Thoughts Upon The Four Last Things Death; Judgment; Heaven; and Hell. A Poem In Four Parts. The Second Edition. To which are added, The I, CIV, and CXXXVII Psalms Paraphras'd [by Joseph Trapp] |
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 | Thoughts Upon The Four Last Things |  |
Dark to Futurity, in Doubt, and Fear,
Short of Hereafter's What, and How, and Where,
Trembling to launch into an unknown State,
Final, immutable, and fix'd as Fate;
Fond, foolish Man would fain those Thoughts decline,
And lose them in false Bus'ness, Sports, or Wine.
But can'st thou lose them? Seest thou not, each hour,
Age drop like Autumn-leaves? Youth like a Flow'r
Cut down? Do Coffins, Graves, and tolling Bells
Warn thee in vain? In Palaces, and Cells,
The Heights of Life above, the Vales beneath,
In Towns, and Fields, we every where meet Death.
Short of Hereafter's What, and How, and Where,
Trembling to launch into an unknown State,
Final, immutable, and fix'd as Fate;
Fond, foolish Man would fain those Thoughts decline,
And lose them in false Bus'ness, Sports, or Wine.
But can'st thou lose them? Seest thou not, each hour,
Age drop like Autumn-leaves? Youth like a Flow'r
Cut down? Do Coffins, Graves, and tolling Bells
Warn thee in vain? In Palaces, and Cells,
The Heights of Life above, the Vales beneath,
In Towns, and Fields, we every where meet Death.
Dull! trite! insipid! crys the Critick's Phlegm;
Mors omnibus communis—Children's Theme—
Why, Children die; and, Critick, so must Thou;
And so must I; tho' None knows When, or How:
Soon it must be; and That is all we know.
Must Death (while Life is so much over priz'd)
Because 'tis thus familiar, be despis'd?
Neglected, because certain? when our Bliss,
Or Woe succeeds? What Turn of Mind is This?
Oh! but the Image present Mirth destroys:
Suppose That true; it leads to endless Joys.
Must we indulge no Thoughts, but such as please?
And sacrifice our Safety to our Ease?
But 'tis Not true: The Vertuous, and the Wise
Have more Enjoyment than the Fools of Vice:
And Nothing more to make us Good can tend,
While Life endures, than Thinking on its End:
By That no present Happiness is lost;
He fears Death least, who thinks upon it most.
Mors omnibus communis—Children's Theme—
2
And so must I; tho' None knows When, or How:
Soon it must be; and That is all we know.
Must Death (while Life is so much over priz'd)
Because 'tis thus familiar, be despis'd?
Neglected, because certain? when our Bliss,
Or Woe succeeds? What Turn of Mind is This?
Oh! but the Image present Mirth destroys:
Suppose That true; it leads to endless Joys.
Must we indulge no Thoughts, but such as please?
And sacrifice our Safety to our Ease?
But 'tis Not true: The Vertuous, and the Wise
Have more Enjoyment than the Fools of Vice:
And Nothing more to make us Good can tend,
While Life endures, than Thinking on its End:
By That no present Happiness is lost;
He fears Death least, who thinks upon it most.
Ev'n to the Best indeed, with brandish'd Dart,
This King of Terrors will some Fear impart:
Adverse to Nature This much-dreaded Foe
Makes Nature bend beneath the threaten'd Blow.
Thus much of Sin Original remains
Still unatton'd: Sad Sickness, Languor, Pains,
Physicians, Med'cines, weeping Babes and Wife,
Parting with dearest Friends, and sweet, sweet Life:
Darkness behind, as Pain and Tears before:
But soon the melancholy Scene is o'er.
Ev'n while it lasts, Joy intermix'd with Grief
Refreshes him, and Conscience brings Relief.
Smiling he kens the happy Realms above,
Blest Regions of eternal Peace, and Love:
His Saviour, while in Air his Sighs exhale,
Consoles, and guides him thro' the gloomy Vale;
Faithful Creator! His firm Staff and Rod
Supports the Soul incumbent on its God.
