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 |  |
1
[Dark to Futurity, in Doubt, and Fear]
I. Part I. DEATH.
The ARGUMENT.
Reasons why People are generally averse from the Thoughts of Death. The Certainty of it to All. Unreasonable that its Commonness, and Certainty should make it Despis'd, or Neglected. The Usefulness and Necessity of meditating upon it. A Good Man upon his Death-bed. A wicked Man upon his Death-bed. A wicked Man in the intermediate State. A Good Man in the intermediate State. Proofs of the Immortality of the Soul, against the Infidels. Eternity of Happiness, and Misery. Both depend upon the Management of our short Time Here. Our Lives short; yet long enough for all the Purposes of Living: Our Time to be carefully and frugally spent. Folly of taking pains to die Rich. Use of meditating upon Death, and Eternity, with regard to Pleasure, Honour, &c. With regard to the flourishing Condition of wicked Men. With regard to the Troubles and Afflictions of This Life. Death equals all in This World: Vertue and Vice only make the Distinction in the Next. Use of meditating upon Death, with regard to the Vices, Follies, and universal Corruption of Mankind. Death not to be wish'd. Desperate Madness of Self-Murther. More Uses of meditating upon Death. It destroys not our present Happiness; but improves it. Present things, and Future. The grand Use of All.
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—
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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:
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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:
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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;
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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?
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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—
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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.
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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.
Every Body, or Parcel of Matter, of what Extent soever, must have some Bounds; because it must have a Surface.
An Infidel (however oddly it may sound) is the most credulous Wretch in Nature. Of which innumerable Instances have been given by our Divines.
Meditate then on Death to All decreed,
And both Eternitys which must succeed.
Eternity! Immense, vast, boundless Sea!
How are our Thoughts, tho' unconfin'd, and free,
Confounded, lost, and swallow'd up in Thee!
Forever! Never! Words of mighty Weight!
Whene'er we muse on either future State!
'Tis all an endless, infinite Abyss;
Whether we think on Misery, or Bliss:
Added to Heav'n itself it turns our Brain,
And makes ev'n Happiness almost a Pain.
Yet 'twould be Pain indeed, did we possess
That Happiness, to think it e'er could cease.
But O! What Words—What Thoughts—Eternal Woe!
What? Never end? No, Never. Mortal, show
Thyself a Man; Consider, and be Wise;
Fear, tremble at the Death that never dies;
The second Death— “O Spare us, King of Heav'n;
“To Us repentant be Thy Pardon giv'n:
“Tho' for our Sins Thou justly art displeas'd,
“By our Repentance be Thy Wrath appeas'd:
“Most worthy Judge Eternal, hear our Pray'r;
“O Lord most Holy, God most Mighty, spare
“Thy suppliant Servants: Thou (in Thee we trust)
“Art Merciful, Great God, as well as Just:
“Suffer us not, whate'er Thy Will decree,
“For any Pains of Death to fall from Thee.”
And both Eternitys which must succeed.
Eternity! Immense, vast, boundless Sea!
How are our Thoughts, tho' unconfin'd, and free,
Confounded, lost, and swallow'd up in Thee!
Forever! Never! Words of mighty Weight!
Whene'er we muse on either future State!
'Tis all an endless, infinite Abyss;
Whether we think on Misery, or Bliss:
Added to Heav'n itself it turns our Brain,
And makes ev'n Happiness almost a Pain.
Yet 'twould be Pain indeed, did we possess
That Happiness, to think it e'er could cease.
But O! What Words—What Thoughts—Eternal Woe!
What? Never end? No, Never. Mortal, show
16
Fear, tremble at the Death that never dies;
The second Death— “O Spare us, King of Heav'n;
“To Us repentant be Thy Pardon giv'n:
“Tho' for our Sins Thou justly art displeas'd,
“By our Repentance be Thy Wrath appeas'd:
“Most worthy Judge Eternal, hear our Pray'r;
“O Lord most Holy, God most Mighty, spare
“Thy suppliant Servants: Thou (in Thee we trust)
“Art Merciful, Great God, as well as Just:
“Suffer us not, whate'er Thy Will decree,
“For any Pains of Death to fall from Thee.”
On This allotted Time, which soon must end,
Th'Eternitys of Woe and Bliss depend.
That Life is vain, and short, we much complain;
Must we then make it shorter, and more vain?
'Tis short indeed, scarce worthy our Regard;
If with Eternity it be compar'd.
Yet Life sufficient is by bounteous Heav'n
For all the Purposes of Living giv'n;
For Here, and for Hereafter—If too scant
It prove, Ourselves alone have made That Want.
Life is no farther liv'd, than well employ'd;
The rest is Death; at best a Chasm, and Void.
Then give Thyself long Life, unthinking Man;
By vertuous Industry extend thy Span.
Can'st thou be ignorant that Some live more
In twenty Years, than Others in fourscore?
Time, sullen Thou complainest, flys too fast:
Why so impatient then to have it past?
Suppose one fix its Fleetness—See, It stands—
But lies it not a dead Weight on thy hands?
Ev'n as it flys, thou triflest it away
In Visits, Dress, Impertinence, and Play;
So diligently idle—Better far
Those Hours were spent in Thought, in Books, and Pray'r:
Yet better they were spent in Sloth, than Vice;
In Indolence, than Drink, and Lust, and Dice.
But I retract—For Sloth we justly call
One Vice; And Mis'ry's the Result of All.
Of This rich Talent Time, its Term expir'd,
A strict Account will be by Heav'n requir'd:
Be Thou a Niggard of thy Hours, and Days;
This only Avarice can merit Praise.
Th'Eternitys of Woe and Bliss depend.
That Life is vain, and short, we much complain;
Must we then make it shorter, and more vain?
'Tis short indeed, scarce worthy our Regard;
If with Eternity it be compar'd.
Yet Life sufficient is by bounteous Heav'n
For all the Purposes of Living giv'n;
For Here, and for Hereafter—If too scant
It prove, Ourselves alone have made That Want.
17
The rest is Death; at best a Chasm, and Void.
Then give Thyself long Life, unthinking Man;
By vertuous Industry extend thy Span.
Can'st thou be ignorant that Some live more
In twenty Years, than Others in fourscore?
Time, sullen Thou complainest, flys too fast:
Why so impatient then to have it past?
Suppose one fix its Fleetness—See, It stands—
But lies it not a dead Weight on thy hands?
Ev'n as it flys, thou triflest it away
In Visits, Dress, Impertinence, and Play;
So diligently idle—Better far
Those Hours were spent in Thought, in Books, and Pray'r:
Yet better they were spent in Sloth, than Vice;
In Indolence, than Drink, and Lust, and Dice.
But I retract—For Sloth we justly call
One Vice; And Mis'ry's the Result of All.
Of This rich Talent Time, its Term expir'd,
A strict Account will be by Heav'n requir'd:
Be Thou a Niggard of thy Hours, and Days;
This only Avarice can merit Praise.
Who meditates on Death with wise Forethought,
Will use This World as tho' he us'd it Not;
Regard Heav'n as his Home, and fix'd Abode,
This World but as an Inn upon the Road.
Another walking with Turmoil and Pain,
In a vain Shadow, tires himself in vain.
Why should we Covet what so soon we Leave?
Why Trust in That which surely will Deceive?
Why should'st thou Wealth amass? O, 'twill be said
The Man dy'd Rich; That's Glory, when he's dead.
Dy'd Rich? What Solecism! Words Thus conjoin'd?
Riches, and Death? O Madness of Mankind!
Will use This World as tho' he us'd it Not;
18
This World but as an Inn upon the Road.
Another walking with Turmoil and Pain,
In a vain Shadow, tires himself in vain.
Why should we Covet what so soon we Leave?
Why Trust in That which surely will Deceive?
Why should'st thou Wealth amass? O, 'twill be said
The Man dy'd Rich; That's Glory, when he's dead.
Dy'd Rich? What Solecism! Words Thus conjoin'd?
Riches, and Death? O Madness of Mankind!
Would strong Temptations thee to Vice enthrall
By Pain, or Pleasure? To thy succour call
Death, and Eternity—That Thought disarms
Pain of its Terrors, Pleasure of its Charms.
Death, and Eternity! The Tyrant raves
Unheeded; Beauty makes no Fools, and Slaves.
Whate'er affects thee, be it Good, or Ill;
Death, and Eternity will triumph still.
By Pain, or Pleasure? To thy succour call
Death, and Eternity—That Thought disarms
Pain of its Terrors, Pleasure of its Charms.
Death, and Eternity! The Tyrant raves
Unheeded; Beauty makes no Fools, and Slaves.
Whate'er affects thee, be it Good, or Ill;
Death, and Eternity will triumph still.
To gilded Courts, and Palaces repair;
Splendor and Vice enough will meet thee There.
Death, and Eternity! Those Words repeat:
Seest thou not how the Glories of the Great
Shrink into Nothing? Ev'n if There thou find
Goodness (how seldom seen!) with Greatness join'd.
But if 'tis the Reverse; If Lust, and Pride,
And Avarice, and Folly, There preside,
And govern All; If There a People's Fate
Hangs on one huge, enormous Tool of State,
Studious to make, by all vile Arts profest,
Of One a Tyrant, Vassals of the Rest;
Death, and Eternity! Does not That Sound
Their Wealth, and worthless Insolence confound?
The Star upon their Breasts no longer gleams;
Their Ribbands tarnish, Diamonds lose their Beams:
Swift vanishes their Pomp, their only Fame;
As Demons fade at Jesus' dreaded Name.
They die; and so do We: The Farce is o'er;
Th'Oppressors frown, th'Oppress'd complain no more:
All in the same dull Track no longer run;
Those to undoe, and These to be undone.
Splendor and Vice enough will meet thee There.
19
Seest thou not how the Glories of the Great
Shrink into Nothing? Ev'n if There thou find
Goodness (how seldom seen!) with Greatness join'd.
But if 'tis the Reverse; If Lust, and Pride,
And Avarice, and Folly, There preside,
And govern All; If There a People's Fate
Hangs on one huge, enormous Tool of State,
Studious to make, by all vile Arts profest,
Of One a Tyrant, Vassals of the Rest;
Death, and Eternity! Does not That Sound
Their Wealth, and worthless Insolence confound?
The Star upon their Breasts no longer gleams;
Their Ribbands tarnish, Diamonds lose their Beams:
Swift vanishes their Pomp, their only Fame;
As Demons fade at Jesus' dreaded Name.
They die; and so do We: The Farce is o'er;
Th'Oppressors frown, th'Oppress'd complain no more:
All in the same dull Track no longer run;
Those to undoe, and These to be undone.
Envy'st thou Those Their Lot compar'd with Thine?
Fret not thy self, nor at their Grandeur pine.
Soon shall they be cut down, like rankest Weeds
Wither, and rot—And Then oh! What succeeds?
In Us it is not to foredoom their Fate;
But let Them think, and tremble, e'er too late.
Fret not thy self, nor at their Grandeur pine.
20
Wither, and rot—And Then oh! What succeeds?
In Us it is not to foredoom their Fate;
But let Them think, and tremble, e'er too late.
By the same prudent Turn and Cast of Thought,
Life's various Ills, and Troubles shrink to Nought.
Grief Here indeed, and Toil we undergo;
But what is That to Everlasting Woe?
What is it, with Eternity compar'd?
The Sinner's Punishment, the Saint's Reward?
Think, Sinner, that thou may'st not persevere,
How much more Pain is felt in Hell, than Here.
Think, Saint, thy Perseverance to secure,
How Heav'n o'erpays what we on Earth endure.
This short imperfect State to all Mankind
For Nothing, but Probation, was design'd;
Pleasure and Pain were only meant to prove
Whether This World, or God, we chiefly love.
Life's various Ills, and Troubles shrink to Nought.
Grief Here indeed, and Toil we undergo;
But what is That to Everlasting Woe?
What is it, with Eternity compar'd?
The Sinner's Punishment, the Saint's Reward?
Think, Sinner, that thou may'st not persevere,
How much more Pain is felt in Hell, than Here.
Think, Saint, thy Perseverance to secure,
How Heav'n o'erpays what we on Earth endure.
This short imperfect State to all Mankind
For Nothing, but Probation, was design'd;
Pleasure and Pain were only meant to prove
Whether This World, or God, we chiefly love.
O Death! Thou certain Cure of human Ills;
Why, tho' thy lifted Dart with Terror fills
The Guilty Mortal, should the Good, and Wise
Fear Thee, when He's not happy 'till he dies?
Why, tho' thy lifted Dart with Terror fills
The Guilty Mortal, should the Good, and Wise
Fear Thee, when He's not happy 'till he dies?
Great Leveller! By Thee the King, the Slave,
The Poor, the Rich, the Coward, and the Brave,
The Wise, the Fool, the Wicked, and the Just,
Are equal'd All—How equal'd?—In the Dust;
Not otherwise: Beyond This short Life's End
Thy Pow'r of Levelling cannot extend.
Souls are distinguish'd, as They ever live;
And Vice, and Vertue, That Distinction give:
In That great Diff'rence Fortune has no share;
Fortune, which makes so great a Diff'rence Here.
The Wealthy may be wretched, blest the Poor;
Yet let not These presume, or be secure:
Let not by Them, thro' Poverty's vain Pride,
The sacred Parable be misapply'd:
Millions of Beggars may be doom'd to Hell,
And many Rich in Abraham's Bosom dwell.
The Poor, the Rich, the Coward, and the Brave,
21
Are equal'd All—How equal'd?—In the Dust;
Not otherwise: Beyond This short Life's End
Thy Pow'r of Levelling cannot extend.
Souls are distinguish'd, as They ever live;
And Vice, and Vertue, That Distinction give:
In That great Diff'rence Fortune has no share;
Fortune, which makes so great a Diff'rence Here.
The Wealthy may be wretched, blest the Poor;
Yet let not These presume, or be secure:
Let not by Them, thro' Poverty's vain Pride,
The sacred Parable be misapply'd:
Millions of Beggars may be doom'd to Hell,
And many Rich in Abraham's Bosom dwell.
The Wise, and Good, however, certain Bliss
In the next Life awaits; and ev'n of This
The Pains and Labours soon by Death must end:
Why should They then fear Death their healing Friend?
No Troubles in the silent Grave molest:
The Pris'ner's free, the Weary are at Rest.
Releas'd from This vain World, which always lies
Immers'd in Folly, Misery, and Vice,
We There repose: Our Toils for-ever cease:
And Knaves, and Fools no more disturb our Peace:
Chiefly That mingled Mass of Fools, and Knaves,
Who might have Liberty, but will be Slaves;
Who, stedfast to transgress right Reason's Rules,
In spight of wisest Counsels will be Fools.
Let Kings, their mighty Madness to display,
As if of Human Race were None but They,
Or They Above it, rouse War's dire Alarms,
And plague the miserable World with Arms;
Spread Slaughter, Fire, and Ravage, all around,
And Land, and Sea, and Right, and Wrong confound;
With frightful Sieges Towns and Cities shake:
We shall not hear the dismal Din they make;
Those Pests of Human Kind—But here forbears
The serious Muse—What Portion shall be Theirs,
Her present Theme directs her not to tell;
She Elsewhere sings of Judgment, and of Hell.
Happy indeed the Prince, who Reigns to Bless;
And is Himself a Nation's Happiness.
In the next Life awaits; and ev'n of This
The Pains and Labours soon by Death must end:
Why should They then fear Death their healing Friend?
No Troubles in the silent Grave molest:
The Pris'ner's free, the Weary are at Rest.
Releas'd from This vain World, which always lies
Immers'd in Folly, Misery, and Vice,
22
And Knaves, and Fools no more disturb our Peace:
Chiefly That mingled Mass of Fools, and Knaves,
Who might have Liberty, but will be Slaves;
Who, stedfast to transgress right Reason's Rules,
In spight of wisest Counsels will be Fools.
Let Kings, their mighty Madness to display,
As if of Human Race were None but They,
Or They Above it, rouse War's dire Alarms,
And plague the miserable World with Arms;
Spread Slaughter, Fire, and Ravage, all around,
And Land, and Sea, and Right, and Wrong confound;
With frightful Sieges Towns and Cities shake:
We shall not hear the dismal Din they make;
Those Pests of Human Kind—But here forbears
The serious Muse—What Portion shall be Theirs,
Her present Theme directs her not to tell;
She Elsewhere sings of Judgment, and of Hell.
Happy indeed the Prince, who Reigns to Bless;
And is Himself a Nation's Happiness.
Yet Death must not be Wish'd: Contented wait
For thy Discharge; whatever be thy Fate.
Some, merely thro' Satiety of Life,
Have long'd to die; Some, 'tir'd with Care and Strife.
All This is Folly; nor without a Crime:
Covet not Heav'n itself, before Heav'n's Time.
'Twas great Elijah's Blemish, not his Praise,
That he requested God to end his Days:
But was This granted? Came Death at his Call?
Far otherwise, He never dy'd at all.
Tho' Frailty mingled with his human Frame;
Yet, such his Piety's celestial Flame,
He only (One except) was from to die
Exempt, and went not downwards to the Sky.
With Steeds and Chariot fiery like his Zeal,
(This, Nought, as Those, could represent so well)
Rapt in a Whirlwind, thro' the Starry Spheres
He rides triumphant; After that, appears
Many long Ages after, to recount
Wonders unhear'd, on Tabor's holy Mount,
With his effulgent Saviour—But what Views
Are open'd Here? Descend, my devious Muse;
Descend, whatever Fires within thee glow,
From Heav'n, and Tabor, to This Earth below.
