And God said, Let there bee light; and there was light.
GENESIS 1. 3.
1
This flame-expecting Tapour hath, at length,
Received fyre; and, now, begins to burne:
It hath no vigour yet, it hath no strength;
Apt to be puft and quencht at ev'ry turne:
It was a gracious hand that thus endow'd
This snuffe with flame: But marke, this hand doth shroud
It selfe from mortall eyes, and folds it in a Cloud.
2
Thus man begins to live; An unknowne flame
Quickens his finisht Organs; now, possest
With motion; and which motion doth proclaime
An active soule, though in a feeble brest:
But how, and when infus'd, ask not my Pen;
Here flyes a Cloud before the eyes of men:
I can not tell thee, how; nor can thou tell mee, when.
3
Was it a parcell of celestiall fire,
Infus'd, by Heav'n, into this fleshly mould?
Or was it (think you) made a soule entire?
Then; was it new created? Or of old?
Or is't a propagated Spark, rak'd out
From Natures embers? Whilst we goe about,
By reason, to resolve, the more we raise a doubt.
4
If it be part of that celestiall Flame,
It must be ev'n as pure, as free from spot
As that eternall fountaine whence it came:
If pure, and spotlesse; then, whence came the blot?
It selfe, being pure, could not it selfe defile;
Nor hath unactive Matter pow'r to soile
Her pure and active Forme, as Jarrs corupt their Oyle.
5
Or, if it were created, tell me, when?
If in the first sixe dayes, where kept till now?
Or, if the soule were new created, then
Heav'n did not all, at first, he had to doe:
Six dayes expird, all Creation ceast,
All kinds, even from the greatest to the least
Were finisht, and compleat, before the day of Rest.
6
But why should Man, the Lord of Creatures, want
That priviledge which Plants and Beasts obtaine?
Beasts bring forth Beasts, the Plant a perfect Plant;
And every like brings forth her like againe:
Shall fowles, and fishes, beasts and plants convey
Life to their issue? And Man lesse than they?
Shall these get living soules? And Man, dead lumps of clay?
7
Must humane soules be generated then?
My water ebbs; behold, a Rock is nigh:
If Natures worke produce the soules of men,
Mans soule is mortall: All that's borne must die.
What shall we then conclude? What sun-shine will
Disperse this gloomy cloud? Till then, be still,
My vainely striving thoughts; Lie down, my puzz'ld quill.
ISODOR.
Why doest thou wonder, O man, at the height of the Starres? or the depth of
the sea? Enter into thine owne soule, and wonder there.
The soule by creating is infused; by infusion, created.