This King of Terrors will some Fear impart:
Adverse to Nature This much-dreaded Foe
Makes Nature bend beneath the threaten'd Blow.
Thus much of Sin Original remains
Still unatton'd: Sad Sickness, Languor, Pains,
Physicians, Med'cines, weeping Babes and Wife,
Parting with dearest Friends, and sweet, sweet Life:
3
But soon the melancholy Scene is o'er.
Ev'n while it lasts, Joy intermix'd with Grief
Refreshes him, and Conscience brings Relief.
Smiling he kens the happy Realms above,
Blest Regions of eternal Peace, and Love:
His Saviour, while in Air his Sighs exhale,
Consoles, and guides him thro' the gloomy Vale;
Faithful Creator! His firm Staff and Rod
Supports the Soul incumbent on its God.
Not so the Wicked; Hell is in his Breast;
He shakes, and shudders at the dire Arrest.
Stinging Reflection, while he yields his Breath,
Adds Point and Venom to the Shaft of Death:
He sees the Gulph, and shivers on the Brink;
Nature, and Guilt, and Conscience backward shrink:
Or if the Wretch obdur'd, or stupid dies;
He sleeps indeed, but Hell unseals his Eyes.
He shakes, and shudders at the dire Arrest.
Stinging Reflection, while he yields his Breath,
Adds Point and Venom to the Shaft of Death:
He sees the Gulph, and shivers on the Brink;
Nature, and Guilt, and Conscience backward shrink:
Or if the Wretch obdur'd, or stupid dies;
He sleeps indeed, but Hell unseals his Eyes.
Of Both the Bodys cold in Earth are laid;
Their Souls to diff'rent Seats, or States, convey'd.
Thou seest a Corpse with fun'ral Pomp inurn'd:
How great the Man! With how much Splendor mourn'd!
Seest with his Own his Wife's Escutcheon join'd,
And gilded Banners flutter in the Wind;
The Herald's Art! much gaz'd at, understood
By few! But was he Vertuous, Wise, and Good?
If so; This hurts him not: But if unjust,
Abandon'd to base Av'rice, Pride, or Lust;
What boots this Pageantry? With joyful Howl
Infernal Spirits seiz'd his parting Soul.
Which Now, or in a dismal Dungeon bound,
In Chains of Darkness, in a Den profound,
With Millions like Herself, despairing groans:
Or, if at large, with piercing fruitless Moans,
Low, near to Earth, her former dear Delight,
Fills the dun Air, and shrieks thro' Shades of Night:
Hovers around the wretched Coarse she left,
And fain would enter: Of That Hope bereft,
Stript of her Body, naked, and forlorn,
She scuds away, and dreads the rising Morn:
No Object finds to gratify her Sense,
Herself almost a Body, gross, and dense;
Yet not enough, her Appetites to please;
She knows no Interval of Rest, or Ease.
Imaginary Bags of Gold she clasps;
In vain; 'tis empty Air alone she grasps:
Lust she'd indulge; but is with Thinness curst:
Would drink; but, tho' immortal, dies for Thirst.
Her black and dev'lish Passions, night and day,
Pride, Malice, Rage, and Envy, on her prey.
Herself already to herself a Hell,
She trembles in those sulph'rous Flames to dwell;
With Horror waits the last tremendous Doom
Of fiercer Pains, and Torments yet to come.
Their Souls to diff'rent Seats, or States, convey'd.
4
How great the Man! With how much Splendor mourn'd!
Seest with his Own his Wife's Escutcheon join'd,
And gilded Banners flutter in the Wind;
The Herald's Art! much gaz'd at, understood
By few! But was he Vertuous, Wise, and Good?
If so; This hurts him not: But if unjust,
Abandon'd to base Av'rice, Pride, or Lust;
What boots this Pageantry? With joyful Howl
Infernal Spirits seiz'd his parting Soul.