For thy Discharge; whatever be thy Fate.
Some, merely thro' Satiety of Life,
Have long'd to die; Some, 'tir'd with Care and Strife.
23
Covet not Heav'n itself, before Heav'n's Time.
'Twas great Elijah's Blemish, not his Praise,
That he requested God to end his Days:
But was This granted? Came Death at his Call?
Far otherwise, He never dy'd at all.
Tho' Frailty mingled with his human Frame;
Yet, such his Piety's celestial Flame,
He only (One except) was from to die
Exempt, and went not downwards to the Sky.
With Steeds and Chariot fiery like his Zeal,
(This, Nought, as Those, could represent so well)
Rapt in a Whirlwind, thro' the Starry Spheres
He rides triumphant; After that, appears
Many long Ages after, to recount
Wonders unhear'd, on Tabor's holy Mount,
With his effulgent Saviour—But what Views
Are open'd Here? Descend, my devious Muse;
Descend, whatever Fires within thee glow,
From Heav'n, and Tabor, to This Earth below.
24
Whate'er Disasters, or Afflictions press;
We must not call on Death for our Release.
Let Patience have her perfect Work; controul
Each Mur'm'ring Thought; and calm the ruffled Soul,
In God's sight Patience is of mighty Price;
No Vertue shines more lovely in his Eyes.
But whether more, or less, there's Cause to grieve;
There's Cause abundant we should wish to live:
T'adorn the Province Here to Us assign'd;
To benefit our Friends, and all Mankind:
To mourn our Sins, our Graces to improve,
To flame, like Seraphim, in Zeal and Love:
To gain in Heav'n a more sublime Reward:
Ah! None for Heav'n can be too well prepar'd.
Be it Thy constant Pray'r, and so pray I;
“Let me live long, to be more fit to die.
We must not call on Death for our Release.
Let Patience have her perfect Work; controul
Each Mur'm'ring Thought; and calm the ruffled Soul,
In God's sight Patience is of mighty Price;
No Vertue shines more lovely in his Eyes.
But whether more, or less, there's Cause to grieve;
There's Cause abundant we should wish to live:
T'adorn the Province Here to Us assign'd;
To benefit our Friends, and all Mankind:
To mourn our Sins, our Graces to improve,
To flame, like Seraphim, in Zeal and Love:
To gain in Heav'n a more sublime Reward:
Ah! None for Heav'n can be too well prepar'd.
Be it Thy constant Pray'r, and so pray I;
“Let me live long, to be more fit to die.
However; None must wish his Post to leave,
'Till his Discharge he from his Chief receive:
Let him be always ready to resign,
When he is call'd; Yet not, meanwhile, repine;
But, as commanded, chearfully obey.
How desp'rate then, how lost, forlorn are They,
Who by Self-Homicide!—Oh dreadful! dire!
Such horrid Thoughts what Demon could inspire?
For Them what Hope can after Death be had,
Who, dying, God's Prerogative invade?
Whose Death itself is Sin? He who gave Breath
To All, has only Right to give them Death.
Ev'n holy Job, of Mortals most distrest,
Tho' first extremest Anguish he express'd;
Curs'd the unhappy Day that gave him Birth,
And like hid Treasure sought to mix with Earth;
More coolly thinking, Thus retracts his Crime:
“All, all the Days of my appointed Time,
“Humbly resign'd, I will expect my Doom;
“And wait with Patience, 'till my Change shall come.
'Till his Discharge he from his Chief receive:
Let him be always ready to resign,
When he is call'd; Yet not, meanwhile, repine;
But, as commanded, chearfully obey.
How desp'rate then, how lost, forlorn are They,
Who by Self-Homicide!—Oh dreadful! dire!
Such horrid Thoughts what Demon could inspire?
25
Who, dying, God's Prerogative invade?
Whose Death itself is Sin? He who gave Breath
To All, has only Right to give them Death.
Ev'n holy Job, of Mortals most distrest,
Tho' first extremest Anguish he express'd;
Curs'd the unhappy Day that gave him Birth,
And like hid Treasure sought to mix with Earth;
More coolly thinking, Thus retracts his Crime:
“All, all the Days of my appointed Time,
“Humbly resign'd, I will expect my Doom;
“And wait with Patience, 'till my Change shall come.
Die to the World, while living: Thoughts divine
Ev'n Here will Soul and Body half disjoin;
So shall Those Friends with less Reluctance part,
When in its last Convulsions heaves the Heart.
He who unwinds himself by just degrees
From Life, dies easily: As loosen'd Trees
Fall gently by a Storm, and ne'er bestrew
With broken Limbs the Ground on which they grew.
Ev'n Here will Soul and Body half disjoin;
So shall Those Friends with less Reluctance part,
When in its last Convulsions heaves the Heart.
He who unwinds himself by just degrees
From Life, dies easily: As loosen'd Trees
Fall gently by a Storm, and ne'er bestrew
With broken Limbs the Ground on which they grew.
Those Vertuous err, who, while they think on Death,
Nothing but Gloominess, and Horrour breathe;
To blest Religion's Wrong and foul Disgrace,
Draw a black Veil o'er Nature's lovely Face;
To moaping Melancholy quite resign'd,
And dismal all in Body, and in Mind.
Wise, and prepar'd to die, we, while we live,
Enjoy Life most, and all that Life can give.
Our Conscience quiet, our Accounts wrote fair,
With more Delight we breathe the Spring's fresh Air;
Hear warbling Birds extend their little Throats,
To glad the Ear with Nature's easiest Notes,
Inviting Us with Them our Strains to raise,
And celebrate the great Creator's Praise;
With more Delight hear Philomel's soft Moans,
And crystal Rills roll gurgling o'er the Stones;
With greater Pleasure see the clust'ring Vine
In Ringlets curl, and swell with promis'd Wine;
(Let Wine be temperately us'd by All;
The Thoughts of Death its Relish will not pall:)
See the Carnation its sweet Pride display,
Streaking its Leaves with various Colours gay;
More pleas'd see all the Flow'rs that please the Eye;
And smiling sigh, that We, like Them, must Die.
Nothing but Gloominess, and Horrour breathe;
26
Draw a black Veil o'er Nature's lovely Face;
To moaping Melancholy quite resign'd,
And dismal all in Body, and in Mind.
Wise, and prepar'd to die, we, while we live,
Enjoy Life most, and all that Life can give.
Our Conscience quiet, our Accounts wrote fair,
With more Delight we breathe the Spring's fresh Air;
Hear warbling Birds extend their little Throats,
To glad the Ear with Nature's easiest Notes,
Inviting Us with Them our Strains to raise,
And celebrate the great Creator's Praise;
With more Delight hear Philomel's soft Moans,
And crystal Rills roll gurgling o'er the Stones;
With greater Pleasure see the clust'ring Vine
In Ringlets curl, and swell with promis'd Wine;
(Let Wine be temperately us'd by All;
The Thoughts of Death its Relish will not pall:)
See the Carnation its sweet Pride display,
Streaking its Leaves with various Colours gay;
More pleas'd see all the Flow'rs that please the Eye;
And smiling sigh, that We, like Them, must Die.
Rejoice, O Young Man, in thy Youth; Rejoice,
But still with Innocence: Hear Nature's Voice,
But Nature uncorrupt: Her Law obey
As subject to Reveal'd Religion's Sway.
And That (so good, and bounteous is thy Lord)
Will much more solid Joy, than Vice, afford:
Only thy sinful Appetites restrain;
The Thought of Death will never give thee Pain.
But still with Innocence: Hear Nature's Voice,
27
As subject to Reveal'd Religion's Sway.
And That (so good, and bounteous is thy Lord)
Will much more solid Joy, than Vice, afford:
Only thy sinful Appetites restrain;
The Thought of Death will never give thee Pain.
'Tis Pain indeed to curb Those strong Desires;
But greater far to burn in endless Fires.
How will That Pain by Heav'n be overpay'd!
By everlasting Happiness outweigh'd!
But greater far to burn in endless Fires.
How will That Pain by Heav'n be overpay'd!
By everlasting Happiness outweigh'd!
Nor be thy Soul beguil'd of Heav'n's Reward,
By present, as with future Things compar'd.
From a false Estimate 'twixt future Things,
And present, Folly, Vice, and Mis'ry springs.
Of Future Then we form a Notion just,
(And to be blest, conceive it right we must)
When with the Eye of Thought, and Faith, we see
What is not yet, but will most surely be.
What's future then is certain; Bliss, or Woe:
And Both, as future, are eternal too.
By present, as with future Things compar'd.
From a false Estimate 'twixt future Things,
And present, Folly, Vice, and Mis'ry springs.
Of Future Then we form a Notion just,
(And to be blest, conceive it right we must)
When with the Eye of Thought, and Faith, we see
What is not yet, but will most surely be.
What's future then is certain; Bliss, or Woe:
And Both, as future, are eternal too.
Examine well thy present moral State;
On That depends thy future endless Fate.
If vicious it be found; close not thine Eyes,
E'er thou Repent, Reform, be Good, and Wise.
This very present Hour may prove thy last;
And Then all Hope, and Remedy is past.
On That depends thy future endless Fate.
If vicious it be found; close not thine Eyes,
E'er thou Repent, Reform, be Good, and Wise.
28
And Then all Hope, and Remedy is past.
In fine: Let Death from Vice and Sin deter:
The grand Result of All determines There.
In ev'ry Storm, thy Safety to ensure,
Those two great Anchors of the Soul secure,
Faith, and Repentance: Firm supports are they;
When ev'ry other fancy'd Prop, and Stay,
The more thou leanest, sinks, and slides away.
The grand Result of All determines There.
In ev'ry Storm, thy Safety to ensure,
Those two great Anchors of the Soul secure,
Faith, and Repentance: Firm supports are they;
When ev'ry other fancy'd Prop, and Stay,
The more thou leanest, sinks, and slides away.
Think often, in thy Days of Youth, and Health,
Midst flatt'ring Joys, Prosperity, and Wealth,
And when with Fortune's various Troubles crost,
What Thoughts in Death will please, or grieve thee most.
More to be valued, as thou Then wilt rate,
Is a good Conscience, than a good Estate.
More terrible is Guilt's envenom'd Smart,
Than all the Pangs that wring the dying Heart.
Midst flatt'ring Joys, Prosperity, and Wealth,
And when with Fortune's various Troubles crost,
What Thoughts in Death will please, or grieve thee most.
More to be valued, as thou Then wilt rate,
Is a good Conscience, than a good Estate.
More terrible is Guilt's envenom'd Smart,
Than all the Pangs that wring the dying Heart.
Sin brought forth Death;
Death lives by Sin alone;
The God-Man Saviour slew Death by his Own:
Sin too He slew: Yet Both may be reviv'd
By Us; tho' He for Us both dy'd, and liv'd.
Death is by Him of Pow'r and Sting disarm'd;
Nought in itself, but a vain Fantom arm'd;
An impotent, tho' black, and hideous, Thing:
But Think, Oh! Think; Sin still gives Death a Sting.
The God-Man Saviour slew Death by his Own:
Sin too He slew: Yet Both may be reviv'd
By Us; tho' He for Us both dy'd, and liv'd.
29
Nought in itself, but a vain Fantom arm'd;
An impotent, tho' black, and hideous, Thing:
But Think, Oh! Think; Sin still gives Death a Sting.
1. Cor. vii. 31. Using this World, as not abusing it. As well if not better, render'd; Using, as not using it.
33
II. Part II. JUDGMENT.
The ARGUMENT.
The Terror of the last great Day, and the awful Appearance of the Judge, mention'd, and pass'd over for the present. The time of it Unknown. But the Thing itself clearly reveal'd in Scripture. Proofs of a future Judgment even from natural Reason. From the essential Difference betwixt moral Good, and Evil. From natural Conscience. From Providence in This World. From the Nature of God considered as a Lawgiver. From the promiscuous Dispensations of Things in This Life. The dreadful Signs, and Prognosticks previous to the Day of Judgment. Our Saviour's blended Predictions concerning the Destruction of Jerusalem, and the Day of Judgment; They having plainly a View to Both. The Coming of the Judge. General Reflections upon the Awfulness and Dread of it. The Resurrection. The more distinct Appearance of the Judge. His Glory, and Majesty. The general Conflagration. The Summons to Judgment. The Judgment itself. The Account of the Good Steward. The Judge's Speech before Sentence. The Sentence itself. More particularly upon Infidel Apostates from Christianity. The Conclusion, with Practical Reflections.
O Thou Eternal! (Hallow'd, wond'rous Name!)
Whose fruitful Word gave Birth to Nature's Frame;
Our only Hope, yet our Consuming Fire;
Mighty to Save, yet Terrible in Ire:
Who can abide That great, That fearful Day,
When Thou, as Judge, Thy Glory shalt display?
When all Things in Confusion shall be hurl'd,
And Wreaths of Smoke involve the flaming World?
When from Thy red Right-hand new Lightnings fly;
And unfix'd Orbs rush clatt'ring thro' the Sky?
The Universal Mass, from Pole to Pole,
Burnt up, and shrivel'd, like a Parchment Scrole?
In vain for Help shall Then the Guilty call;
“Hide us, Ye Hills, Ye Mountains, on us fall:”
When with fierce fervent Heat, before ne'er felt,
Like Wax the Everlasting Hills shall melt
At Thy dread Presence; and the Mountains want,
Themselves, That Refuge they are ask'd to grant.
Whose fruitful Word gave Birth to Nature's Frame;
Our only Hope, yet our Consuming Fire;
Mighty to Save, yet Terrible in Ire:
Who can abide That great, That fearful Day,
When Thou, as Judge, Thy Glory shalt display?
When all Things in Confusion shall be hurl'd,
And Wreaths of Smoke involve the flaming World?
When from Thy red Right-hand new Lightnings fly;
And unfix'd Orbs rush clatt'ring thro' the Sky?
The Universal Mass, from Pole to Pole,
Burnt up, and shrivel'd, like a Parchment Scrole?
In vain for Help shall Then the Guilty call;
“Hide us, Ye Hills, Ye Mountains, on us fall:”
34
Like Wax the Everlasting Hills shall melt
At Thy dread Presence; and the Mountains want,
Themselves, That Refuge they are ask'd to grant.
Behold, He comes with Clouds; and ev'ry Eye
Shall see Him in resplendent Majesty:
Ev'n Those who pierc'd his Hands, his Feet, and Side,
Shall see Him in triumphant Brightness ride,
On Wings of Cherubs, and the bounding Wind;
Black Clouds his Chariot, Storms in Harness join'd;
The Just prepar'd to meet him in the Air,
And Conscious Sinners shiv'ring with Despair.
Shall see Him in resplendent Majesty:
Ev'n Those who pierc'd his Hands, his Feet, and Side,
Shall see Him in triumphant Brightness ride,
On Wings of Cherubs, and the bounding Wind;
Black Clouds his Chariot, Storms in Harness join'd;
The Just prepar'd to meet him in the Air,
And Conscious Sinners shiv'ring with Despair.
Of that great Day indeed, That Day, and Hour
Knows no Man: Not ev'n he th'Almighty Pow'r,
The awful Judge Himself, as Son of Man;
(As God, He all things knows, and all things can:)
When it will come, in Darkness is conceal'd;
But come it will; That clearly is reveal'd.
Or were it not; that God, most just, and wise,
Will judge the World, crown Vertue, punish Vice,
Reward his Faithful, and confound the Proud,
Reason asserts, and Nature cries aloud.
Th'essential Difference 'twixt Moral Good,
And Evil, must by all be understood:
Who e'er was found so Savage, and so Brute,
As Their assur'd Existence to dispute?
What Man, unless of Reason quite bereft,
Can doubt that Murder, Fraud, Adult'ry, Theft,
To be unmann'd by Drunkenness, and Lust,
To be Profane, Oppressive, and Unjust,
Are absolutely Evil? That to these
The opposite, endearing Qualities,
Sweet Meekness, Charity, to have a Taste
For Heav'n on Earth, to be Just, Pious, Chaste,
Are absolutely Good? This Sense of Things
From Nature, and Eternal Reason springs:
'Tis mix'd, congenial, with the Minds of All;
'Tis Universal; therefore Natural;
Therefore from God; and therefore must be True.
And what can from This Good, and Ill ensue,
But Punishment to This, to That Reward?
Both therefore are by God, the Judge, prepar'd.
Reward to Vertue, Punishment assign'd
To Vice, can ev'n in Thought be ne'er disjoin'd.
No less does Conscience This great Truth attest;
Conscience, Heav'n's Delegate in ev'ry Breast:
By Heav'n, not Priests, and Statesmen, planted There;
Since Universal is This Hope, and Fear;
Common to All, the Learned, and the Rude;
By the most Stupid to be understood;
By no Philosophy to be subdued.
What then does Conscience, but anticipate
A future Judgment, and a future State?
Future; For Conscience frights us, or applauds,
Consoles us, or with Stings, vindictive, goads;
For Actions which Ourselves can only know,
When Nought is fear'd, or hop'd for, Here below.
Knows no Man: Not ev'n he th'Almighty Pow'r,
The awful Judge Himself, as Son of Man;
(As God, He all things knows, and all things can:)
35
But come it will; That clearly is reveal'd.
Or were it not; that God, most just, and wise,
Will judge the World, crown Vertue, punish Vice,
Reward his Faithful, and confound the Proud,
Reason asserts, and Nature cries aloud.
