Pia Desideria or, Divine Addresses, In Three Books. Illustrated with XLVII. Copper-Plates. Written in Latin by Herm. Hugo. Englished by Edm. Arwaker ... The Fourth Edition, Corrected |
 |
|
| 1. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. | XIV. |
| XV. |
| 2. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| 3. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
 | Pia Desideria |  |
67
XIV.
Oh! that they were wise, that they understood this, that they would consider their latter end,
Deut. xxxii, 29.
Shame on besotted Man, whose baffled Mind
Is to all Dangers, but the present, Blind!
Whose Thoughts are all imploy'd on Mischiefs near,
But Ills remote, never fore-see, or fear.
The Soldier is prepar'd before th'Alarm,
The Signal giv'n 'twou'd be too late to Arm.
The Pylot's fore-sight waits each distant Blast,
And loses no Advantage in his haste.
Th'industrious Hind Manures and Sows the Field,
Which he expects a plenteous Crop should yield:
The lab'ring Ant in Summer stores at home
Provision e're old Age and Winter come.
But, oh! what means Man's stupid Negligence,
That of the future has no Care or Sense?
Does he expect Eternity below,
A Life that shall no Alteration know,
He's much abus'd; inevitable Death,
Tho' it delays, will one Day stop his Breath:
Vain are the hopes the firmest Leagues produce,
That Tyrant keeps no Faith, regards no Truce:
He does not to the Peace he makes incline,
To take Advantage is his whole Design:
To him Alliance is an empty Name,
He does all Int'rests, but his Own Disclaim.
Sooner the Ice or Snow shall mix with Flame;
Sooner the faithless Winds and Waves agree.
And Night and Day, and Lambs for safety flee
To bloody Wolves, than that make Peace with Thee:
Fiercely the greedy Spoiler strikes at all,
A Prey for his insatiate Jaws too small:
He tears ev'n tender Infants from the Breast,
And wraps them in a Shrowd, e're for the Cradle drest.
Nor Sex nor Age the grim Destroyer spares,
Unmov'd alike by Innocence and Years.
Here sprightly Youth, there hoary bending Age
Sweet Boys, and blooming Virgins glutt his Rage.
Like common Soldiers, chief Commanders Die,
And like Commanders, common Soldiers lie.
No shining Dust appears in Cræsus Urn,
Tho' all he touch'd he seem'd to Gold to turn.
Nor boasts fair Rachel's Face that Beauty here,
For which the Patriarch serv'd his twice-sev'n year,
And never thought the pleasing Purchase dear.
Ev'n Dives here from Laz'rus is not known,
For now One's Purple, th' Other's Rags, are gone.
Each has no Mansion but his narrow Cell,
Equal in Colour, and alike in Smell.
Why then shou'd Man of such vain Treasure boast,
So difficultly gain'd, so quickly lost?
For, late or early, all resign their Breath,
And bend, pale Victims to their Conqu'ror Death:
Each Sex, each Age, Profession, and Degree,
Moves tow'rds this Centre of Humanity.
Is to all Dangers, but the present, Blind!
Whose Thoughts are all imploy'd on Mischiefs near,
But Ills remote, never fore-see, or fear.
The Soldier is prepar'd before th'Alarm,
The Signal giv'n 'twou'd be too late to Arm.
The Pylot's fore-sight waits each distant Blast,
And loses no Advantage in his haste.
Th'industrious Hind Manures and Sows the Field,
Which he expects a plenteous Crop should yield:
The lab'ring Ant in Summer stores at home
Provision e're old Age and Winter come.
But, oh! what means Man's stupid Negligence,
That of the future has no Care or Sense?
Does he expect Eternity below,
A Life that shall no Alteration know,
He's much abus'd; inevitable Death,
Tho' it delays, will one Day stop his Breath:
68
That Tyrant keeps no Faith, regards no Truce:
He does not to the Peace he makes incline,
To take Advantage is his whole Design:
To him Alliance is an empty Name,
He does all Int'rests, but his Own Disclaim.
Sooner the Ice or Snow shall mix with Flame;
Sooner the faithless Winds and Waves agree.
And Night and Day, and Lambs for safety flee
To bloody Wolves, than that make Peace with Thee:
Fiercely the greedy Spoiler strikes at all,
A Prey for his insatiate Jaws too small:
He tears ev'n tender Infants from the Breast,
And wraps them in a Shrowd, e're for the Cradle drest.
Nor Sex nor Age the grim Destroyer spares,
Unmov'd alike by Innocence and Years.
Here sprightly Youth, there hoary bending Age
Sweet Boys, and blooming Virgins glutt his Rage.
Like common Soldiers, chief Commanders Die,
And like Commanders, common Soldiers lie.
No shining Dust appears in Cræsus Urn,
Tho' all he touch'd he seem'd to Gold to turn.
Nor boasts fair Rachel's Face that Beauty here,
For which the Patriarch serv'd his twice-sev'n year,
And never thought the pleasing Purchase dear.
69
For now One's Purple, th' Other's Rags, are gone.
Each has no Mansion but his narrow Cell,
Equal in Colour, and alike in Smell.
Why then shou'd Man of such vain Treasure boast,
So difficultly gain'd, so quickly lost?
For, late or early, all resign their Breath,
And bend, pale Victims to their Conqu'ror Death:
Each Sex, each Age, Profession, and Degree,
Moves tow'rds this Centre of Humanity.