Which Now, or in a dismal Dungeon bound,
In Chains of Darkness, in a Den profound,
With Millions like Herself, despairing groans:
Or, if at large, with piercing fruitless Moans,
Low, near to Earth, her former dear Delight,
Fills the dun Air, and shrieks thro' Shades of Night:
Hovers around the wretched Coarse she left,
And fain would enter: Of That Hope bereft,
Stript of her Body, naked, and forlorn,
She scuds away, and dreads the rising Morn:
5
Herself almost a Body, gross, and dense;
Yet not enough, her Appetites to please;
She knows no Interval of Rest, or Ease.
Imaginary Bags of Gold she clasps;
In vain; 'tis empty Air alone she grasps:
Lust she'd indulge; but is with Thinness curst:
Would drink; but, tho' immortal, dies for Thirst.
Her black and dev'lish Passions, night and day,
Pride, Malice, Rage, and Envy, on her prey.
Herself already to herself a Hell,
She trembles in those sulph'rous Flames to dwell;
With Horror waits the last tremendous Doom
Of fiercer Pains, and Torments yet to come.
A diff'rent Fate the Just Man's recent Ghost
Attends: He, landing on the New World's Coast,
(Fertile of Wonders, glorious to behold!)
Looks back with Joy, and Triumph, on the Old.
O Death, he crys, (her Pow'r he now can brave)
Where is thy Sting? Thy Victory, O Grave?
He smiles, reflecting on the Pride of Kings;
And Angels bear him on their purple Wings
To Mansions of celestial Peace, and Rest:
Death is to Him, who dies but to be blest,
A Gate from This to a far better Life,
Free from all Pain, and Sorrow, Cares, and Strife.
We, viewing his pale Body spoil'd of Breath,
And all the new Dishonours wrought by Death,
Contemplating his Fun'ral now prepar'd,
His Grave just sunk, or the dark Vault unbarr'd,
His sable Chest, and what We call his End,
Absurdly pity our departed Friend:
Alas! He pitys Us; whom here he leaves
In this sad Vale of Tears; whom Life deceives
With vain false Hopes; who labour, here below,
With unsubstantial Joys, and solid Woe:
He bids us for Ourselves more justly grieve,
And sighs to see the wretched Death we live.
Attends: He, landing on the New World's Coast,
(Fertile of Wonders, glorious to behold!)
Looks back with Joy, and Triumph, on the Old.
O Death, he crys, (her Pow'r he now can brave)
Where is thy Sting? Thy Victory, O Grave?
6
And Angels bear him on their purple Wings
To Mansions of celestial Peace, and Rest:
Death is to Him, who dies but to be blest,
A Gate from This to a far better Life,
Free from all Pain, and Sorrow, Cares, and Strife.
We, viewing his pale Body spoil'd of Breath,
And all the new Dishonours wrought by Death,
Contemplating his Fun'ral now prepar'd,
His Grave just sunk, or the dark Vault unbarr'd,
His sable Chest, and what We call his End,
Absurdly pity our departed Friend:
Alas! He pitys Us; whom here he leaves
In this sad Vale of Tears; whom Life deceives
With vain false Hopes; who labour, here below,
With unsubstantial Joys, and solid Woe:
He bids us for Ourselves more justly grieve,
And sighs to see the wretched Death we live.
Himself or in a blissful Region dwells,
Which Virgil's feign'd Elysium far excels;
A Paradise more pleasant now can boast,
Than That which Man's first Disobedience lost;
An Eden, which should ev'n great Milton paint,
His strongest Colours would be dead, and faint:
Where all the Good departed hence enjoy
Ineffable Delights, which never cloy.
Or blest in State alone, unfix'd to Place,
Ranges the infinite Expanse of Space;
Obstructed by no Boundaries, or Bars,
Expatiates thro' th'unnumber'd Worlds of Stars;
Sees how barb'd Comets shake their fiery Hair,
How Planets, hung on Nothing, spin in Air:
Of plain Effects the latent Causes views;
How Hail is moulded, and how rise the Dews.
How blended Elements unite in Strife,
And bury'd Seeds by dying spring to Life:
What paints the Tulip, and the blushing Rose;
How from the Violet the fresh Odor flows:
How Cold congeals, and why ascends the Fire;
Why Tides swell high, and less'ning Ebbs retire.