Th'essential Difference 'twixt Moral Good,
And Evil, must by all be understood:
Who e'er was found so Savage, and so Brute,
As Their assur'd Existence to dispute?
What Man, unless of Reason quite bereft,
Can doubt that Murder, Fraud, Adult'ry, Theft,
To be unmann'd by Drunkenness, and Lust,
To be Profane, Oppressive, and Unjust,
Are absolutely Evil? That to these
The opposite, endearing Qualities,
Sweet Meekness, Charity, to have a Taste
For Heav'n on Earth, to be Just, Pious, Chaste,
Are absolutely Good? This Sense of Things
From Nature, and Eternal Reason springs:
'Tis mix'd, congenial, with the Minds of All;
'Tis Universal; therefore Natural;
Therefore from God; and therefore must be True.
And what can from This Good, and Ill ensue,
36
Both therefore are by God, the Judge, prepar'd.
Reward to Vertue, Punishment assign'd
To Vice, can ev'n in Thought be ne'er disjoin'd.
No less does Conscience This great Truth attest;
Conscience, Heav'n's Delegate in ev'ry Breast:
By Heav'n, not Priests, and Statesmen, planted There;
Since Universal is This Hope, and Fear;
Common to All, the Learned, and the Rude;
By the most Stupid to be understood;
By no Philosophy to be subdued.
What then does Conscience, but anticipate
A future Judgment, and a future State?
Future; For Conscience frights us, or applauds,
Consoles us, or with Stings, vindictive, goads;
For Actions which Ourselves can only know,
When Nought is fear'd, or hop'd for, Here below.
That God of Man takes Providential Care,
From Prophesies and Miracles is clear.
That such have been, 'tis Frenzy to deny;
And makes all History one standing Lye.
Shall Heav'n then for Mankind have such Regard;
And yet their Deeds nor Punish, nor Reward?
From Prophesies and Miracles is clear.
That such have been, 'tis Frenzy to deny;
And makes all History one standing Lye.
Shall Heav'n then for Mankind have such Regard;
And yet their Deeds nor Punish, nor Reward?
37
As Lawgiver He must: All Laws are vain,
Unless enforc'd with Pleasure, and with Pain.
But 'tis experienc'd, if This World be All,
His Laws have no such Guard: To stand, or fall,
To be most Prosperous, or most Distress'd,
Is common to the Worst, and to the Best.
From hence 'tis prov'd we must to Judgment rise;
Or God, in Legislature, is not Wise.
No, Thou reply'st: 'Tis fit Mankind should dread
Vengeance impending o'er each guilty Head;
That Heav'n should threaten—Not in fact condemn—
But wilt thou Thus presumptuously blaspheme,
That God can with a Falshood guard his Law;
And Truth itself speak Lyes, to keep the World in awe?
Unless enforc'd with Pleasure, and with Pain.
But 'tis experienc'd, if This World be All,
His Laws have no such Guard: To stand, or fall,
To be most Prosperous, or most Distress'd,
Is common to the Worst, and to the Best.
From hence 'tis prov'd we must to Judgment rise;
Or God, in Legislature, is not Wise.
No, Thou reply'st: 'Tis fit Mankind should dread
Vengeance impending o'er each guilty Head;
That Heav'n should threaten—Not in fact condemn—
But wilt thou Thus presumptuously blaspheme,
That God can with a Falshood guard his Law;
And Truth itself speak Lyes, to keep the World in awe?
How oft is Vertue in This Life decry'd;
While Vice and Villany Triumphant ride?
A Time will therefore come, when Vertue crown'd
Shall triumph, Justice Villany confound;
All things be set in their due, proper Light;
And the great Judge of all the World do Right.
While Vice and Villany Triumphant ride?
A Time will therefore come, when Vertue crown'd
Shall triumph, Justice Villany confound;
All things be set in their due, proper Light;
And the great Judge of all the World do Right.
It must be so then, God will judge Mankind;
The Dead shall rise, the scatter'd Parts rejoin'd
In human Bodys; This fair Frame must burn,
And Earth's vast Globe to Smoke and Ashes turn.
But first, with solemn Tragick Pomp, and State,
To introduce This last great Scene of Fate;
Dire, horrible Prognosticks shall appear.
For more, perhaps, than one preceding Year,
(To God alone 'tis known how long Before,
These Signs shall come; Enquire not, but Adore:)
Earthquakes in various Climates shall abound,
And Subterraneous Thunder rend the Ground.
The Earth, its Dissolution to foreshow,
Shall stagger, like a Drunkard, to and fro:
Cracking, and crashing, with a dreadful Shock,
And bellowing Noise, the Mountains reel, and rock;
Great Atlas, whose high Top thick Darkness shrouds,
And Teneriff, a League above the Clouds,
Th'unbounded Alps, That endless Chain of Hills,
Alps pil'd on Alps, spoil'd of their living Rills
Dry'd up, and strip'd of their eternal Snow,
Roll rattling Fragments to their Feet below,
Immeasurable Loads of massy Stone;
Nod their stiff Heads, and in Convulsions groan.
Flames wreath'd with Smoke from burst Volcanos rise,
And hurl their melted Bowels to the Skies:
Ev'n in the Ocean, from their lowest Caves,
They rage, and boil with Fire its bubbling Waves.
Loud roar the Seas; Thro' Nature Terrors spread;
And Mortals Hearts o'er all the World with Dread
Sink shudd'ring, and appal'd. With hideous Glare,
Till now unseen, strange Lightnings whiz in Air;
Lightnings, which lanc'd thro' cloudless Skys shall blaze,
And without Thunder terribly amaze.
Thick Meteors, blue, and red, with dismal Light
Shall trail along, and wound the Gloom of Night;
The Pow'rs Celestial shake, Stars shooting fall
Sudden from Heav'n, and singe This frighted Ball.
Comets, which thro' th'Infinity of Space
Have, Ages, roam'd, now meeting in one Place
(So God ordains) unite their baleful Streams,
And at each other shoot their fiery Gleams.
The Moon withdraws her pale nocturnal Ray;
The Sun, 'twixt Earth and Heav'n, in deep Dismay,
Hangs like a Lump of Blood, and saddens Day.
The Dead shall rise, the scatter'd Parts rejoin'd
In human Bodys; This fair Frame must burn,
And Earth's vast Globe to Smoke and Ashes turn.
38
To introduce This last great Scene of Fate;
Dire, horrible Prognosticks shall appear.
For more, perhaps, than one preceding Year,
(To God alone 'tis known how long Before,
These Signs shall come; Enquire not, but Adore:)
Earthquakes in various Climates shall abound,
And Subterraneous Thunder rend the Ground.
The Earth, its Dissolution to foreshow,
Shall stagger, like a Drunkard, to and fro:
Cracking, and crashing, with a dreadful Shock,
And bellowing Noise, the Mountains reel, and rock;
Great Atlas, whose high Top thick Darkness shrouds,
And Teneriff, a League above the Clouds,
Th'unbounded Alps, That endless Chain of Hills,
Alps pil'd on Alps, spoil'd of their living Rills
Dry'd up, and strip'd of their eternal Snow,
Roll rattling Fragments to their Feet below,
Immeasurable Loads of massy Stone;
Nod their stiff Heads, and in Convulsions groan.
Flames wreath'd with Smoke from burst Volcanos rise,
And hurl their melted Bowels to the Skies:
39
They rage, and boil with Fire its bubbling Waves.
Loud roar the Seas; Thro' Nature Terrors spread;
And Mortals Hearts o'er all the World with Dread
Sink shudd'ring, and appal'd. With hideous Glare,
Till now unseen, strange Lightnings whiz in Air;
Lightnings, which lanc'd thro' cloudless Skys shall blaze,
And without Thunder terribly amaze.
Thick Meteors, blue, and red, with dismal Light
Shall trail along, and wound the Gloom of Night;
The Pow'rs Celestial shake, Stars shooting fall
Sudden from Heav'n, and singe This frighted Ball.
Comets, which thro' th'Infinity of Space
Have, Ages, roam'd, now meeting in one Place
(So God ordains) unite their baleful Streams,
And at each other shoot their fiery Gleams.
The Moon withdraws her pale nocturnal Ray;
The Sun, 'twixt Earth and Heav'n, in deep Dismay,
Hangs like a Lump of Blood, and saddens Day.
In Words like These, Himself, the Judge to come,
Foretold Jerusalem's approaching Doom.
But so is the divine Prediction cast;
That in Jerusalem's, already past,
We read the World's, all Nature's future End:
Thus double Senses Truths sublimest blend.
So Notes in Musick make with grateful Tone
Harmonious Mixture of Two Sounds in One.
Adorable Obscurity! yet clear
To Those, who search with Judgment, and with Fear,
The Fear of God—In falling Stars He sings
The falling Pow'rs of Empires, States, and Kings:
“How art Thou fall'n from Heav'n, O Lucifer,
“Son of the Morn! Thou once bright Orient Star!
So sings the Noble Prophet, to foreshow
The Babylonian Tyrant's Pride laid low.
“The Son of Man, in That tremendous Hour,
“Shall Come in Clouds, with Glory, and with Pow'r.
That Coming mark'd his Vengeance on his Foes,
The Jews; Those Clouds, his Terrors and their Woes.
Yet was not That his only Point in View;
The World no less is threaten'd, than the Jew,
In the same Phrase with diff'rent Meanings fraught;
O Energy Divine! transcending mortal Thought!
Those awful Words at length must be resolv'd
Into the World's last Fate in them involv'd.
Huge Balls of Fire, like Stars, shall drop from Heav'n:
The Judge, attended by his glorious Sev'n,
And other numberless Angelick Forms,
Shall come with Clouds, in Whirlwinds, and in Storms.
Foretold Jerusalem's approaching Doom.
40
That in Jerusalem's, already past,
We read the World's, all Nature's future End:
Thus double Senses Truths sublimest blend.
So Notes in Musick make with grateful Tone
Harmonious Mixture of Two Sounds in One.
Adorable Obscurity! yet clear
To Those, who search with Judgment, and with Fear,
The Fear of God—In falling Stars He sings
The falling Pow'rs of Empires, States, and Kings:
“How art Thou fall'n from Heav'n, O Lucifer,
“Son of the Morn! Thou once bright Orient Star!
So sings the Noble Prophet, to foreshow
The Babylonian Tyrant's Pride laid low.
“The Son of Man, in That tremendous Hour,
“Shall Come in Clouds, with Glory, and with Pow'r.
That Coming mark'd his Vengeance on his Foes,
The Jews; Those Clouds, his Terrors and their Woes.
Yet was not That his only Point in View;
The World no less is threaten'd, than the Jew,
41
O Energy Divine! transcending mortal Thought!
Those awful Words at length must be resolv'd
Into the World's last Fate in them involv'd.
Huge Balls of Fire, like Stars, shall drop from Heav'n:
The Judge, attended by his glorious Sev'n,
And other numberless Angelick Forms,
Shall come with Clouds, in Whirlwinds, and in Storms.
Lo! He appears: As Lightning from the East
Darted, shines instantaneous in the West;
Sudden He comes. A Mighty Seraph dread
Descends from Heav'n; a Rainbow round his Head;
Pillars of Fire his Feet, his Face a Sun;
Sev'n Thunders, e'er He speaks, his Voice forerun.
This Foot on Sea he fixes, That on Land;
And lifting high to Heav'n his ample Hand,
“By the Eternal God Three-One I swear,
“By whose omnific Fiat all Things are;
“'Tis past; 'Tis finish'd; Time shall be no more.
He ceases: The sev'n Thunders, closing, roar.
Darted, shines instantaneous in the West;
Sudden He comes. A Mighty Seraph dread
Descends from Heav'n; a Rainbow round his Head;
Pillars of Fire his Feet, his Face a Sun;
Sev'n Thunders, e'er He speaks, his Voice forerun.
This Foot on Sea he fixes, That on Land;
And lifting high to Heav'n his ample Hand,
“By the Eternal God Three-One I swear,
“By whose omnific Fiat all Things are;
42
He ceases: The sev'n Thunders, closing, roar.
But Oh! That last, That glorious, dreadful Scene,
Amazement ev'n of Angels, more of Men,
What Tongue of Man, or Angel can express?
Striving to make it great, we make it less.
What we with Truth infallible believe,
No Words can utter, and no Thoughts conceive.
See God upon his Throne in Judgment sit?
The Universe in Flames beneath his Feet?
O Thou, our Judge Supreme (we trust in Thee)
Grant that with Joy That Glory we may see,
Which to describe our utmost Strength is faint;
Nor feel those Terrors which we cannot paint.
Amazement ev'n of Angels, more of Men,
What Tongue of Man, or Angel can express?
Striving to make it great, we make it less.
What we with Truth infallible believe,
No Words can utter, and no Thoughts conceive.
See God upon his Throne in Judgment sit?
The Universe in Flames beneath his Feet?
O Thou, our Judge Supreme (we trust in Thee)
Grant that with Joy That Glory we may see,
Which to describe our utmost Strength is faint;
Nor feel those Terrors which we cannot paint.
The op'ning Heav'ns, in silent Dead of Night,
First shew an undistinguish'd Mass of Light;
Which far outshines the Sun's meridian Rays:
All Human Kind at once upon it gaze,
Astonish'd, tho' forewarn'd. The Trumpet's Sound
Pierces the inmost Solid of the Ground,
And echoes to the Centre. Strait the Earth
Yields up its Dead to This new second Birth:
The Sea too yields up Those from ev'ry Wave,
Who in its Bosom found a liquid Grave.
From ev'ry Part of Earth, and Sea, and Air,
The marshal'd Atoms orderly repair,
To form the Bodies they at first compos'd;
The kindred Souls re-enter. Undisclos'd
Is the great Mystery How This is wrought;
But Pow'r Divine surpasses human Thought.
Ask not the Manner of This Rising State:
He surely can restore, who could create.
The Saints who sleep in Christ shall first revive;
They, and the Saints who Then are found alive,
With Children white in spotless Innocence,
By Guardian Angels shall be snatch'd from hence,
Escape the gen'ral Fire, and never die,
Caught up to meet their Saviour in the Sky:
There stand before Him, in bright Order rang'd;
All shall not Sleep, but All must needs be Chang'd;
Immortal, and Incorruptible made;
The Good for Happiness, for Pains the Bad.
These, ev'n while standing at the Judgment-Seat,
Shall feel the Conflagration's scorching Heat;
Shriek in the World's last flaming Fun'ral Pyre,
And pass from Earth's to Hell's tremendous Fire.
First shew an undistinguish'd Mass of Light;
Which far outshines the Sun's meridian Rays:
All Human Kind at once upon it gaze,
Astonish'd, tho' forewarn'd. The Trumpet's Sound
Pierces the inmost Solid of the Ground,
And echoes to the Centre. Strait the Earth
Yields up its Dead to This new second Birth:
The Sea too yields up Those from ev'ry Wave,
Who in its Bosom found a liquid Grave.
43
The marshal'd Atoms orderly repair,
To form the Bodies they at first compos'd;
The kindred Souls re-enter. Undisclos'd
Is the great Mystery How This is wrought;
But Pow'r Divine surpasses human Thought.
Ask not the Manner of This Rising State:
He surely can restore, who could create.
The Saints who sleep in Christ shall first revive;
They, and the Saints who Then are found alive,
With Children white in spotless Innocence,
By Guardian Angels shall be snatch'd from hence,
Escape the gen'ral Fire, and never die,
Caught up to meet their Saviour in the Sky:
There stand before Him, in bright Order rang'd;
All shall not Sleep, but All must needs be Chang'd;
Immortal, and Incorruptible made;
The Good for Happiness, for Pains the Bad.
These, ev'n while standing at the Judgment-Seat,
Shall feel the Conflagration's scorching Heat;
44
And pass from Earth's to Hell's tremendous Fire.
All now or Ris'n, or Chang'd, the Bad, the Good;
Again the Trumpet sounds; Well understood
By God's bright Host: Who from That Mass of Light
First indistinct, now open to the Sight.
In radiant Files stand rank'd their dazling Lines;
Full in their Front the great Messiah shines:
Yet so, that He in part his Glory shrouds
With thickest Darkness, and a Night of Clouds.
Insufferable Splendor, circling Beams
Dart from his Head, and shoot in pointed Streams.
Ineffably Divine, with mingled Grace
Mercy and Justice striving in his Face,
Awful he sits on his Tribunal high;
The Crosse expanded reddens Half the Sky:
That Banner from the silver Staff unfurl'd,
Floats, wav'd by Cherubs, o'er the trembling World.
All Eyes are fix'd on Him, on Him alone:
Tho' Thousand Thousand Angels round his Throne
Minister duteous; and on either Hand
Ten Thousand times Ten Thousand near Him stand.
Again the Trumpet sounds; Well understood
By God's bright Host: Who from That Mass of Light
First indistinct, now open to the Sight.
In radiant Files stand rank'd their dazling Lines;
Full in their Front the great Messiah shines:
Yet so, that He in part his Glory shrouds
With thickest Darkness, and a Night of Clouds.
Insufferable Splendor, circling Beams
Dart from his Head, and shoot in pointed Streams.
Ineffably Divine, with mingled Grace
Mercy and Justice striving in his Face,
Awful he sits on his Tribunal high;
The Crosse expanded reddens Half the Sky:
That Banner from the silver Staff unfurl'd,
Floats, wav'd by Cherubs, o'er the trembling World.