But did they not a farther Journey go,
And that to Die were all they had to do;
Cou'd but their Souls dissolve as fast away,
As their corrupting Carcasses decay;
They'd covet Death to end their present Cares,
And for prevention of their future Fears,
They'd to the Grave, as an Asylum run,
And court the Stroke which now they wish to shun:
But Death (alas!) ends not their Miseries,
The Soul's Immortal, tho' the Body Dies.
Which, soon as from its Pris'n of Clay enlarg'd,
At Heav'ns Tribunal's sentenc'd or discharg'd.
Before an awful Pow'r, just and severe,
Round whose bright Head consuming Flames appear
The shackled Captive, dazled at his Sight,
Dejected stands, and shakes with wild Affright.
While, with strict Scrutiny, the Judge surveys
Its Heart, and close Impieties displays.
The Wretch convicted, does his Guilt confess,
Nor hopes for Mercy, for Concealment less;
While He, th'Accuser, Judge, and Witness too,
Damns it to an Eternity of Woe;
Where since no hope of an Appeal appears,
'Twou'd fain dissolve and drown it self in Tears.
And that to Die were all they had to do;
Cou'd but their Souls dissolve as fast away,
As their corrupting Carcasses decay;
They'd covet Death to end their present Cares,
And for prevention of their future Fears,
They'd to the Grave, as an Asylum run,
And court the Stroke which now they wish to shun:
But Death (alas!) ends not their Miseries,
The Soul's Immortal, tho' the Body Dies.
Which, soon as from its Pris'n of Clay enlarg'd,
At Heav'ns Tribunal's sentenc'd or discharg'd.
Before an awful Pow'r, just and severe,
Round whose bright Head consuming Flames appear
70
Dejected stands, and shakes with wild Affright.
While, with strict Scrutiny, the Judge surveys
Its Heart, and close Impieties displays.
The Wretch convicted, does his Guilt confess,
Nor hopes for Mercy, for Concealment less;
While He, th'Accuser, Judge, and Witness too,
Damns it to an Eternity of Woe;
Where since no hope of an Appeal appears,
'Twou'd fain dissolve and drown it self in Tears.
What Terrors then seize the forsaken Soul,
That finds no Patron for a Cause so foul?
Then it implores some Mountain to prevent,
By a kind Crush, its Shame and Punishment.
That finds no Patron for a Cause so foul?
Then it implores some Mountain to prevent,
By a kind Crush, its Shame and Punishment.
O wretched Soul, just Judge, hard Sentence too!
What harden'd Wretch dares sin that thinks on You?
Yet here, (alas!) ends not the fatal Grief,
There is another Death, another Life.
A Life as boundless as Eternity;
A Death whence shall no Resurrection be.
What Hell of Torments shall in This be found?
With what a Heav'n of Joys shall That abound?
Here rich Cœlestial Nectar treats the Soul;
There Fire and Brimstone crowns the flaming Bowl;
That, fill'd with Musick of th'Angelick Quire,
Shall each blest Soul with Extasies inspire;
While This disturb'd, at ev'ry hideous yell,
Shall in the Damn'd raise a new dread of Hell:
That knows no sharp Excess of Cold or Heat,
In This the Wretches always Freeze or Sweat.
There reign Eternal Rest, and soft Repose;
Here, painful Toil no end or Measure knows.
That, void of Grief, does nought Afflictive see;
This, still Disturb'd, from Troubles never free.
O happy Life! O vast unequall'd Bliss!
O Death accurs'd! O endless Miseries!
For that or this must be the doubtful cast,
Nor may we throw agen when once 'tis past.
Be wise then, Man, or will thy Care be vain,
To shun the Mis'ry, and the Bliss obtain;
Give Heav'n thy Heart, if thou its Crown wou'dst gain.
What harden'd Wretch dares sin that thinks on You?
Yet here, (alas!) ends not the fatal Grief,
There is another Death, another Life.
A Life as boundless as Eternity;
A Death whence shall no Resurrection be.
What Hell of Torments shall in This be found?
With what a Heav'n of Joys shall That abound?
Here rich Cœlestial Nectar treats the Soul;
There Fire and Brimstone crowns the flaming Bowl;
71
Shall each blest Soul with Extasies inspire;
While This disturb'd, at ev'ry hideous yell,
Shall in the Damn'd raise a new dread of Hell:
That knows no sharp Excess of Cold or Heat,
In This the Wretches always Freeze or Sweat.
There reign Eternal Rest, and soft Repose;
Here, painful Toil no end or Measure knows.
That, void of Grief, does nought Afflictive see;
This, still Disturb'd, from Troubles never free.
O happy Life! O vast unequall'd Bliss!
O Death accurs'd! O endless Miseries!
For that or this must be the doubtful cast,
Nor may we throw agen when once 'tis past.
Be wise then, Man, or will thy Care be vain,
To shun the Mis'ry, and the Bliss obtain;
Give Heav'n thy Heart, if thou its Crown wou'dst gain.
What more lamentable and more dreadful can be thought of, than that terrible Sentence, Go? What more delightful, than that pleasing Invitation, Come? They are two Words, of which nothing can be heard more affrighting than the One, nothing more rejoycing than the Other.
Aug. Soliloqu. cap. 3.
| Pia Desideria | |