Now to the Bottom of the boundless Deep
Descends, where lowest Floods in silence sleep;
The Wonders of the Watry World surveys,
Thro' Coral-Groves, and Finny Nations strays:
Now thro' the Windings of the cavern'd Earth
Delighted roves; views Metals in their Birth;
The hidden Crudities of Things explores;
Views future Seas, e'er yet they beat their Shores;
Rivers, which glide thro' subterraneous Caves,
Before they mix their Streams with Ocean's Waves.
Thro' the whole Moral Scheme his piercing Sight
Directs, and views it in its native Light:
Knows e'en Himself; knows what he Was, and Is;
What in his Former State, and What in This:
How rude Ideas in the Mind are wrought;
How Thinking is perform'd, and What is Thought.
What Soul, and Body are; How first combin'd,
Why now divorc'd, and how to be rejoin'd.
Sees thro' the Whole the great Creator spread,
Reigning thro' All, the Living, and the Dead;
(All live to Him) the Universal Whole
By Him sustain'd; the Body, and the Soul;
Nature's vast Frame: In Him All live, and move,
The vilest Worm below, the highest Saint above.
Which Virgil's feign'd Elysium far excels;
A Paradise more pleasant now can boast,
Than That which Man's first Disobedience lost;
7
His strongest Colours would be dead, and faint:
Where all the Good departed hence enjoy
Ineffable Delights, which never cloy.
Or blest in State alone, unfix'd to Place,
Ranges the infinite Expanse of Space;
Obstructed by no Boundaries, or Bars,
Expatiates thro' th'unnumber'd Worlds of Stars;
Sees how barb'd Comets shake their fiery Hair,
How Planets, hung on Nothing, spin in Air:
Of plain Effects the latent Causes views;
How Hail is moulded, and how rise the Dews.
How blended Elements unite in Strife,
And bury'd Seeds by dying spring to Life:
What paints the Tulip, and the blushing Rose;
How from the Violet the fresh Odor flows:
How Cold congeals, and why ascends the Fire;
Why Tides swell high, and less'ning Ebbs retire.
Now to the Bottom of the boundless Deep
Descends, where lowest Floods in silence sleep;
The Wonders of the Watry World surveys,
Thro' Coral-Groves, and Finny Nations strays:
Now thro' the Windings of the cavern'd Earth
Delighted roves; views Metals in their Birth;
8
Views future Seas, e'er yet they beat their Shores;
Rivers, which glide thro' subterraneous Caves,
Before they mix their Streams with Ocean's Waves.
Thro' the whole Moral Scheme his piercing Sight
Directs, and views it in its native Light:
Knows e'en Himself; knows what he Was, and Is;
What in his Former State, and What in This:
How rude Ideas in the Mind are wrought;
How Thinking is perform'd, and What is Thought.
What Soul, and Body are; How first combin'd,
Why now divorc'd, and how to be rejoin'd.
Sees thro' the Whole the great Creator spread,
Reigning thro' All, the Living, and the Dead;
(All live to Him) the Universal Whole
By Him sustain'd; the Body, and the Soul;
Nature's vast Frame: In Him All live, and move,
The vilest Worm below, the highest Saint above.
Nor This in Solitude; He roaming meets,
And with unutterable Pleasure greets
(Nor is to Him less Love by Them express'd)
Ten thousand Myriads of his Fellow Blest.
All join in sweet Society, and raise
Their Voices to th'Eternal Godhead's Praise.
To Them their Elder Brethren of the Sky,
The Angels, as thro' liquid Air they fly,
To excute th'Almighty's dread Commands,
Oft add themselves, and friendly touch their Hands.
And well they can delicious Converse hold
With Those high Spirits, tho' of purer Mold;
Since here on Earth their Tastes to heav'nly Good
Were always turn'd, and relish'd Angel's Food.
And now each Soul, of Substance more refin'd,
(Its airy Vehicle almost a Mind)
Objects agreeable can never want,
Nor any Joys its cumbrous Flesh could grant.