All Eyes are fix'd on Him, on Him alone:
Tho' Thousand Thousand Angels round his Throne
Minister duteous; and on either Hand
Ten Thousand times Ten Thousand near Him stand.
45
And is This He, on Calvary who dy'd?
He, who for Milk in Bethlem's Stable cry'd?
Yes, Unbelieving Jew; 'Tis He, the Same;
Who dy'd indeed, but from high Heav'n first came.
He, who, when Foxes in their Dens could rest,
And ev'ry Bird of Air enjoy'd its Nest,
Had No-where to repose his weary Head;
And, feeding Thousands, was himself unfed.
But tremble Thou; who Nail'd him to the Tree,
Who pierc'd his Hands and Feet—Lo! This is He,
Who, after That curs'd Death, That humble Birth,
“Ariseth to shake terribly the Earth.
He, who for Milk in Bethlem's Stable cry'd?
Yes, Unbelieving Jew; 'Tis He, the Same;
Who dy'd indeed, but from high Heav'n first came.
He, who, when Foxes in their Dens could rest,
And ev'ry Bird of Air enjoy'd its Nest,
Had No-where to repose his weary Head;
And, feeding Thousands, was himself unfed.
But tremble Thou; who Nail'd him to the Tree,
Who pierc'd his Hands and Feet—Lo! This is He,
Who, after That curs'd Death, That humble Birth,
“Ariseth to shake terribly the Earth.
Now All in wond'ring Expectation gaze;
All Things dispos'd to light the last great Blaze.
The Just, with Hopes exalted to the Height,
Lift up their Heads, and their Redemption wait.
Pale stand the Sinners, trembling, and aghast,
Fearing the Future, conscious of the Past.
A solemn Pause, and Silence most profound
Ensues. At length th'ethereal Trumpet's Sound
Again the infinite Assembly wakes;
And Earth a third time to its Centre shakes.
A gen'ral Shout the Saints and Angels raise
(Millions of Millions!) to Messiah's Praise:
“Let God arise; and scatter'd be his Foes.
The yawning Caves their fuel'd Stores disclose;
Exploded Thunders thro' the Welkin roll,
And forky Light'nings flash from Pole to Pole:
Pillars of ruddy Smoke obscure the Sun;
And now the Wreck of Nature is begun.
The hideous Burst of Cannon heard so far,
And all the loud-mouth'd Engin'ry of War,
When fierce Bellona swells her brazen Voice,
Is deepest Silence to This dreadful Noise.
Disgorging Sheets of Flame, and molten Ore,
Ten Thousand Ætnas, and Vesuvios roar.
Huge Globes of Fire drop piece-meal from the Skies,
And meet the Fires which from Volcanos rise.
The blazing Deluge hisses in the Floods,
Pours o'er the Plains, and thunders thro' the Woods.
Woods of immense Extent, of tall, tough Oak,
Which nor of Time, nor Light'ning, fear'd the Stroke,
Solid, as if they never could decay,
Burnt like dry Shrubs, or Stubble, shrink away:
Less sudden disappears a Field of Corn,
When by the Wind the flying Flames are borne.
Th'exhausted Rivers vanish with the Heat;
Volga, and Indus, and Danubius, great,
Ganges, Euphrates, Nile, deep, rapid, strong,
Which rather Seas, than Rivers, foam along,
So many Ages fam'd, their Country's Boast,
Absorp't, devour'd, are in a Moment lost.
An Universal Earthquake rocks the Ball,
And Towns, and Cities in one Ruin fall.
Why name I These, the trifling Works of Art,
And human Labour? See the Earth dispart
Its riven Jaws: What Terror to behold
Metallick Torrents in red Billows roll'd!
Myriads of Sulph'rous Mines together sprung,
And to the Stars vast rocky Fragments slung!
Vast Rocks, which could the Weight of Citys bear,
Like spongy Pumice-Cinders, twirl'd in Air!
The Ocean, whether Continents, or Isles
It washes, like a burning Cauldron boils:
Ev'n the great Deep, of Waters almost dry'd,
With Streams of liquid Metals is supply'd:
In the mid Sea those livid Surges roar;
And falling Mountains rattle from the Shore.
All Things dispos'd to light the last great Blaze.
The Just, with Hopes exalted to the Height,
Lift up their Heads, and their Redemption wait.
Pale stand the Sinners, trembling, and aghast,
Fearing the Future, conscious of the Past.
A solemn Pause, and Silence most profound
Ensues. At length th'ethereal Trumpet's Sound
46
And Earth a third time to its Centre shakes.
A gen'ral Shout the Saints and Angels raise
(Millions of Millions!) to Messiah's Praise:
“Let God arise; and scatter'd be his Foes.
The yawning Caves their fuel'd Stores disclose;
Exploded Thunders thro' the Welkin roll,
And forky Light'nings flash from Pole to Pole:
Pillars of ruddy Smoke obscure the Sun;
And now the Wreck of Nature is begun.
The hideous Burst of Cannon heard so far,
And all the loud-mouth'd Engin'ry of War,
When fierce Bellona swells her brazen Voice,
Is deepest Silence to This dreadful Noise.
Disgorging Sheets of Flame, and molten Ore,
Ten Thousand Ætnas, and Vesuvios roar.
Huge Globes of Fire drop piece-meal from the Skies,
And meet the Fires which from Volcanos rise.
The blazing Deluge hisses in the Floods,
Pours o'er the Plains, and thunders thro' the Woods.
Woods of immense Extent, of tall, tough Oak,
Which nor of Time, nor Light'ning, fear'd the Stroke,
47
Burnt like dry Shrubs, or Stubble, shrink away:
Less sudden disappears a Field of Corn,
When by the Wind the flying Flames are borne.
Th'exhausted Rivers vanish with the Heat;
Volga, and Indus, and Danubius, great,
Ganges, Euphrates, Nile, deep, rapid, strong,
Which rather Seas, than Rivers, foam along,
So many Ages fam'd, their Country's Boast,
Absorp't, devour'd, are in a Moment lost.
An Universal Earthquake rocks the Ball,
And Towns, and Cities in one Ruin fall.
Why name I These, the trifling Works of Art,
And human Labour? See the Earth dispart
Its riven Jaws: What Terror to behold
Metallick Torrents in red Billows roll'd!
Myriads of Sulph'rous Mines together sprung,
And to the Stars vast rocky Fragments slung!
Vast Rocks, which could the Weight of Citys bear,
Like spongy Pumice-Cinders, twirl'd in Air!
The Ocean, whether Continents, or Isles
It washes, like a burning Cauldron boils:
Ev'n the great Deep, of Waters almost dry'd,
With Streams of liquid Metals is supply'd:
48
And falling Mountains rattle from the Shore.
Amidst This wild Combustion, and the Crush
Of lab'ring Nature; while to Ruin rush
The warring Elements; All now prepar'd,
Once more the Trumpet's Clangor shrill is heard:
The Summons sounds; “To Judgment All; Appear,
“Ye Sons of Men; your final Sentence hear.
The Books are open'd; Rang'd on either hand,
Th'Accusing, and Defending Angels stand:
Those, fall'n, Apostate Angels, Fiends of Night—
These, Sons of purest, and ethereal Light,
Benevolent to Man, would plead his Cause:
But still from Thee, from Thee his Hope He draws,
Great Saviour: Do not Now Thy Mercy grudge;
Be Thou our Advocate, as well as Judge;
Or Oh! we perish—Yet not Judge alone
Is He, tho' Chief: Assessors of his Throne,
Beside him, and behind, and at his Feet,
The Noble Army of the Martyrs sit;
Patriarchs, Apostles, Prophets; all That Host,
Who for their Saviour did, and suffer'd most,
Now with Himself (oh! how great Honour!) join'd
Sit on inferior Thrones, and judge Mankind.
The Rest, in Vertue far beneath them, come
To take their Trial, and receive their Doom:
Of Such, as Representative of All,
Imagine One, obedient to the Call,
Answering for Himself: Awhile He stands
Silent, and lifts to Heav'n his suppliant Hands;
Then bows before the Throne with bended Knees,
And renders his Account in Words like These.
Of lab'ring Nature; while to Ruin rush
The warring Elements; All now prepar'd,
Once more the Trumpet's Clangor shrill is heard:
The Summons sounds; “To Judgment All; Appear,
“Ye Sons of Men; your final Sentence hear.
The Books are open'd; Rang'd on either hand,
Th'Accusing, and Defending Angels stand:
Those, fall'n, Apostate Angels, Fiends of Night—
These, Sons of purest, and ethereal Light,
Benevolent to Man, would plead his Cause:
But still from Thee, from Thee his Hope He draws,
Great Saviour: Do not Now Thy Mercy grudge;
Be Thou our Advocate, as well as Judge;
Or Oh! we perish—Yet not Judge alone
Is He, tho' Chief: Assessors of his Throne,
Beside him, and behind, and at his Feet,
The Noble Army of the Martyrs sit;
Patriarchs, Apostles, Prophets; all That Host,
Who for their Saviour did, and suffer'd most,
49
Sit on inferior Thrones, and judge Mankind.
The Rest, in Vertue far beneath them, come
To take their Trial, and receive their Doom:
Of Such, as Representative of All,
Imagine One, obedient to the Call,
Answering for Himself: Awhile He stands
Silent, and lifts to Heav'n his suppliant Hands;
Then bows before the Throne with bended Knees,
And renders his Account in Words like These.
Thy Servant, Lord, e'er he prefers his Plea,
Urges Thy gracious Pardon. If from Thee
I have no Hope, in Judgment I am Cast:
To be but Object of Thy Pardon pass'd,
Is all the Merit I presume to plead.
By Passions, and Infirmities misled,
Oft I offended thro' Surprize, or Fear;
Nay sometimes Wilful did my Crimes appear,
Yet of Malicious Sinning always clear.
Oft did my Soul receive a Blot, and Stain;
Seduc'd to Guilt by Pleasure, and by Pain.
Sore by the Flesh beset, I greatly fail'd:
And yet, I trust, the Spirit chief prevail'd.
In Thoughts, in Words, in Deeds, I did offend;
But 'tis my Hope, Repentance interven'd
'Twixt Me, and Justice; blest Repentance, crown'd
With Reformation, which maintain'd its Ground.
The Talents, to my Lot by Thee assign'd,
Of Nature, Fortune, Body, Grace, and Mind,
I have improv'd Industrious; to my Trust
Faithful, and acting like a Steward just:
Improv'd them (as it was thy Will I shou'd)
To Thy own Glory, and my Brethrens Good.
Zeal for Thy Honour did my Soul inflame,
Zeal for Thy Church, Thy Sabbath, and Thy Name.
Yet not a Zeal fierce, rapid, or unrul'd;
But check'd by Prudence, and with Reason cool'd.
From Sacrilegious Rapine I was free,
And in thy Priests and Servants, robb'd not Thee.
Thy Priests, as Thy bless'd Work They did partake.
I lov'd, and reverenc'd, for their Labour's sake,
Religious Schisms with Tears I did lament,
And Factions, which Thy mystic Body rent.
With holy Fear I read Thy sacred Word;
And where I could not understand, ador'd:
To Faith made Reason bow, with pious Awe;
And Night and Day enjoy'd Thy heav'nly Law.
Sweeter than Honey was it to my Taste;
Delicious, exquisite, divine Repast.
Thy Book of Nature too both Day and Night
I read, and study'd with sincere Delight:
Thy Wonders of Creation!—How they raise
Our Admiration, and transcend our Praise!
What Love, what Rev'rence must Thy Works inspire,
Ev'n Now, tho' burning in This dreadful Fire!
Redemption!—Providence!—But 'tis too long—
And interrupted stops my fault'ring Tongue.
Thy House I still frequented; on the Bread
Of Life devoutly at Thy Altar fed;
(That heav'nly Manna! more than Angels' Food!)
And, while I drank Thy Sacramental Blood,
Bewail'd Those Sins, which Thy blest Temples dy'd,
And drew the precious Torrent from Thy Side.
In Publick, and in Privacy, Thy Aid
I ever begg'd, and without ceasing Pray'd.
By Charity's celestial Guidance led,
I cloath'd the Naked, and the Hungry fed:
Unmov'd I never heard the Wretched groan:
To many liberal, unjust to None.
Provok'd by Malice, Fraud, Ingratitude,
Receiving Evil in return for Good,
I lov'd my worst of Foes; and ev'n Now crave
To be forgiv'n, as I myself forgave.
My Tongue, as with a Bridle, I restrain'd;
And studious from all evil Words refrain'd:
Would never aught profane, or leud have writ,
For all the Fame that e'er was gain'd by Wit.
I scorn'd Ambition, lov'd obscure Retreat;
And never would be Little, to be Great.
That shining Dirt call'd Gold I still despis'd,
By Others hoarded, and so highly priz'd:
By sordid Avarice was ne'er enslav'd;
And thought not Wealth was giv'n us, to be sav'd.
To save my Soul, not Money, was my Care:
Yet of Profusion's Guilt no less aware,
I stor'd for Those, whom God, and Nature made
Dependant on my Providence, and Aid.
If Passions did my mortal Frame disturb;
Yet Reason check'd them with restraining Curb.
Thy Gifts with chearful Temperance I us'd,
Not to Excess, or Luxury abus'd:
Did from unlawful Pleasures wholly swerve,
And ev'n of lawful tasted with Reserve.
Tho' strongly tempted by soft Beauty's Charms,
I never touch'd a Prostitute's foul Arms;
But us'd my Body, as the Temple pure
Of Him, who no Pollution can endure:
Reflecting, that Temptations gave the Price
To Vertue, as they never cancel'd Vice.
In lowly, humble Thoughts I liv'd, and dy'd;
Wond'ring what wretched Man could mean by Pride.
Whate'er in Me was Good was Thine alone;
My Sins, and Follies only were my own.
Thus, Lord, Thy Servant (This is the Amount)
Of his past Actions renders the Account;
Vile in the Worst, Defective in the Best:
But let Thy Blood, and Merits plead the rest.
Urges Thy gracious Pardon. If from Thee
I have no Hope, in Judgment I am Cast:
To be but Object of Thy Pardon pass'd,
Is all the Merit I presume to plead.
By Passions, and Infirmities misled,
Oft I offended thro' Surprize, or Fear;
Nay sometimes Wilful did my Crimes appear,
Yet of Malicious Sinning always clear.
50
Seduc'd to Guilt by Pleasure, and by Pain.
Sore by the Flesh beset, I greatly fail'd:
And yet, I trust, the Spirit chief prevail'd.
In Thoughts, in Words, in Deeds, I did offend;
But 'tis my Hope, Repentance interven'd
'Twixt Me, and Justice; blest Repentance, crown'd
With Reformation, which maintain'd its Ground.
The Talents, to my Lot by Thee assign'd,
Of Nature, Fortune, Body, Grace, and Mind,
I have improv'd Industrious; to my Trust
Faithful, and acting like a Steward just:
Improv'd them (as it was thy Will I shou'd)
To Thy own Glory, and my Brethrens Good.
Zeal for Thy Honour did my Soul inflame,
Zeal for Thy Church, Thy Sabbath, and Thy Name.
Yet not a Zeal fierce, rapid, or unrul'd;
But check'd by Prudence, and with Reason cool'd.
From Sacrilegious Rapine I was free,
And in thy Priests and Servants, robb'd not Thee.
51
I lov'd, and reverenc'd, for their Labour's sake,
Religious Schisms with Tears I did lament,
And Factions, which Thy mystic Body rent.
With holy Fear I read Thy sacred Word;
And where I could not understand, ador'd:
To Faith made Reason bow, with pious Awe;
And Night and Day enjoy'd Thy heav'nly Law.
Sweeter than Honey was it to my Taste;
Delicious, exquisite, divine Repast.
Thy Book of Nature too both Day and Night
I read, and study'd with sincere Delight:
Thy Wonders of Creation!—How they raise
Our Admiration, and transcend our Praise!
What Love, what Rev'rence must Thy Works inspire,
Ev'n Now, tho' burning in This dreadful Fire!
Redemption!—Providence!—But 'tis too long—
And interrupted stops my fault'ring Tongue.
Thy House I still frequented; on the Bread
Of Life devoutly at Thy Altar fed;
52
And, while I drank Thy Sacramental Blood,
Bewail'd Those Sins, which Thy blest Temples dy'd,
And drew the precious Torrent from Thy Side.
In Publick, and in Privacy, Thy Aid
I ever begg'd, and without ceasing Pray'd.
By Charity's celestial Guidance led,
I cloath'd the Naked, and the Hungry fed:
Unmov'd I never heard the Wretched groan:
To many liberal, unjust to None.
Provok'd by Malice, Fraud, Ingratitude,
Receiving Evil in return for Good,
I lov'd my worst of Foes; and ev'n Now crave
To be forgiv'n, as I myself forgave.
My Tongue, as with a Bridle, I restrain'd;
And studious from all evil Words refrain'd:
Would never aught profane, or leud have writ,
For all the Fame that e'er was gain'd by Wit.
I scorn'd Ambition, lov'd obscure Retreat;
And never would be Little, to be Great.
That shining Dirt call'd Gold I still despis'd,
By Others hoarded, and so highly priz'd:
53
And thought not Wealth was giv'n us, to be sav'd.
To save my Soul, not Money, was my Care:
Yet of Profusion's Guilt no less aware,
I stor'd for Those, whom God, and Nature made
Dependant on my Providence, and Aid.
