A new collection of Original poems Never Printed in any miscellany. By the Author of Sir Walter Raleigh [i.e. George Sewell] |
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ON CONSCIENCE. |
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 | A new collection of Original poems |  |
1
ON CONSCIENCE.
Conscience
, thou home-felt Friend, or inmate Foe,
Impartial Arbiter of Bliss, or Woe;
From thee in vain with hasty speed we run,
We carry with us what our Flight would shun.
Thee, the proud Victor, 'midst his Triumphs hears,
Without elated, but within he fears,
Tho Murmurs break from his applauding Croud,
Thy Voice is gentle—but it speaks as loud,
Thy secret Whisper checks his mounting Pride,
Externals vail thee, yet they cannot hide.
Unseen Companion of our Daylight Schemes,
Secret Awakener of our Midnight Dreams,
In vain the warbling Lyre, or flowing Bowl,
Defy thy Force, and would thy Powers controul;
You enter silent with a careful Wing,
And pall the Draught, and sigh upon the String.
Impartial Arbiter of Bliss, or Woe;
From thee in vain with hasty speed we run,
We carry with us what our Flight would shun.
Thee, the proud Victor, 'midst his Triumphs hears,
Without elated, but within he fears,
Tho Murmurs break from his applauding Croud,
Thy Voice is gentle—but it speaks as loud,
2
Externals vail thee, yet they cannot hide.
Unseen Companion of our Daylight Schemes,
Secret Awakener of our Midnight Dreams,
In vain the warbling Lyre, or flowing Bowl,
Defy thy Force, and would thy Powers controul;
You enter silent with a careful Wing,
And pall the Draught, and sigh upon the String.
Atheists, with Vanity of Wit undone
Set thee at distance—and cry out—be gone.
You go—an interval of Mirth succeeds,
Deep in the Heart increasing Folly breeds;
Till some new stroke the giddy Mind alarms,
And Fear returning gives thee double Arms.
Then ye sad Sons of Shame and Sorrow tell
How deep the Torture, and how fierce the Hell!
A Hell, that does like starts of Madness show,
But different in the Pain—these Wretches know—
Like one surrounded with a Ring of Swords,
Where Fate no Passage for the Limbs affords;
He fears them all, from all he fearing bounds,
And only proves variety of Wounds.
Such are the stings that angry Conscience darts,
So presses every way the guilty Hearts.
Set thee at distance—and cry out—be gone.
You go—an interval of Mirth succeeds,
Deep in the Heart increasing Folly breeds;
Till some new stroke the giddy Mind alarms,
And Fear returning gives thee double Arms.
Then ye sad Sons of Shame and Sorrow tell
How deep the Torture, and how fierce the Hell!
3
But different in the Pain—these Wretches know—
Like one surrounded with a Ring of Swords,
Where Fate no Passage for the Limbs affords;
He fears them all, from all he fearing bounds,
And only proves variety of Wounds.
Such are the stings that angry Conscience darts,
So presses every way the guilty Hearts.
But O! Thou art not always thus—sweet Guest,
Thou canst as well compose the troubled Breast.
When Man reviews himself with thought sincere,
And sees his Actions fair, his Bosom clear;
No unrepented trace of Sin behind,
To taint and rankle in the fester'd Mind,
The Soul well-pleas'd, its own fair Picture loves,
And Conscience ratifies, what Heaven approves.
Thou canst as well compose the troubled Breast.
When Man reviews himself with thought sincere,
And sees his Actions fair, his Bosom clear;
No unrepented trace of Sin behind,
To taint and rankle in the fester'd Mind,
The Soul well-pleas'd, its own fair Picture loves,
And Conscience ratifies, what Heaven approves.
4
Then Peace is sown within, the pregnant Seed
Quickens with active Life, and Blessings breed,
The Face with social Humour shines, the Eye
Darts Joy, the Hand is ready to supply,
And Heaven is half obtain'd—before we Die.
Quickens with active Life, and Blessings breed,
The Face with social Humour shines, the Eye
Darts Joy, the Hand is ready to supply,
And Heaven is half obtain'd—before we Die.
| A new collection of Original poems | |