Yet in This blissful intermediate State
The last Perfection of their Bliss they wait:
Farther than This Possession Hope extends,
Sure Hope of Happiness which never ends,
Consummate Happiness; when Flesh and Soul
Shall re-unite, and be the former Whole;
When Heav'n shall all the Just made perfect bless,
And Hope in absolute Fruition cease.
And with unutterable Pleasure greets
(Nor is to Him less Love by Them express'd)
Ten thousand Myriads of his Fellow Blest.
9
Their Voices to th'Eternal Godhead's Praise.
To Them their Elder Brethren of the Sky,
The Angels, as thro' liquid Air they fly,
To excute th'Almighty's dread Commands,
Oft add themselves, and friendly touch their Hands.
And well they can delicious Converse hold
With Those high Spirits, tho' of purer Mold;
Since here on Earth their Tastes to heav'nly Good
Were always turn'd, and relish'd Angel's Food.
And now each Soul, of Substance more refin'd,
(Its airy Vehicle almost a Mind)
Objects agreeable can never want,
Nor any Joys its cumbrous Flesh could grant.
Yet in This blissful intermediate State
The last Perfection of their Bliss they wait:
Farther than This Possession Hope extends,
Sure Hope of Happiness which never ends,
Consummate Happiness; when Flesh and Soul
Shall re-unite, and be the former Whole;
10
And Hope in absolute Fruition cease.
But soft—We stand arrested in our Course:
Objections here, of mighty Weight, and Force,
Against These Suppositions, fancy'd Things,
The bloated, or the meagre, Atheist brings.
Atheist I stile him; for He's much the Same;
Tho' chusing Deist's somewhat milder Name.
Speak then, dull Infidel, thy inmost Thought:
Death's Nought, thou say'st, and after Death is Nought;
A future State, vile Priestcraft's bugbear Theme,
And all Reveal'd Religion is a Dream.
But canst thou prove This? No; not, tho' 'twere true:
But, as 'tis false; Facts done canst Thou undoe?
Canst Thou by Logick, and Philosophy,
What surely is demonstrate not to be?
Did God (a Truth from All besides conceal'd)
Reveal to Thee that Nothing is reveal'd?
Was ever Spirit sent to Thee alone
From t'other World, to tell thee there is None?
This, Thou reply'st, is Contradiction all:
So are thy Reas'nings, vain, proud Animal:
Which I (if Heav'n so far This Span prolong)
Will prove by Argument, in Rhime, and Song,
As many have in Prose. Nor is't in Verse
Unfit these Truths important to rehearse,
These serious, moral, theologic Things:
Since, as the preaching Poet wisely sings,
“A Verse may find Him who a Sermon flys,
“And turn Delight into a Sacrifice.
Objections here, of mighty Weight, and Force,
Against These Suppositions, fancy'd Things,
The bloated, or the meagre, Atheist brings.
Atheist I stile him; for He's much the Same;
Tho' chusing Deist's somewhat milder Name.
Speak then, dull Infidel, thy inmost Thought:
Death's Nought, thou say'st, and after Death is Nought;
A future State, vile Priestcraft's bugbear Theme,
And all Reveal'd Religion is a Dream.
But canst thou prove This? No; not, tho' 'twere true:
But, as 'tis false; Facts done canst Thou undoe?
Canst Thou by Logick, and Philosophy,
What surely is demonstrate not to be?
Did God (a Truth from All besides conceal'd)
Reveal to Thee that Nothing is reveal'd?
11
From t'other World, to tell thee there is None?
This, Thou reply'st, is Contradiction all:
So are thy Reas'nings, vain, proud Animal:
Which I (if Heav'n so far This Span prolong)
Will prove by Argument, in Rhime, and Song,
As many have in Prose. Nor is't in Verse
Unfit these Truths important to rehearse,
These serious, moral, theologic Things:
Since, as the preaching Poet wisely sings,
“A Verse may find Him who a Sermon flys,
“And turn Delight into a Sacrifice.