If Passions did my mortal Frame disturb;
Yet Reason check'd them with restraining Curb.
Thy Gifts with chearful Temperance I us'd,
Not to Excess, or Luxury abus'd:
Did from unlawful Pleasures wholly swerve,
And ev'n of lawful tasted with Reserve.
Tho' strongly tempted by soft Beauty's Charms,
I never touch'd a Prostitute's foul Arms;
But us'd my Body, as the Temple pure
Of Him, who no Pollution can endure:
Reflecting, that Temptations gave the Price
To Vertue, as they never cancel'd Vice.
In lowly, humble Thoughts I liv'd, and dy'd;
Wond'ring what wretched Man could mean by Pride.
Whate'er in Me was Good was Thine alone;
My Sins, and Follies only were my own.
54
Of his past Actions renders the Account;
Vile in the Worst, Defective in the Best:
But let Thy Blood, and Merits plead the rest.
He ceases, bowing low. Messiah smiles,
Gracious: The Ocean, hush'd, in silence boils:
The Mountains intermit their roaring Noise,
And listen to their Great Creator's Voice:
Thro' all the Globe the fierce devouring Fires
Soften their Rage, and bend their humbled Spires;
Earth, Air, and Sea, their universal Wrecks
Suspend; while Thus th'Incarnate Godhead speaks.
Gracious: The Ocean, hush'd, in silence boils:
The Mountains intermit their roaring Noise,
And listen to their Great Creator's Voice:
Thro' all the Globe the fierce devouring Fires
Soften their Rage, and bend their humbled Spires;
Earth, Air, and Sea, their universal Wrecks
Suspend; while Thus th'Incarnate Godhead speaks.
“Well done, Thou Good, and Faithful Servant; Well
Thou hast thyself acquitted: Come, and dwell
With Me, in Happiness without Alloy;
“Enter into thy Lord's eternal Joy.
From Me (with Comfort view thy Judge's Face)
Where Justice must not, Mercy will take place.
Come All, whose Vertue, like His, stedfast found,
And to the last enduring, kept its Ground.
“Receive, Ye Blessed, Your adjudg'd Reward;
“Receive the Kingdom long for You prepar'd,
“Ev'n when the World's Foundations first were laid
By Me, who Now destroy what Then I made.
These are my Sheep, select on my Right hand:
For Those who on my Left secluded stand,
Like sever'd Goats; the Lustful, the Unjust,
The Covetous, th'Unfaithful to their Trust;
Th'Unmerciful, the Perjur'd, the Prophane,
The Hypocrites, whose Godliness was Gain;
Those who Lies lov'd and made, and Lies believ'd,
Deceiving Others, and Themselves deceiv'd:
Th'Intemperate, th'Outrageous, Fierce, and Proud:
Nor These alone, whose Crimes to Heav'n cry'd loud;
But lower Sinners, Those whose Vices, laid
In Ballance, their small Vertue far outweigh'd;
The Lukewarm, Tim'rous, Cowards in God's Cause;
The partial, slight Observers of his Laws;
The Indevout, the Lax, the Negligent,
Who Time's rich Talent in vain Trifles spent;
Those who some Vices, but not all, forbore,
Lov'd God a little, but the World much more:
All These, since dead in Trespasses they dy'd,
Heav'n's Wrath, and righteous Vengeance must abide.
All know th'Excuses they would plead, to screen
Their Guilts: But how fallacious, weak, and thin?
Temptations press'd them—Had it not been so;
What Vertue could they have propos'd to show?
Eternal Bliss were sure too cheaply bought;
If gain'd for Doing, and for Suff'ring Nought;
Were Punishment to such Sins only due,
As vicious Human Nature rarely knew:
The Poor's Profuseness, th'Unprovok'd man's Rage,
The Avarice of Youth, the Lust of Age:
Tho' to the World ev'n These were not unknown:
And what can for a Guilt like This attone?
When by Infirmities they were betray'd;
Was not my Strength sufficient for their Aid?
But did they not reject my proffer'd Grace,
And hurl my Gifts into the Giver's Face?
Did not That faithful Witness in each Breast,
Conscience, against their wicked Lives protest;
And warn them that, however they excus'd
Their Crimes, they willfully Themselves abus'd?
Infinite is, They said, Gods, Mercy: True;
But infinite is not his Justice too?
Mercy, tho' infinite, cannot be shown
To Sinners, who are capable of None,
Th'Impenitent.—But why did God make Those,
Who, He foreknew, must suffer endless Woes?
And why would'st Thou attempt, presumptuous Man,
To grasp Infinity with Thy short Span?
Tho' This Thou canst not comprehend; God can.
To be forever Happy, He made All:
But needs must make them free to stand, or fall.
Else, where were Vertue, and Reward? Some stood,
But not necessitated to be Good.
Some fell; but free to stand; Their Fault their Own;
Whom can they blame then, but Themselves alone?
However; Who has aught to plead, may speak—
I hear not One the guilty Silence break.
Thus much; that God in Judgment might appear
Most Righteous, and of all Injustice clear.
Thou hast thyself acquitted: Come, and dwell
With Me, in Happiness without Alloy;
“Enter into thy Lord's eternal Joy.
From Me (with Comfort view thy Judge's Face)
Where Justice must not, Mercy will take place.
Come All, whose Vertue, like His, stedfast found,
And to the last enduring, kept its Ground.
“Receive, Ye Blessed, Your adjudg'd Reward;
“Receive the Kingdom long for You prepar'd,
55
By Me, who Now destroy what Then I made.
These are my Sheep, select on my Right hand:
For Those who on my Left secluded stand,
Like sever'd Goats; the Lustful, the Unjust,
The Covetous, th'Unfaithful to their Trust;
Th'Unmerciful, the Perjur'd, the Prophane,
The Hypocrites, whose Godliness was Gain;
Those who Lies lov'd and made, and Lies believ'd,
Deceiving Others, and Themselves deceiv'd:
Th'Intemperate, th'Outrageous, Fierce, and Proud:
Nor These alone, whose Crimes to Heav'n cry'd loud;
But lower Sinners, Those whose Vices, laid
In Ballance, their small Vertue far outweigh'd;
The Lukewarm, Tim'rous, Cowards in God's Cause;
The partial, slight Observers of his Laws;
The Indevout, the Lax, the Negligent,
Who Time's rich Talent in vain Trifles spent;
Those who some Vices, but not all, forbore,
Lov'd God a little, but the World much more:
56
Heav'n's Wrath, and righteous Vengeance must abide.
All know th'Excuses they would plead, to screen
Their Guilts: But how fallacious, weak, and thin?
Temptations press'd them—Had it not been so;
What Vertue could they have propos'd to show?
Eternal Bliss were sure too cheaply bought;
If gain'd for Doing, and for Suff'ring Nought;
Were Punishment to such Sins only due,
As vicious Human Nature rarely knew:
The Poor's Profuseness, th'Unprovok'd man's Rage,
The Avarice of Youth, the Lust of Age:
Tho' to the World ev'n These were not unknown:
And what can for a Guilt like This attone?
When by Infirmities they were betray'd;
Was not my Strength sufficient for their Aid?
But did they not reject my proffer'd Grace,
And hurl my Gifts into the Giver's Face?
Did not That faithful Witness in each Breast,
Conscience, against their wicked Lives protest;
And warn them that, however they excus'd
Their Crimes, they willfully Themselves abus'd?
57
But infinite is not his Justice too?
Mercy, tho' infinite, cannot be shown
To Sinners, who are capable of None,
Th'Impenitent.—But why did God make Those,
Who, He foreknew, must suffer endless Woes?
And why would'st Thou attempt, presumptuous Man,
To grasp Infinity with Thy short Span?
Tho' This Thou canst not comprehend; God can.
To be forever Happy, He made All:
But needs must make them free to stand, or fall.
Else, where were Vertue, and Reward? Some stood,
But not necessitated to be Good.
Some fell; but free to stand; Their Fault their Own;
Whom can they blame then, but Themselves alone?
However; Who has aught to plead, may speak—
I hear not One the guilty Silence break.
Thus much; that God in Judgment might appear
Most Righteous, and of all Injustice clear.
But who are They, distinguish'd from the Rest?
Scoffers; who turn'd my Gospel into Jest:
Who thought, against right Reason's sober Rules,
That Thinking freely was to Think like Fools.
They understood not Mysterys: Demand
Of Them who list, what did they understand?
Had Nature not her Mysterys, unknown
To Them? Why must Religion then have none?
God's Revelations always were Their Scorn:
How will his righteous Judgment now be borne,
When God from Heav'n, not Now at least conceal'd,
In flaming Fire, and Vengeance is reveal'd?
See how they gnash their Teeth, and rend their Hair,
In all the Pangs of Malice and Despair:
Malice against their Saviour, whom they brav'd;
Who would have sav'd them, would they have been sav'd.
An Isle there was in Europe (late so nam'd)
My Fav'rite once, for pure Religion fam'd:
There These Apostate Miscreants, in an Age
The most corrupt, against Me belch'd their Rage.
At the same time, t'adore the Temp'ral Pow'rs,
(As if Their Grandeur greater were than Ours)
Industrious They employ'd their utmost Skill:
From the same venal prostituted Quill
The Atheism, and the Panegyrick stream'd:
The Great Men flatter'd, the Great God blasphem'd.
By These, had I again came down from Heav'n,
And Pow'r, like Pilate's, had to Them been giv'n,
I had again with Shame, and Tortures dy'd;
Again been Spit on, Scourg'd, and Crucify'd.
A moral, vertuous Heathen, born, and bred
In unsought Ignorance, has much to plead;
May hope for some Reward, tho' None is due,
And bless my Merits, which He never knew:
But a Baptiz'd, a Christian Infidel!—
Where can He have his Portion, but in Hell?
Ye Wicked All, Your Sentence now attend;
Who fin'd on, Unrepentant to the End.
'Tis pass'd: You have outstood the Day of Grace;
Where Mercy cannot, Justice must take place.
“Depart, Ye Cursed, into endless Fire;
“To Sulph'rous Flames which never shall expire:
“Go; find in Hell, for Them, and You prepar'd,
“With Satan, and his Crew, your just Reward.
Be This the Doom of All who dy'd in Vice:
But Those, my more Emphatic Enemys,
Who against Mine did Satan's Cause maintain,
“And would not I their King should o'er them reign,
Must be preferr'd before the Rest: Let Those
Who with cool, reas'ning Malice were my Foes,
Obdur'd Apostates, in Hell's deepest Pit
Enjoy their fam'd Philosophy, and Wit;
There feel His Vengeance, to confound their Pride,
Whose Godhead, and whose Gospel they deny'd.
Scoffers; who turn'd my Gospel into Jest:
58
That Thinking freely was to Think like Fools.
They understood not Mysterys: Demand
Of Them who list, what did they understand?
Had Nature not her Mysterys, unknown
To Them? Why must Religion then have none?
God's Revelations always were Their Scorn:
How will his righteous Judgment now be borne,
When God from Heav'n, not Now at least conceal'd,
In flaming Fire, and Vengeance is reveal'd?
See how they gnash their Teeth, and rend their Hair,
In all the Pangs of Malice and Despair:
Malice against their Saviour, whom they brav'd;
Who would have sav'd them, would they have been sav'd.
An Isle there was in Europe (late so nam'd)
My Fav'rite once, for pure Religion fam'd:
There These Apostate Miscreants, in an Age
The most corrupt, against Me belch'd their Rage.
At the same time, t'adore the Temp'ral Pow'rs,
(As if Their Grandeur greater were than Ours)
Industrious They employ'd their utmost Skill:
From the same venal prostituted Quill
59
The Great Men flatter'd, the Great God blasphem'd.
By These, had I again came down from Heav'n,
And Pow'r, like Pilate's, had to Them been giv'n,
I had again with Shame, and Tortures dy'd;
Again been Spit on, Scourg'd, and Crucify'd.
A moral, vertuous Heathen, born, and bred
In unsought Ignorance, has much to plead;
May hope for some Reward, tho' None is due,
And bless my Merits, which He never knew:
But a Baptiz'd, a Christian Infidel!—
Where can He have his Portion, but in Hell?
Ye Wicked All, Your Sentence now attend;
Who fin'd on, Unrepentant to the End.
'Tis pass'd: You have outstood the Day of Grace;
Where Mercy cannot, Justice must take place.
“Depart, Ye Cursed, into endless Fire;
“To Sulph'rous Flames which never shall expire:
“Go; find in Hell, for Them, and You prepar'd,
“With Satan, and his Crew, your just Reward.
Be This the Doom of All who dy'd in Vice:
But Those, my more Emphatic Enemys,
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“And would not I their King should o'er them reign,
Must be preferr'd before the Rest: Let Those
Who with cool, reas'ning Malice were my Foes,
Obdur'd Apostates, in Hell's deepest Pit
Enjoy their fam'd Philosophy, and Wit;
There feel His Vengeance, to confound their Pride,
Whose Godhead, and whose Gospel they deny'd.
Th'Assessors, to his Voice assenting, rise:
Unnumber'd Hallelujahs shake the Skys:
Hosannahs infinite, the Heav'ns around,
Like many Waters, and loud Thund'rings, sound.
“Great, marvellous, are all thy Works of Praise;
“And just, and true, O King of Saints, Thy Ways.
Thy Glory (All Thy Sentence must approve)
Triumphs in Hell below, in Heaven above;
And shines no less in Vengeance, than in Love.
Unnumber'd Hallelujahs shake the Skys:
Hosannahs infinite, the Heav'ns around,
Like many Waters, and loud Thund'rings, sound.
“Great, marvellous, are all thy Works of Praise;
“And just, and true, O King of Saints, Thy Ways.
Thy Glory (All Thy Sentence must approve)
Triumphs in Hell below, in Heaven above;
And shines no less in Vengeance, than in Love.
Think Thou, who shalt peruse This serious Verse,
What Arrows at That Hour, thy Soul shall pierce,
If guilty it be found: And Oh! take care
Thy self for That Tribunal to prepare.
Nor be too certain, that the Time unknown
Is many Ages distant from our own.
Whoe'er observes the little Faith on Earth,
Would think the wond'rous Period near its Birth.
Ourselves perhaps, not fated to expire,
May in These Bodies see the World on fire;
Hear the last Trumpet sound, commanded meet
The Coming Judge, and tremble at his Feet.
Thy Death, however, (and That soon must come)
Is in effect to Thee the Day of Doom.
Meditate much on This: for Me too pray,
That I unterrify'd may see That Day;
That Both our truest Int'rest may discern,
“And, teaching Others, I myself may learn.
What Arrows at That Hour, thy Soul shall pierce,
61
Thy self for That Tribunal to prepare.
Nor be too certain, that the Time unknown
Is many Ages distant from our own.
Whoe'er observes the little Faith on Earth,
Would think the wond'rous Period near its Birth.
Ourselves perhaps, not fated to expire,
May in These Bodies see the World on fire;
Hear the last Trumpet sound, commanded meet
The Coming Judge, and tremble at his Feet.
Thy Death, however, (and That soon must come)
Is in effect to Thee the Day of Doom.
Meditate much on This: for Me too pray,
That I unterrify'd may see That Day;
That Both our truest Int'rest may discern,
“And, teaching Others, I myself may learn.
'Tis not to Talk, and Preach, and Write, but Live,
That Then will solid Peace, and Comfort give.
Should One, like Homer, Virgil, Milton, rise,
To set the last Great Day before our Eyes;
To make us Chaste, Sincere, Religious, Just,
Yet be Himself enthrall'd to Vice, and Lust;
Perish would He, tho' Others He might Save:
And, having pass'd thro' Death's strait Gate, the Grave,
See Them in highest Heav'n, Himself in Hell;
And rue That Judgment, which He sung so well.
That Then will solid Peace, and Comfort give.
Should One, like Homer, Virgil, Milton, rise,
To set the last Great Day before our Eyes;
To make us Chaste, Sincere, Religious, Just,
Yet be Himself enthrall'd to Vice, and Lust;
62
And, having pass'd thro' Death's strait Gate, the Grave,
See Them in highest Heav'n, Himself in Hell;
And rue That Judgment, which He sung so well.
Nothing can be more plain than that in those Predictions Matth. xxiv. Mark. xiii. Luke xxi. our Saviour had a View both to the Destruction of Jerusalem, and the End of the World; the One being a Type of the Other. Some Passages mean the First; some the Second; and some Both. This is partly prov'd, even Here in Verse. Much more might be said; but This is not a Place for it.
Mention is made, in several Places of Scripture, of seven Angels in particular, distinguish'd from the rest. Thus in the Revelation, the seven Angels with Trumpets; and with the Vials. And Tobit xii. 15. I am Raphael, one of the Seven holy Angels.
See Lord Chief Justice Hale's Account of the Good Steward. Contemplations Moral, and Divine. Vol. I.
65
III. Part III. HEAVEN.
The ARGUMENT.
