdom of redeeming love,
They mingle; and in those of every name,
Combined its promised welfare to promote.
They cheer with glad attendance them that go,
Life to the dying nations to proclaim;
And with the tidings of each penitent
Hasten to heaven, to give new rapture there.
And if o'er one regenerated soul
They all rejoice, what shouts of joy, increased
A thousand fold, shall burst from glowing lips,
Ring round and round the everlasting hills,
From choir to choir repeated long and loud,
And swell the whole grand chorus of the skies,
When in one day a nation shall be born!
A Gabriel's now is every humbler harp,
And his attuned to notes unheard before.
If angels bear a beggar to the skies,
If they have borne home solitary saints,
Amidst unholy millions well nigh lost,
How will the air and heavens be all alive,
With motion swifter than the lightning flash,
From their ascending and descending bands,
Meeting, and intermingling, night and day,
When from each shore, and island of the sea,
And mount, and vale, around the populous globe,
Spirits regenerate shall depart each hour,
In all a countless throng! From heaven to earth
Pass and repass bright angels, in a train
So constant, and so thick, they lighten up
Another galaxy along the sky,
A radiant pathway o'er the starry realm
To realms of bliss. Behold the saints ascend,
No longer one by one, and far apart;
They go in companies, they fly like clouds
Of sunny whiteness, on a vernal day,
Hurrying in thick succession o'er the heavens;
In one continual multitude they rise.
Oft hovering for a moment, on their way,
To clap their pinions with triumphant joy,
Angels attend them; angels, too, on watch,
Look from the garnished battlements of heaven,
Their coming to proclaim, soon as beheld,
Far down, a living constellation, fast
Ascending, widening, brightening, shedding light
On the dim orbs that roll around its path.
Their city's twelve transparent gates of pearl,
Till this glad day all barred save one alone,
Angels with joyful haste throw open wide,
To let whole armies in; and angels pour
From each, to greet them, with endearing words,
And smiles benignant; and through dazzling ranks,
Into the centre of their blest abode,
Before that face whose glory is their sun,
Conduct them, all, with tuneful voices loud,
And the sweet symphony of golden harps,
Uniting in hosannas to the Lamb.

While thus with all the native sons of heaven,
In their adoring acclamations, join
Those ransomed from the earth, they feel the fire
Of their benevolence, in its purity,
Burning within, enkindling joy like theirs,
And prompting to like action. Yes, the love
Of giving and beholding happiness,
First wakened in their hearts amid the sins,
The griefs, and frailties, of mortality,
When these remain no more to chill its zeal,
Shall live, the bosom's sole inhabitant;
There reign, and to angelic fervour rise.
Love is the only amaranthine flower,
In this inclement world, this land of death.
While faith and hope, are blasted in the grave,
The wintry grave, with other flowers of time,
Thou, sacred charity, shalt still survive,
And in a soil and clime, where all is life,
Shalt grow, and flourish, in eternal spring,
And with unwasting sweetness fill the groves
And vales of paradise. There all is love,
In every happy breast, through every rank,
E'en to the humblest; love without a taint
Of hidden selfishness, without a drop
Of bitterness, from fear, or hope deferred.
None pine with jealousy, at sight of bliss
Their own transcending. To behold a crown
Of fairer light than theirs, or hear a harp
More tuneful, wakens discontent in none,
But livelier joy. The happiness of each
Is ever that of all. Love makes the heaven
Of every bosom; gives to every face
Its winning beauty, to the cheek its bloom
Unfading, to the lips their living glow,
Its pure etherial lustre to the eye,
And to the whole its everlasting smile.
On all the multitudes, spread o'er the plains
Of immortality, from his high throne
The God of love, through the transparent cloud
Of glory round him, casts a fixed look
Of calm complacence, in their union sweet
Rejoicing, in their charity sublime,
In their consummate likeness to himself.