Mean while, What think'st thou? Was the human Soul,
Which by a transient Glance from Pole to Pole
Travels more swift than Light, to Heav'n sublime
Can fly, descend to Hell, six fleeting Time,
The Past and Future to the Present join,
And knows no Bounds which can Its Range confine,
But Infinite alone—
Which reasons justly, Its own Thoughts o'er-rules,
And Fancy's Fire with Judgment's Temper cools;
By Sciences brings hidden Truths to Light:
Some Knowledge gains; but, with fresh Appetite,
Unsatisfy'd, for more still thirsts, and pants,
Knowing, the more It has, how much It wants;
Was by th'Almighty's Wisdom for no End
Design'd, but here a sad short Life to spend;
Only to trifle sev'nty Years away
In this frail Flesh, this Tenement of Clay,
In Doubt, in Fear, in Sorrow, in Despair,
Then cease to be, and vanish into Air?
While various Species of th'inferior, brute
Creation, void of Reason, prone, and mute,
Beasts, Fishes, Birds, ev'n Vegetables, Trees,
The Oak, the Yew, and other Things like These,
Senseless, inanimate, whole Ages last,
After our longest Term of Days is past?
Should One in Pow'rs mechanick most expert
The utmost Efforts of his Skill exert,
Some curious, delicate Machine to frame,
Surpassing all his other Works of Fame;
Yet so contriv'd, that one revolving Sun
Should see This mighty Doing quite undone;
The Wheels, and Springs stand still, and made to stand,
Fix'd, disobedient to the Mover's Hand;
Or, bursting, into Dissolution fly,
And all dispers'd in useless Fragments lie:
Would'st thou not say that, after such Expense
Of Art, the Artist wanted Common Sense?
And shall Eternal Wisdom be impeach'd
Of Folly, which no Mortal Fool e'er reach'd?
Which by a transient Glance from Pole to Pole
Travels more swift than Light, to Heav'n sublime
Can fly, descend to Hell, six fleeting Time,
The Past and Future to the Present join,
And knows no Bounds which can Its Range confine,
But Infinite alone—
12
And Fancy's Fire with Judgment's Temper cools;
By Sciences brings hidden Truths to Light:
Some Knowledge gains; but, with fresh Appetite,
Unsatisfy'd, for more still thirsts, and pants,
Knowing, the more It has, how much It wants;
Was by th'Almighty's Wisdom for no End
Design'd, but here a sad short Life to spend;
Only to trifle sev'nty Years away
In this frail Flesh, this Tenement of Clay,
In Doubt, in Fear, in Sorrow, in Despair,
Then cease to be, and vanish into Air?
While various Species of th'inferior, brute
Creation, void of Reason, prone, and mute,
Beasts, Fishes, Birds, ev'n Vegetables, Trees,
The Oak, the Yew, and other Things like These,
Senseless, inanimate, whole Ages last,
After our longest Term of Days is past?
Should One in Pow'rs mechanick most expert
The utmost Efforts of his Skill exert,
Some curious, delicate Machine to frame,
Surpassing all his other Works of Fame;
Yet so contriv'd, that one revolving Sun
Should see This mighty Doing quite undone;
13
Fix'd, disobedient to the Mover's Hand;
Or, bursting, into Dissolution fly,
And all dispers'd in useless Fragments lie:
Would'st thou not say that, after such Expense
Of Art, the Artist wanted Common Sense?
And shall Eternal Wisdom be impeach'd
Of Folly, which no Mortal Fool e'er reach'd?
But oh! a Spirit! Who That Word can hear,
And form an Image adequate, and clear,
Join'd to the Sound? Why; frankly I confess,
I never saw a Spirit's Shape, or Dress.
Is there None therefore? Is, I ask, to Thee
This Reas'ning just, Nought is, but what I see?
No; But of Spirit, Thou wilt strait reply,
Thou canst form no Idea: So can I.
What? Substance without Figure? Yes; Why Not?
Instead of Figure, 'tis endu'd with Thought.
Can Matter think? Thy self wilt sure disown
A thinking Piece of Timber, or of Stone.
A thinking Piece of Flesh is just the same:
Of Neither any Notion can we frame.
That God's a Spirit, is a Truth most bright;
For Body never can be infinite.
If then one Spirit; why not Millions more?