Impossible for Us in This World to form a Just Idea of the Glory, and Happiness of the Next. Sufficient for us to know, that it is perfect, and eternal Happiness. The Holy Scriptures, however, have given us some Glimpse, or faint Prospect of it. The New Jerusalem, as describ'd by St. John in the xxi, and xxii Chapters of the Revelation. A farther Poetical Description of Heaven. Allowable in Us to delineate it by the Things which are seen Here; since God Himself does so. The Beatific Vision glanc'd at, and pass'd over for the present. Degrees of Glory, and Happiness; Yet all that are in Heaven completely happy. No Envy There. Charity remains There; tho' Faith and Hope are extinct. Wherein consists the Happiness of the Blessed. In praising God. In Knowledge. In the Beatific Vision. That enlarged upon. Wherein it consists. The Ideal World. Seeing God, as He is. The Mystery of the Trinity reveal'd. Seemingly repugnant Attributes reconcil'd. The most eminent Persons There. Martyrs; Patriarchs; Prophets; Apostles; The Blessed Virgin. Famous, learned, and pious Clergymen. Laic Divines, who defended Christianity. Good Kings. Founders of Colleges; especially in Oxford, and Cambridge. Benefactors to the Corporation of the Sons of the Clergy. Queen Anne; especially for her Bounty to the Clergy. Founders of Hospitals in London. The peculiar Excellence of Charity. Pious Statesmen, and Patriots. Promiscuously, all the Vertuous, and Good. What it is to be truly Good. Christians, who differ'd in Opinion Here, may yet meet in Heaven Hereafter. Vertuous Heathens may be sav'd. More upon the Happiness of Heaven. God's amazing Goodness in so immensely rewarding so inconsiderable a Service. Without being Holy Here, we cannot, in the Nature of Things, be Happy Hereafter.
The great Apostle, in his ravish'd Breast
Extatic, with Celestial Visions blest,
Rapt into Heav'n, had of its Joys a Taste;
(O! how he wish'd it might forever last!)
There Things ineffable He heard, and saw;
To utter them transcended Nature's Law.
How then shall We, in Darkness, to whose View
That Curtain for a Moment ne'er withdrew,
Clog'd with thick Clay, whom Walls of Flesh immure,
Find Words to paint a Bliss divinely pure;
Which, tho' with Truth infallible believ'd,
Eye hath not seen, Ear heard, nor mortal Thought conceiv'd?
Extatic, with Celestial Visions blest,
Rapt into Heav'n, had of its Joys a Taste;
(O! how he wish'd it might forever last!)
There Things ineffable He heard, and saw;
To utter them transcended Nature's Law.
How then shall We, in Darkness, to whose View
That Curtain for a Moment ne'er withdrew,
Clog'd with thick Clay, whom Walls of Flesh immure,
Find Words to paint a Bliss divinely pure;
Which, tho' with Truth infallible believ'd,
Eye hath not seen, Ear heard, nor mortal Thought conceiv'd?
Suffice it Us, to cheer us on our Way,
That Heav'n is Happiness without Allay;
Perfect, Complete, Eternal, Happiness;
More cannot be; and Heav'n affords no less.
That Heav'n is Happiness without Allay;
66
More cannot be; and Heav'n affords no less.
Ev'n Here, tho' through a Glass we dimly gaze,
Nor see as yet our Maker face to face;
Some Glimpse th'inspir'd Prophetick Pages give
Of That blest Life which There the Just shall live.
The Saint, who saw th'Apocalypse, beheld
(What Wonders to his Transports were reveal'd!)
The Holy City, New Jerusalem,
Which needed not the Son's enliv'ning Beam:
God's Glory, and the Lamb's wide-spreading Light
More than supply'd the Sun, and shone more bright.
The Church Triumphant There in Bliss shall reign;
No more of Death, of Sickness, Fear, or Pain;
No Sighs, no Wailings, no complaining Crys;
All Tears are wip'd forever from their Eyes.
Nought, but sincerest Joys, they There shall know;
Nor dread the Storms which grumbled Here below:
But breathe an Ether pure, and most refin'd:
No longer shall the Soul to Earth be join'd;
Nor cumbrous Flesh weigh down the musing Mind.
City of God! (Thy Glories may we see!)
Things very excellent are spoke of Thee.
Deck'd like a Bride, all brillant She shall shine,
For her Celestial Spouse, with Gems divine.
The City, built by God, not made with Hands,
On twelve strong Jewels, rais'd as Pillars stands.
Diverse the Saphir, Ruby, Em'rald blaze;
The rest shoot forth their diff'rent-colour'd Rays.
Emboss'd on These, the Twelve Apostles' Names,
From the twelve dazling Jewels dart their Flames.
Less beamy, swelling in their Lustre, shone
Urim, and Thummim, when, his Pect'ral on,
Those precious Stones enrich'd the mystick Vest,
And sparkled Oracles from Aaron's Breast.
Quadrangular, of Jasper, great, and tall,
Distinct with Turrets, stands the radiant Wall.
Twelve Gates of Pearl uplift their Heads on high,
Inscrib'd the Tribes of Israel; thro' the Sky
Disperse a mild, refreshing Light around;
And op'd, or shut, on Diamond Hinges sound.
At Each a beauteous Cherub Sentry waits;
Twelve Angels watch the twelve pellucid Gates.
The Streets, of Gold transparent, clear as Glass,
Illume the heav'nly People, as they pass.
Clearer than Crystal, thro' the Centre roll'd
On Gravel of smooth Pearl, and Sand of Gold,
Proceeding from the Lamb's, and God's fix'd Throne
(God, and the Lamb, Those great Mysterious One!)
A River, nam'd Life's River, gently flows:
The Tree of Life fast by its Margin grows;
Transplanted Hither from fair Eden's Soil,
When first fall'n Man was doom'd to Death, and Toil.
Twelve Fruits, which, one each Month, it's Branches bear,
With various Hue discriminate the Year.
No longer are the Passes to it barr'd;
Nor waves the flaming Sword; nor Cherubs guard.
The blest Inhabitants, with License free,
From the Life-giving River, and the Tree,
Drink, and eat, Immortality, and Joy;
Delights, which always fill, and never cloy,
The Tree of Knowledge too is now no more
Prohibited; but, as it shines all o'er
With Fruit inviting to the rich Repast,
Carrys not Death, but Life, to All that taste.
God's City This: That Name to It is giv'n;
The great Metropolis, and Court of Heav'n.
Yet Citys more, unnumber'd, Here have place,
Thick, scatter'd thro' the wide Empyrial Space:
All glorious, shining all with outstretch'd Rays,
Reflecting on each other Blaze for Blaze;
Peopled by Saints, and Angels: Yet All come
To This, as to their chief celestial Home,
Free Denizens. Nor less are These Abodes,
Seats of innumerable little Gods,
Diversify'd with loveliest Rural Scenes,
Plains, Mountains, Valleys, everlasting Greens;
Endless Variety of Dales, and Hills,
Woods, Groves, Lawns, Rivers, Brooks, and murm'ring Rills:
God's Praises they resound in fragrant Bow'rs,
And Fields enamel'd with immortal Flow'rs;
Hold sweetest Converse under pendant Shades;
And hear soft Musick warble thro' the Glades.
Nor see as yet our Maker face to face;
Some Glimpse th'inspir'd Prophetick Pages give
Of That blest Life which There the Just shall live.
The Saint, who saw th'Apocalypse, beheld
(What Wonders to his Transports were reveal'd!)
The Holy City, New Jerusalem,
Which needed not the Son's enliv'ning Beam:
God's Glory, and the Lamb's wide-spreading Light
More than supply'd the Sun, and shone more bright.
The Church Triumphant There in Bliss shall reign;
No more of Death, of Sickness, Fear, or Pain;
No Sighs, no Wailings, no complaining Crys;
All Tears are wip'd forever from their Eyes.
Nought, but sincerest Joys, they There shall know;
Nor dread the Storms which grumbled Here below:
67
No longer shall the Soul to Earth be join'd;
Nor cumbrous Flesh weigh down the musing Mind.
City of God! (Thy Glories may we see!)
Things very excellent are spoke of Thee.
Deck'd like a Bride, all brillant She shall shine,
For her Celestial Spouse, with Gems divine.
The City, built by God, not made with Hands,
On twelve strong Jewels, rais'd as Pillars stands.
Diverse the Saphir, Ruby, Em'rald blaze;
The rest shoot forth their diff'rent-colour'd Rays.
Emboss'd on These, the Twelve Apostles' Names,
From the twelve dazling Jewels dart their Flames.
Less beamy, swelling in their Lustre, shone
Urim, and Thummim, when, his Pect'ral on,
68
And sparkled Oracles from Aaron's Breast.
Quadrangular, of Jasper, great, and tall,
Distinct with Turrets, stands the radiant Wall.
Twelve Gates of Pearl uplift their Heads on high,
Inscrib'd the Tribes of Israel; thro' the Sky
Disperse a mild, refreshing Light around;
And op'd, or shut, on Diamond Hinges sound.
At Each a beauteous Cherub Sentry waits;
Twelve Angels watch the twelve pellucid Gates.
The Streets, of Gold transparent, clear as Glass,
Illume the heav'nly People, as they pass.
Clearer than Crystal, thro' the Centre roll'd
On Gravel of smooth Pearl, and Sand of Gold,
Proceeding from the Lamb's, and God's fix'd Throne
(God, and the Lamb, Those great Mysterious One!)
A River, nam'd Life's River, gently flows:
The Tree of Life fast by its Margin grows;
Transplanted Hither from fair Eden's Soil,
When first fall'n Man was doom'd to Death, and Toil.
Twelve Fruits, which, one each Month, it's Branches bear,
With various Hue discriminate the Year.
No longer are the Passes to it barr'd;
Nor waves the flaming Sword; nor Cherubs guard.
69
From the Life-giving River, and the Tree,
Drink, and eat, Immortality, and Joy;
Delights, which always fill, and never cloy,
The Tree of Knowledge too is now no more
Prohibited; but, as it shines all o'er
With Fruit inviting to the rich Repast,
Carrys not Death, but Life, to All that taste.
God's City This: That Name to It is giv'n;
The great Metropolis, and Court of Heav'n.
Yet Citys more, unnumber'd, Here have place,
Thick, scatter'd thro' the wide Empyrial Space:
All glorious, shining all with outstretch'd Rays,
Reflecting on each other Blaze for Blaze;
Peopled by Saints, and Angels: Yet All come
To This, as to their chief celestial Home,
Free Denizens. Nor less are These Abodes,
Seats of innumerable little Gods,
Diversify'd with loveliest Rural Scenes,
Plains, Mountains, Valleys, everlasting Greens;
70
Woods, Groves, Lawns, Rivers, Brooks, and murm'ring Rills:
God's Praises they resound in fragrant Bow'rs,
And Fields enamel'd with immortal Flow'rs;
Hold sweetest Converse under pendant Shades;
And hear soft Musick warble thro' the Glades.
Alas! how vain is This Poetick Paint,
Fancy's fond Imag'ry! how weak, how faint!
What is with Innocence delightful Here
We raise to Heav'n, and dream it must be There.
Perhaps it may—But whether So, or Not;
'Tis That, or Better—what no human Thought
Can figure, or conceive: Be This our Stay,
“That Heav'n is Happiness without Allay;
“Perfect, Complete, Eternal Happiness;
“More cannot Be, and Heav'n affords no Less.
Fancy's fond Imag'ry! how weak, how faint!
What is with Innocence delightful Here
We raise to Heav'n, and dream it must be There.
Perhaps it may—But whether So, or Not;
'Tis That, or Better—what no human Thought
Can figure, or conceive: Be This our Stay,
“That Heav'n is Happiness without Allay;
“Perfect, Complete, Eternal Happiness;
“More cannot Be, and Heav'n affords no Less.
Yet God himself, by Revelation giv'n,
Has so delineated our future Heav'n;
That, while we look thro' This corporeal Screen,
The Things we see should shadow Things unseen:
Rivers of Pleasures—Banquets—Diadems—
Magnific Buildings—Thrones—White Robes—and Gems—
It Now appears not What we Then shall be;
But This we know; that God we There shall see.
O Vision Beatific! O what Bliss!
See God Himself! and see Him as He is!
This too we know, that, chang'd by Pow'r Divine,
Our Bodys glorify'd like Stars shall shine:
But not alike—As Stars, tho' All shine bright,
Differ in Glory, and Degrees of Light;
So shall th'ethereal Bodys of the Blest:
Yet Envy There can harbour in no Breast;
Envy by mutual Love is quite supprest.
Each other's Happiness they All enjoy;
But Envy would their Happiness destroy.
Like the Angelick Orders shall be ours;
Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Vertues, Pow'rs:
These high, Those low, These greater, and Those less;
Yet All in full, consummate Happiness.
From This Subordination Beauty springs;
And Harmony, the gen'ral Mind of Things.
Were a Lyre's Strings of equal Size, and Tone;
Sound there might be, but Musick could be none:
Th'harmonious Discord would be lost, That Soul,
That sweet Result, and Issue of the Whole.
Thus in unequal Orbs the Saints shall move;
Yet All roll round in That First Mover, Love.
Has so delineated our future Heav'n;
That, while we look thro' This corporeal Screen,
The Things we see should shadow Things unseen:
Rivers of Pleasures—Banquets—Diadems—
Magnific Buildings—Thrones—White Robes—and Gems—
It Now appears not What we Then shall be;
But This we know; that God we There shall see.
71
See God Himself! and see Him as He is!
This too we know, that, chang'd by Pow'r Divine,
Our Bodys glorify'd like Stars shall shine:
But not alike—As Stars, tho' All shine bright,
Differ in Glory, and Degrees of Light;
So shall th'ethereal Bodys of the Blest:
Yet Envy There can harbour in no Breast;
Envy by mutual Love is quite supprest.
Each other's Happiness they All enjoy;
But Envy would their Happiness destroy.
Like the Angelick Orders shall be ours;
Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Vertues, Pow'rs:
These high, Those low, These greater, and Those less;
Yet All in full, consummate Happiness.
From This Subordination Beauty springs;
And Harmony, the gen'ral Mind of Things.
72
Sound there might be, but Musick could be none:
Th'harmonious Discord would be lost, That Soul,
That sweet Result, and Issue of the Whole.
Thus in unequal Orbs the Saints shall move;
Yet All roll round in That First Mover, Love.
Love! Charity! Heav'n's dearest, darling Guest,
Forever blessing, and forever blest;
Thou hast a whole Eternity in store,
When holy Faith, and Hope shall be no more:
Hope in Fruition, Faith in Vision lost;
Immortal Thou shalt reign thro' Heav'n's bright Host.
As yet abide Faith, Hope, sweet Charity;
The Last, ev'n Here, the greatest of the Three:
There of the Three the Last alone shall live,
And ever-during Joys receive, and give.
So in Man's wond'rous Frame three Souls are wrought;
For Vegetation, This; That, Sense; That, Thought;
(Faith vegetates all Vertues, Hope gives Taste
To all) These die, when This short Life is past:
Only the Intellectual, Thinking Soul
Mounts up, and soars above the starry Pole;
The Empyrean's dazling Summit gains,
And high in Heav'n to endless Ages reigns.
Forever blessing, and forever blest;
Thou hast a whole Eternity in store,
When holy Faith, and Hope shall be no more:
Hope in Fruition, Faith in Vision lost;
Immortal Thou shalt reign thro' Heav'n's bright Host.
As yet abide Faith, Hope, sweet Charity;
The Last, ev'n Here, the greatest of the Three:
There of the Three the Last alone shall live,
And ever-during Joys receive, and give.
So in Man's wond'rous Frame three Souls are wrought;
For Vegetation, This; That, Sense; That, Thought;
73
To all) These die, when This short Life is past:
Only the Intellectual, Thinking Soul
Mounts up, and soars above the starry Pole;
The Empyrean's dazling Summit gains,
And high in Heav'n to endless Ages reigns.
2 Cor. xii. 2, &c. I knew a Man in Christ, &c. St. Paul certainly speaks of Himself; as is allow'd by Every body.
See Rev. xxi. throughout, and Chap. xxii. to Ver. 6. From which This Description is taken; one Design of the inspir'd Writer is undoubtedly to delineate, in a prophetical, and mystical manner, the State of the Church here on Earth. But it has likewise (as most learned Commentators agree) a View to the Church Triumphant in Heaven.
Exod. xxviii. 30. Urim means Fire, and Light; Thummim, Perfection. They were precious Stones, in the Pectoral, or Breast-place of Aaron, and the High-Priests his Successors. When God was consulted by it, the Protuberancy, and bright Shining of the Jewels shew'd an Answer in the Affirmative; the Contrary in the Negative; according to Josephus, and Others. But I have not Time (nor does my Subject require it) to be more particular upon This difficult Point.
Col. i. 16. The Word Vertues is not in the Text. But That is immaterial. The Verse is Milton's; in many Places of his Paradise Lost. It expresses the several Orders of Angels.
According to the ancient Astronomy (the Ptolemaic System) the Primum Mobile (First Moveable, and Mover) whirls round in its Orbit all the Stars, of all Magnitudes; tho' they have different Orbits, and Motions of their own.
Theme inexhaustible of sacred Lays.
Prostrate before his holy Hill, his Throne,
They sing His Glory, and improve their Own.
Knowledge forever growing, and improv'd,
Knowledge, by Men with so much Passion lov'd,
The Minds of the Beatify'd shall bless
Still more; No Fear of Surfeit, or Excess.
The Understanding, Appetite, and Will,
Tho' resting on their Object, farther still,
Farther, and farther, infinitely tend,
Thro' long Eternity; no Bound, no End:
Objects, and Entertainments, ever New;
Prospects on Prospects rising to the View,
Then awful Mysterys shall be reveal'd,
Which Now in Clouds and Darkness are conceal'd:
New Lustre shed on each obscurer Text,
So long in vain by learned Comments vex'd;
God's Book inspir'd shall, like Himself, all bright,
Shine from the Centre, one clear Globe of Light.