But granting there were None; Thy self explore.
Thou art a Man; Thou think'st; Thy active Mind
Can by no Bounds in Thinking be confin'd.
And can it e'er in Reason be conceiv'd,
Ev'n by an Infidel's large Faith believ'd,
That such a Substance, call it what thou list,
Body, or Soul, was made but to exist
For sev'nty Years, so very small a Space;
And then in Being have no more a Place?
Thou find'st thy self accountable Elsewhere
For what thou do'st, and how thou suffer'st Here;
Conscious of Praise, and Shame, of Good, and Ill,
Lord of thy ev'ry Action, free in Will;
Fit or for Heav'n's Reward, or vengeful Rod;
For sure a Deist's Name must own a GOD.
And of Hereafter's Woe, and Bliss in store,
Reason speaks much, but Revelation more.
That makes it probable; most certain, This:
Be it that Nothing then but Matter is;
Matter, and Motion—Words you so much love:
To Thee what Consolation will it prove,
When damn'd in Hell, that, bound in fiery Chains,
'Tis Nought but Matter mov'd that suffers endless Pains?
And form an Image adequate, and clear,
Join'd to the Sound? Why; frankly I confess,
I never saw a Spirit's Shape, or Dress.
Is there None therefore? Is, I ask, to Thee
This Reas'ning just, Nought is, but what I see?
No; But of Spirit, Thou wilt strait reply,
Thou canst form no Idea: So can I.
What? Substance without Figure? Yes; Why Not?
Instead of Figure, 'tis endu'd with Thought.
Can Matter think? Thy self wilt sure disown
A thinking Piece of Timber, or of Stone.
14
Of Neither any Notion can we frame.
That God's a Spirit, is a Truth most bright;
For Body never can be infinite.
If then one Spirit; why not Millions more?
But granting there were None; Thy self explore.
Thou art a Man; Thou think'st; Thy active Mind
Can by no Bounds in Thinking be confin'd.
And can it e'er in Reason be conceiv'd,
Ev'n by an Infidel's large Faith believ'd,
That such a Substance, call it what thou list,
Body, or Soul, was made but to exist
For sev'nty Years, so very small a Space;
And then in Being have no more a Place?
Thou find'st thy self accountable Elsewhere
For what thou do'st, and how thou suffer'st Here;
Conscious of Praise, and Shame, of Good, and Ill,
Lord of thy ev'ry Action, free in Will;
Fit or for Heav'n's Reward, or vengeful Rod;
For sure a Deist's Name must own a GOD.
15
Reason speaks much, but Revelation more.
That makes it probable; most certain, This:
Be it that Nothing then but Matter is;
Matter, and Motion—Words you so much love:
To Thee what Consolation will it prove,
When damn'd in Hell, that, bound in fiery Chains,
'Tis Nought but Matter mov'd that suffers endless Pains?
It plainly appears both from Reason, and Scripture, that there is an intermediate State of Souls, and of Happiness, and Misery, between Death, and the Day of Judgment. See Bp. Bull's Serm. III. Vol. I.
It was the Opinion of some of the Ancient Fathers, that the Angels themselves have certain fine aereal Bodys; which are called Vehicles.
Some pamper'd, and swoln with Gluttony, and Drunkenness, &c. Others sober, thinking, lean Infidels. See Part IV. from Ver. 476. to 508.
Deist (as the State of Infidelity now stands) is but another Word for Atheist; However contrary they may seem. See Note on Part IV. Ver. 50.
It was the Author's Design (if it should please God to give him Life for it) I. To demonstrate, in Verse, the Necessity of Revelation in general; and the Truth and Excellence of the Christian Religion in particular. II. To display the Glory of God in his Works of 1 Creation, 2 Redemption, 3 Providence. III. To set forth the supereminent Dignity of the Holy Scriptures above all Human Writings.
By Matter, or Body, in Philosophy, is meant every thing that can be the Object of any of our Senses, has Extension, Parts separable from One another, &c. In short every thing but Spirit. Thus, Flesh, Wood, Stone, Gold, Water, &c. are Matter or Body.
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