Knowledge, by Men with so much Passion lov'd,
The Minds of the Beatify'd shall bless
Still more; No Fear of Surfeit, or Excess.
The Understanding, Appetite, and Will,
Tho' resting on their Object, farther still,
Farther, and farther, infinitely tend,
Thro' long Eternity; no Bound, no End:
74
Prospects on Prospects rising to the View,
Then awful Mysterys shall be reveal'd,
Which Now in Clouds and Darkness are conceal'd:
New Lustre shed on each obscurer Text,
So long in vain by learned Comments vex'd;
God's Book inspir'd shall, like Himself, all bright,
Shine from the Centre, one clear Globe of Light.
But! Oh! Thou Vision Beatific! Where
Shall we find Words thy Wonders to declare?
Impossible: This perfect, highest Good
Can never, 'till Enjoy'd, be Understood.
See the Invisible? No; not as Men
Each other see; but with Angelick Ken,
With the Mind's Eye. Ev'n to Corporeal Sight,
With Emanations of transcendent Light,
He who is God, as well as Man, shall shine;
His glorious Body darting Rays divine,
Thro' the immeasurable Space: As We
Like Stars of diff'rent Magnitudes shall be,
The radiant Sun to all Those Stars is He:
The Sun of Righteousness —But This the least:
The Mind with God's bright Vision shall be blest.
Shall we find Words thy Wonders to declare?
Impossible: This perfect, highest Good
Can never, 'till Enjoy'd, be Understood.
See the Invisible? No; not as Men
Each other see; but with Angelick Ken,
With the Mind's Eye. Ev'n to Corporeal Sight,
With Emanations of transcendent Light,
He who is God, as well as Man, shall shine;
His glorious Body darting Rays divine,
Thro' the immeasurable Space: As We
Like Stars of diff'rent Magnitudes shall be,
The radiant Sun to all Those Stars is He:
The Sun of Righteousness —But This the least:
The Mind with God's bright Vision shall be blest.
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There the Ideal World (enquire not How;
Here we know nought, but This, that nought we know)
Shall open to our View: Th'Eternal Mind
The Scheme, and Archetypes of Things, design'd
E'er yet fair Nature's Frame from Nothing rose,
Shall to our wond'ring Eyes at once disclose.
Some think (let Thinking still be truly free)
Ev'n Here in God alone we all things see.
Most certain This; Th'Eternal Mind survey'd
All Things within Himself, e'er Aught was made;
Form'd in Himself the universal Plan,
From the most senseless Insect, up to Man.
There then, the Copys lost, with glad Amaze
We on the bright Originals shall gaze;
See Nature, when all Nature is dissolv'd;
See Time in vast Eternity involv'd:
See the exteriour Form, th'internal Pow'rs
Of Simples; and the fragrant Souls of Flow'rs:
See Stars, long since extinct, surround the Pole;
And Intellectual Suns in beauteous Order roll.
Here we know nought, but This, that nought we know)
Shall open to our View: Th'Eternal Mind
The Scheme, and Archetypes of Things, design'd
E'er yet fair Nature's Frame from Nothing rose,
Shall to our wond'ring Eyes at once disclose.
Some think (let Thinking still be truly free)
Ev'n Here in God alone we all things see.
Most certain This; Th'Eternal Mind survey'd
All Things within Himself, e'er Aught was made;
Form'd in Himself the universal Plan,
From the most senseless Insect, up to Man.
There then, the Copys lost, with glad Amaze
We on the bright Originals shall gaze;
See Nature, when all Nature is dissolv'd;
See Time in vast Eternity involv'd:
See the exteriour Form, th'internal Pow'rs
Of Simples; and the fragrant Souls of Flow'rs:
76
And Intellectual Suns in beauteous Order roll.
But little This, that, in That blest Abode,
All other Things we shall behold in God:
Himself, Himself, we in Himself shall view,
The Same forever, yet forever New:
We then shall know, as We ourselves are known,
Th'immense, ineffable One-three, Three-one;
A bless'd Society in Himself alone:
See how the Father is the Fountain; how
From Him, in Him, the Son, and Spirit flow:
How 'tis They differ, how They are the same.
Great Holy, Holy, Holy, glorious Name;
Clear, lucid Fount of Good, Eternal Mind,
Perfection of all Beauties in Thee joyn'd;
The Spring of Life essential dwells in Thee,
And in Thy Light we purest Light shall see:
Deeper, and deeper, and yet deeper still,
Forever gaze; and never gaze our Fill.
Thy Nature, and Thy Essence, without End
We shall contemplate, never comprehend.
No Finite can the Infinite contain:
Yet This an Indigence, which gives no Pain;
Not Pain, but Happiness: For more, and more
The Saints are blest, yet still have Bliss in Store.
Diff'rent indeed God's Happiness must be;
Fulness in Him, without Satiety:
For in whatever State, whate'er Abode,
Creatures must still be Creatures, God be God.
All other Things we shall behold in God:
Himself, Himself, we in Himself shall view,
The Same forever, yet forever New:
We then shall know, as We ourselves are known,
Th'immense, ineffable One-three, Three-one;
A bless'd Society in Himself alone:
See how the Father is the Fountain; how
From Him, in Him, the Son, and Spirit flow:
How 'tis They differ, how They are the same.
Great Holy, Holy, Holy, glorious Name;
Clear, lucid Fount of Good, Eternal Mind,
Perfection of all Beauties in Thee joyn'd;
The Spring of Life essential dwells in Thee,
And in Thy Light we purest Light shall see:
Deeper, and deeper, and yet deeper still,
Forever gaze; and never gaze our Fill.
Thy Nature, and Thy Essence, without End
We shall contemplate, never comprehend.
77
Yet This an Indigence, which gives no Pain;
Not Pain, but Happiness: For more, and more
The Saints are blest, yet still have Bliss in Store.
Diff'rent indeed God's Happiness must be;
Fulness in Him, without Satiety:
For in whatever State, whate'er Abode,
Creatures must still be Creatures, God be God.
Those Attributes, which Here adverse appear'd,
Shall There of all Repugnancy be clear'd:
Truth, Holiness, and Wisdom reconcile
Mercy with Justice; All in Concord smile:
Mercy and Justice kiss each other There;
And Vengeance shine, as lovely, as severe.
Shall There of all Repugnancy be clear'd:
Truth, Holiness, and Wisdom reconcile
Mercy with Justice; All in Concord smile:
Mercy and Justice kiss each other There;
And Vengeance shine, as lovely, as severe.
But Who are Those, who in God's Realms of Joy
Shall Thus a whole Eternity employ?
Nearest his Throne, around, and at his Feet,
The Noble Army of the Martyrs sit;
Patriarchs, Apostles, Prophets, all That Host,
Who for their Saviour did, and suffer'd most.
The Virgin Mother of the World's great Lord,
Forever honour'd, only not ador'd,
In awful Beauty smiles, with sweetest Grace;
Th'incarnate Godhead light'ning in her Face.
Shall Thus a whole Eternity employ?
Nearest his Throne, around, and at his Feet,
The Noble Army of the Martyrs sit;
Patriarchs, Apostles, Prophets, all That Host,
Who for their Saviour did, and suffer'd most.
The Virgin Mother of the World's great Lord,
Forever honour'd, only not ador'd,
In awful Beauty smiles, with sweetest Grace;
Th'incarnate Godhead light'ning in her Face.
78
Near Them, are holy Priests, for Learning fam'd,
And Piety; who, with true Zeal inflam'd,
With solid Judgment cool'd, maintain'd God's Cause
Against his Enemys, and preach'd his Laws.
By their illustrious Labours, which survive
Their mortal Life, and with the World shall live,
Sham'd the proud Scorner, Heresies refell'd,
And from th'obscurer Text the Clouds dispell'd;
Sav'd Others' Souls, and more than sav'd their Own.
Angelick Taylor, Hammond, Sanderson,
Great Pearson, Bramhall, Usher, Walton, Poole;
But chiefly, bright, acute, sagacious Bull.
O Bull! as Here below I oft have hung,
Charm'd, and improv'd, on thy Instructive Tongue,
Enjoy'd thy rev'rend Mirth, thy Converse sweet,
May I Above thy honour'd Figure greet;
Concurring, tho' in far inferior Lays,
To celebrate th'Eternal Triad's Praise:
To sing th'Almighty's Praise we There may join;
I cannot Here be just in singing Thine.
And Piety; who, with true Zeal inflam'd,
With solid Judgment cool'd, maintain'd God's Cause
Against his Enemys, and preach'd his Laws.
By their illustrious Labours, which survive
Their mortal Life, and with the World shall live,
Sham'd the proud Scorner, Heresies refell'd,
And from th'obscurer Text the Clouds dispell'd;
Sav'd Others' Souls, and more than sav'd their Own.
Angelick Taylor, Hammond, Sanderson,
Great Pearson, Bramhall, Usher, Walton, Poole;
But chiefly, bright, acute, sagacious Bull.
79
Charm'd, and improv'd, on thy Instructive Tongue,
Enjoy'd thy rev'rend Mirth, thy Converse sweet,
May I Above thy honour'd Figure greet;
Concurring, tho' in far inferior Lays,
To celebrate th'Eternal Triad's Praise:
To sing th'Almighty's Praise we There may join;
I cannot Here be just in singing Thine.
Tho' now in Life's Decline, and prone to Earth,
Fain would I sooner have receiv'd my Birth;
That what from Thee my Youth unpractis'd learn'd,
My riper Years might better have discern'd:
Perhaps for Time mispent I less had griev'd,
Like Thee had study'd, and like Thee had liv'd;
Nearer, in Age, I to the Grave should be;
But nearer, in good Works, to Heav'n, and Thee.
Fain would I sooner have receiv'd my Birth;
That what from Thee my Youth unpractis'd learn'd,
My riper Years might better have discern'd:
Perhaps for Time mispent I less had griev'd,
Like Thee had study'd, and like Thee had liv'd;
Nearer, in Age, I to the Grave should be;
But nearer, in good Works, to Heav'n, and Thee.
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Equal to These, perhaps superiour, stand
Laic Divines, a glorious, shining Band;
Who, warm'd with Piety, with Learning fraught,
God's Servants, tho' not Priests, his Battles fought;
Those his Brave voluntary Soldiers, Those
Who, not oblig'd by Office, quell'd his Foes.
Boyle, Grotius, Nelson, wonderful Pascal;
Learn'd, pious, humble, venerable Hale.
Hale! Who to Thee can Thy due Praises grudge,
Deep Theologue, Philosopher, and Judge?
Advanc'd to England's highest Judgment-Seat,
How could'st Thou write, as in obscure Retreat?
So write, that Thee we read, with pleasing Awe,
Preacher of Gospel, Oracle of Law?
Laic Divines, a glorious, shining Band;
Who, warm'd with Piety, with Learning fraught,
God's Servants, tho' not Priests, his Battles fought;
Those his Brave voluntary Soldiers, Those
Who, not oblig'd by Office, quell'd his Foes.
Boyle, Grotius, Nelson, wonderful Pascal;
Learn'd, pious, humble, venerable Hale.
Hale! Who to Thee can Thy due Praises grudge,
Deep Theologue, Philosopher, and Judge?
Advanc'd to England's highest Judgment-Seat,
How could'st Thou write, as in obscure Retreat?
So write, that Thee we read, with pleasing Awe,
Preacher of Gospel, Oracle of Law?
But Who a more resplendent Crown should wear
In highest Heav'n, than They who wore one Here?
If well They wore it—Kings, Religious, Just,
Not Slaves to sordid Av'rice, Pride, and Lust;
But Wise, and Good; who only fill'd a Throne,
To make their People's Happiness their Own.
Who to God's Church true nursing Fathers prov'd,
His Temples built, his Priests rever'd, and lov'd:
Who joy'd to make their Subjects' Wealth increase;
And wag'd not Wars, for Glory, but for Peace:
Promoted Learning, Vertue, Courage, Worth
Of ev'ry Kind—Like Suns shall These shine forth;
Shall ev'n in Heav'n their regal Titles hold,
Add Crowns of Glory to their Crowns of Gold;
In That New World, with sublimated Bliss,
More honour'd reign, because They reign'd in This.
In highest Heav'n, than They who wore one Here?
81
Not Slaves to sordid Av'rice, Pride, and Lust;
But Wise, and Good; who only fill'd a Throne,
To make their People's Happiness their Own.
Who to God's Church true nursing Fathers prov'd,
His Temples built, his Priests rever'd, and lov'd:
Who joy'd to make their Subjects' Wealth increase;
And wag'd not Wars, for Glory, but for Peace:
Promoted Learning, Vertue, Courage, Worth
Of ev'ry Kind—Like Suns shall These shine forth;
Shall ev'n in Heav'n their regal Titles hold,
Add Crowns of Glory to their Crowns of Gold;
In That New World, with sublimated Bliss,
More honour'd reign, because They reign'd in This.
Illustrious Founders of the Muses Seats,
Of Piety's, and Learning's sweet Retreats;
Chiefly of Those, where gentle Isis glides,
And winding Cam the flow'ry Meads divides;
With These shall triumph. Their Reward how vast,
Whose Bounty with the World itself shall last!
Whose planning Heads, and large munific Hearts
Polish'd Mankind with Sciences, and Arts;
Vertue, and Truth, and Knowledge, nurs'd, and fed;
Priests, Prelates, Patriots, Statesmen, Heroes, bred.
Those, who Wintonia's Mitre glorify'd;
Great Wickham, Wainflet, Fox, Wintonia's Pride!
Wickham, the Prince of All who ever laid
Learning's Foundations, since the World's were made:
England's Sixth Henry, Richmond's Princely Dame
Marg'ret, and Chichley of immortal Fame:
And pious Wadham—Hail! lov'd, honour'd Pair!
You with the Greatest shall due Honours share.
May I in Heav'n (You gave my Muse her Birth)
Your Faces see, whose Bread I ate on Earth:
Meanwhile from Earth accept This grateful Praise,
The meanest of Your letter'd Offspring pays.
Of Piety's, and Learning's sweet Retreats;
Chiefly of Those, where gentle Isis glides,
And winding Cam the flow'ry Meads divides;
With These shall triumph. Their Reward how vast,
Whose Bounty with the World itself shall last!
Whose planning Heads, and large munific Hearts
Polish'd Mankind with Sciences, and Arts;
82
Priests, Prelates, Patriots, Statesmen, Heroes, bred.
Those, who Wintonia's Mitre glorify'd;
Great Wickham, Wainflet, Fox, Wintonia's Pride!
Wickham, the Prince of All who ever laid
Learning's Foundations, since the World's were made:
England's Sixth Henry, Richmond's Princely Dame
Marg'ret, and Chichley of immortal Fame:
And pious Wadham—Hail! lov'd, honour'd Pair!
You with the Greatest shall due Honours share.
May I in Heav'n (You gave my Muse her Birth)
Your Faces see, whose Bread I ate on Earth:
Meanwhile from Earth accept This grateful Praise,
The meanest of Your letter'd Offspring pays.
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They too, whose Gifts the Clergy's Orphans feed:
O Shame, and Guilt that They such Alms should need!
Their Orphans, and their Widows, tho' still scant
Of Living, feel less Penury, and Want,
Somewhat refresh'd by ev'n This little Store;
And in less Bitterness of Soul deplore.
Beneficent, wise Turner, Thou the Chief,
And many More who add to This Relief;
If aught of Fame true Gratitude can give,
Your Honour, Name, and Praise shall ever live.
O Shame, and Guilt that They such Alms should need!
Their Orphans, and their Widows, tho' still scant
Of Living, feel less Penury, and Want,
Somewhat refresh'd by ev'n This little Store;
And in less Bitterness of Soul deplore.
Beneficent, wise Turner, Thou the Chief,
And many More who add to This Relief;
If aught of Fame true Gratitude can give,
Your Honour, Name, and Praise shall ever live.
Since to This Theme the Muse's Lyre is strung;
'Twere Guilt, should pious Anna be unsung.
Anna, of fragrant Mem'ry, ever blest,
How did God's Glory warm Thy sacred Breast!
The Church how lov'd by Thee! Like Thee, None rose
To lessen her impoverish'd Clergy's Woes;
Since first (O! be Heav'n's Wrath for That appeas'd)
Her Spoils by Sacrilegious Hands were seis'd.
Methinks, ev'n Now I see Thy gracious Mien;
The Saint confess'd, and smiling in the Queen;
Expressive of Thy great, and humble Mind;
And awful Majesty with Sweetness join'd.
Loud Fame to late Posterity shall tell
Thy Truly English Heart, Thy Christian Zeal.
Thy Bounty to Heav'n's Priests has more of Charms
Than the long Triumphs of Thy conqu'ring Arms;
More ev'n than That which bade War's Ravage cease,
And gave the harrass'd World to taste of Peace.
'Twere Guilt, should pious Anna be unsung.
Anna, of fragrant Mem'ry, ever blest,
How did God's Glory warm Thy sacred Breast!
The Church how lov'd by Thee! Like Thee, None rose
To lessen her impoverish'd Clergy's Woes;
Since first (O! be Heav'n's Wrath for That appeas'd)
Her Spoils by Sacrilegious Hands were seis'd.
Methinks, ev'n Now I see Thy gracious Mien;
The Saint confess'd, and smiling in the Queen;
Expressive of Thy great, and humble Mind;
And awful Majesty with Sweetness join'd.
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Thy Truly English Heart, Thy Christian Zeal.
Thy Bounty to Heav'n's Priests has more of Charms
Than the long Triumphs of Thy conqu'ring Arms;
More ev'n than That which bade War's Ravage cease,
And gave the harrass'd World to taste of Peace.
Augusta's noble Hospitals!—Behold
The bless'd Effects of well-expended Gold.
The Poor, the Lame, the Blind, the Lunatic,
The Ignorant, the Wounded, and the Sick,
How are they Here reliev'd! How great Reward
Must Them await, who Remedys prepar'd
To soften miserable Life, and heal
The various Ills which wretched Mortals feel!
Pious Sixth Edward, of These Donors First,
His Thousand sees in his fam'd Fabrick nurs'd;
His Largess still increas'd by fresh Supplys—
To well-purg'd Minds, and rightly-judging Eyes,
How much more lovely must his Blue appear,
Then all the Pride that purple Monarchs wear!
To His great Father should less Praise be giv'n?
O mighty Henry—May'st thou be in Heav'n.
Yet ah!—But stop, indignant Muse, forbear;
Look on St. Barthol'mew's, and think him There.
How beauteous stands That still increasing Pile;
While round it Charity, and Goodness smile!
Govern'd by Worthys, who, as They dispense
For Others, add their Own Munificence;
And, studious to diminish human Woe,
Think it less Praise to Rule, than to Bestow.
The bless'd Effects of well-expended Gold.
The Poor, the Lame, the Blind, the Lunatic,
The Ignorant, the Wounded, and the Sick,
How are they Here reliev'd! How great Reward
Must Them await, who Remedys prepar'd
To soften miserable Life, and heal
The various Ills which wretched Mortals feel!
Pious Sixth Edward, of These Donors First,
His Thousand sees in his fam'd Fabrick nurs'd;
His Largess still increas'd by fresh Supplys—
To well-purg'd Minds, and rightly-judging Eyes,
How much more lovely must his Blue appear,
Then all the Pride that purple Monarchs wear!
85
O mighty Henry—May'st thou be in Heav'n.
Yet ah!—But stop, indignant Muse, forbear;
Look on St. Barthol'mew's, and think him There.
How beauteous stands That still increasing Pile;
While round it Charity, and Goodness smile!
Govern'd by Worthys, who, as They dispense
For Others, add their Own Munificence;
And, studious to diminish human Woe,
Think it less Praise to Rule, than to Bestow.
Of ev'ry Kind celestial Charity
Lifts Man to Heav'n, and peoples Half the Sky.
So great it's Influence; at the Last great Day,
The Judge seems all his Stres on That to lay.
“Come Ye, my Blessed—You the Naked cloath'd—
“Depart, Ye Cursed—You That Office loath'd.—
As if all Vertues center'd in This One;
Or Heav'n were due to Charity alone.
Treasure in Heav'n wouldst thou on Earth secure?
Be lib'ral of thy Treasure to the Poor.
Such Works, tho' posthumous, have sure Reward;
But richer is the Crown for Those prepar'd,
Their Bounty springing from the worthiest Stem,
Who lest their Wealth, before their Wealth left Them;
Who built their Charity on Life, not Death;
And rather chose to give, than to bequeath.
Lifts Man to Heav'n, and peoples Half the Sky.
So great it's Influence; at the Last great Day,
The Judge seems all his Stres on That to lay.
“Come Ye, my Blessed—You the Naked cloath'd—
“Depart, Ye Cursed—You That Office loath'd.—
As if all Vertues center'd in This One;
Or Heav'n were due to Charity alone.
Treasure in Heav'n wouldst thou on Earth secure?
Be lib'ral of thy Treasure to the Poor.
Such Works, tho' posthumous, have sure Reward;
But richer is the Crown for Those prepar'd,
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Who lest their Wealth, before their Wealth left Them;
Who built their Charity on Life, not Death;
And rather chose to give, than to bequeath.
Not far from pious Kings who bless'd Mankind,
To pious Statesmen are their Seats assign'd.
But These alas! how few!—Yet Such have been—
Unlike a Machiavel, or Mazarine.
Such was good Walsingham; Some few beside;
Southampton, and th'Integrity of Hyde.
Who acted, with deep Heads, and honest Hearts,
At once the Courtier's, and the Patriot's Parts;
As prompt t'obey, as execute the Laws,
And equal 'twixt the Crown's, and People's Cause:
The Rights of Both industrious to maintain,
Of Both th'unjust Encroachments to restrain.
Who by their Vertues, and Examples rare,
Made Vertue look more lovely, and more fair;
Well knowing that, to gain in Heav'n a Seat,
They must be Good, as well as Wise, and Great.
To pious Statesmen are their Seats assign'd.
But These alas! how few!—Yet Such have been—
Unlike a Machiavel, or Mazarine.
Such was good Walsingham; Some few beside;
Southampton, and th'Integrity of Hyde.
Who acted, with deep Heads, and honest Hearts,
At once the Courtier's, and the Patriot's Parts;
As prompt t'obey, as execute the Laws,
And equal 'twixt the Crown's, and People's Cause:
The Rights of Both industrious to maintain,
Of Both th'unjust Encroachments to restrain.
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Made Vertue look more lovely, and more fair;
Well knowing that, to gain in Heav'n a Seat,
They must be Good, as well as Wise, and Great.
The rest promiscuous; All who faithful prov'd,
Who dy'd repentant, God sincerely lov'd;
The Humble, and the Just—In fine the Good.
But let That Word be rightly understood:
To make us such, all Vertues must concur;
And persevering to the last endure:
Ev'n Charity is, tho' the Chief, but One;
And He who has not All, has truly None.
Who dy'd repentant, God sincerely lov'd;
The Humble, and the Just—In fine the Good.
But let That Word be rightly understood:
To make us such, all Vertues must concur;
And persevering to the last endure:
Ev'n Charity is, tho' the Chief, but One;
And He who has not All, has truly None.
Those who, on Earth, in zealous warm Dispute
Contending, strove each other to confute,
May greet Above, clasp'd in Embraces dear,
And wonder how they meet each other There.
God's Thoughts are not contracted, narrow, blind,
Like mortal Men's—Ev'n Pagan Vertue, join'd
With Ignorance sincere, Reward may find.
There Saint-like Socrates, and Cyrus, best
Of Heathens, and great Tully may be blest;
And wise Vespasian, and his pious Son
Titus, whose worthy Deeds such Glory won:
And sacred Virgil, sacred in his Verse
At least, Messiah's Praises may rehearse;
And sing His
Merits, fir'd with knowing Zeal,
Whose Birth in Ignorance He sung so well.
Contending, strove each other to confute,
May greet Above, clasp'd in Embraces dear,
And wonder how they meet each other There.
God's Thoughts are not contracted, narrow, blind,
Like mortal Men's—Ev'n Pagan Vertue, join'd
With Ignorance sincere, Reward may find.
There Saint-like Socrates, and Cyrus, best
Of Heathens, and great Tully may be blest;
And wise Vespasian, and his pious Son
Titus, whose worthy Deeds such Glory won:
And sacred Virgil, sacred in his Verse
At least, Messiah's Praises may rehearse;
88
Whose Birth in Ignorance He sung so well.
If, while tempestuous Winds the Deep deform,
The Merchant, sav'd from Wreck, enjoys the Storm;
Tho' still, in future Voyages, expos'd
By future Winds, and Billows to be toss'd:
How great the Exultations of the Blest!
What Transports must dilate each ravish'd Breast;
When they look back upon the Waves, the Rocks,
They have escap'd; Temptation's violent Shocks,
Temptations, from the World, the Devil, Themselves;
The Quicksands they have pass'd, the Gulphs, the Shelves!
When Dangers now can threaten them no more,
Forever landed on their final Shore!
How must They God's unbounded Goodness praise,
Who Thus the little Services o'erpays
Ev'n of the Best!—A poor, defective, lame
Obedience—Endless Glory can it claim?
Eternal Happiness? O Depth! Abyss
Of Mercy infinite! Eternal Bliss!
For What? For Nothing; for Infirmities
At best; imperfect Vertue, stain'd with Vice.
Sincerity was all they had to plead,
Join'd with Repentance. Heav'n! art Thou the Meed
Of the short Race, which fall'n, degen'rate Man,
So listless, and with so much Languor, ran?
Yes; Faith assures us; and it will be so:
How should our Hearts with Gratitude o'erflow!
Nay more; a late Repentance, if sincere,
And join'd with Reformation, crowns us There.
Those who in Vice confirm'd had well nigh spent
Their Term of Life, just living to Repent;
Who (their remaining Time almost too short)
Scarce tugg'd their half-wreck'd Vessel into Port;
Shall yet gain Heav'n. But risque not There thy Fate:
A true Repentance never is too late—
Acknowledg'd—But be This remember'd too,
A late Repentance is but seldom true.
The Merchant, sav'd from Wreck, enjoys the Storm;
Tho' still, in future Voyages, expos'd
By future Winds, and Billows to be toss'd:
How great the Exultations of the Blest!
What Transports must dilate each ravish'd Breast;
When they look back upon the Waves, the Rocks,
They have escap'd; Temptation's violent Shocks,
Temptations, from the World, the Devil, Themselves;
The Quicksands they have pass'd, the Gulphs, the Shelves!
When Dangers now can threaten them no more,
Forever landed on their final Shore!
How must They God's unbounded Goodness praise,
Who Thus the little Services o'erpays
Ev'n of the Best!—A poor, defective, lame
Obedience—Endless Glory can it claim?
Eternal Happiness? O Depth! Abyss
Of Mercy infinite! Eternal Bliss!
For What? For Nothing; for Infirmities
At best; imperfect Vertue, stain'd with Vice.
Sincerity was all they had to plead,
Join'd with Repentance. Heav'n! art Thou the Meed
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So listless, and with so much Languor, ran?
Yes; Faith assures us; and it will be so:
How should our Hearts with Gratitude o'erflow!
Nay more; a late Repentance, if sincere,
And join'd with Reformation, crowns us There.
Those who in Vice confirm'd had well nigh spent
Their Term of Life, just living to Repent;
Who (their remaining Time almost too short)
Scarce tugg'd their half-wreck'd Vessel into Port;
Shall yet gain Heav'n. But risque not There thy Fate:
A true Repentance never is too late—
Acknowledg'd—But be This remember'd too,
A late Repentance is but seldom true.
A Candidate for Heav'n, in Soul and Mind,
In his Affections, must be Here refin'd:
Habits, deep-rooted when This World we leave,
Will, in the Next, forever to us cleave.
There, to adapt us for the Joys above,
God will not change our Natures, tho' improve.
By his own Action He will purge our Dross;
Unless by Sin we made ourselves too gross.
“None without Holiness shall see the Lord—
“The pure in heart alone—The rest abhorr'd.
Can He, can Purity itself, endure
Aught in his Presence, filthy, or impure?
Behold the Sun; It shines not in his Eyes;
The Stars roll Globes of Darkness thro' the Skys.
Or grant He could—Suppose a Soul from God
Abhorrent, plac'd in That sublime Abode:
Suppose on Teneriff's high Top a Whale;
See how the Rocks he lashes with his Tail,
Heaves his broad Gills, and pants for thicker Air:
Ev'n so the Carnaliz'd in Heav'n would fare.
Can Hallelujahs be a fit Repast
For the foul Glutton's, and the Drunkard's Taste?
Can Lust, and Av'rice, and infernal Pride
With Food of Angels be beatify'd?
Can meagre Envy, Malice, and fell Hate
Enjoy the Love, and Dearness of That State?
No; Curst with Happiness, with Glory's Shine
More black, in Am'ranth Shades they would repine;
With haggard Eyes, and aking Sight behold
The glitt'ring Turrets of celestial Gold:
Thrill'd with the Musick of th'ethereal Quires,
Would gnash their Teeth amidst th'Angelick Lyres;
Implore, of Those bright Tortures to be eas'd;
And seek ev'n Hell, from Heav'n to be releas'd.
In his Affections, must be Here refin'd:
Habits, deep-rooted when This World we leave,
Will, in the Next, forever to us cleave.
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God will not change our Natures, tho' improve.
By his own Action He will purge our Dross;
Unless by Sin we made ourselves too gross.
“None without Holiness shall see the Lord—
“The pure in heart alone—The rest abhorr'd.
Can He, can Purity itself, endure
Aught in his Presence, filthy, or impure?
Behold the Sun; It shines not in his Eyes;
The Stars roll Globes of Darkness thro' the Skys.
Or grant He could—Suppose a Soul from God
Abhorrent, plac'd in That sublime Abode:
Suppose on Teneriff's high Top a Whale;
See how the Rocks he lashes with his Tail,
Heaves his broad Gills, and pants for thicker Air:
Ev'n so the Carnaliz'd in Heav'n would fare.
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For the foul Glutton's, and the Drunkard's Taste?
Can Lust, and Av'rice, and infernal Pride
With Food of Angels be beatify'd?
Can meagre Envy, Malice, and fell Hate
Enjoy the Love, and Dearness of That State?
No; Curst with Happiness, with Glory's Shine
More black, in Am'ranth Shades they would repine;
With haggard Eyes, and aking Sight behold
The glitt'ring Turrets of celestial Gold:
Thrill'd with the Musick of th'ethereal Quires,
Would gnash their Teeth amidst th'Angelick Lyres;
Implore, of Those bright Tortures to be eas'd;
And seek ev'n Hell, from Heav'n to be releas'd.
But as we see the mounting Flames aspire,
To meet, and mix with Elemental Fire;
So Souls, inspir'd by Vertue, upwards move,
And mingle with their kindred Minds above;
By their own proper Motion seek the Sphere
Of endless Happiness, and centre There:
Happy They were ev'n in Themselves before;
And only Heav'n's full Joys can bless them more.
To meet, and mix with Elemental Fire;
So Souls, inspir'd by Vertue, upwards move,
And mingle with their kindred Minds above;
By their own proper Motion seek the Sphere
Of endless Happiness, and centre There:
Happy They were ev'n in Themselves before;
And only Heav'n's full Joys can bless them more.
It may be ask'd; If they rest upon their Object, how can they tend farther? I answer; They rest upon their general object; knowing they shall always be satisfy'd in the Main; and yet are perpetually entertain'd with new, fresh, particular Objects.
See P. Malebranche's Recherche de la Verité; and the most learned, ingenious, and pious Mr. Norris's Theory of the Intelligible, or Ideal World. Whatever becomes of the Doctrine of our Seeing all things in God, in This Life: it is certain from his being Creator of all things, that He must have in Himself the Ideas of all things; and in the next Life perhaps we may see those Ideas in Him.
Dr. Jeremy Taylor, Bp. of Down and Connor in Ireland; Dr. Henry Hammond, design'd Bp. of Worcester by K. Charles II. but dy'd just before the Restoration; Dr. Robert Sanderson, Regius Professor of Divinity in Oxford, and afterwards Bp. of Lincoln; Dr. John Pearson, Bp. of Chester; Dr. James Ushes, and Dr. John Bramhall, successive Primates of Ireland; Dr. Brian Walton, Compiler of the Polyglott Bible, and Bp. of Chester; Men of extraordinary Learning, and Piety; whose Works are sufficiently known to the World. Mr. Matthew Poole of London, a Nonconformist, but a Man of immense Learning, and great Judgment; and no less Humility and Piety; Author of That stupendous Work entitled Synopsis Criticorum, &c. a most noble Collection of Commentarys upon the holy Scriptures.
Dr. George Bull made Bp. of St. David's by Q. Anne. His immortal Works are well known to all the World; as are his exemplary Piety, Humility, and Charity, to All who had the Happiness of his Acquaintance. His acquired Learning was vastly great; but his natural acute Parts, and solid Judgment, greater. See his Life written by Mr. Nelson: To which many Things might be added.
His Person, and Aspect were distinguishingly engaging. The Print before his Works is the perfect Image of him: only it wants That Sweetness of Countenance, which always accompany'd his delightful Conversation.
The Honourable Robert Boyle, Esq; Founder of the Lecture against Atheism and Infidelity; Hugo Grotius, a Hollander, one of the most learned Men that ever liv'd; Robert Nelson, Esq; Author of the Companion to the Festivals and Fasts, &c. Monsieur Pascal, a Frenchman, a Man of amazing Parts, and Seraphic Piety.
the Right Honourable Sir Matthew Hale, Lord Chief Justice of England: The Honour of our Country; One of the greatest Lawyers, Divines, and Philosophers, and one of the best Christians, this Nation ever bred. His Works in Divinity are, Contemplations Moral, and Divine; The Knowledge of God, and of Ourselves; The Origination of Mankind, &c.
William of Wickham, Bishop of Winchester, Lord Treasurer, and Lord High Chancellor of England; Founder of New College in Oxford, and of its Sister College near Winchester; which, together, are the noblest Seminary of Learning in Christendom. William of Wainflet, Founder of That Illustrious Society, Magdalen-College in Oxford. Richard Fox, Founder of Corpus Christi College in Oxford.
K. Henry VI. Founder of King's College in Cambridge, and Eton-College near Windsor. Margaret Countess of Richmond; Founder of St. John's and Christ's Colleges in Cambridge. Henry Chichely, Archbishop of Canterbury, Founder of All Souls College in Oxford. Nicholas Wadham, Esq; and Dorothy his Wife, Founders of Wadham-College in Oxford.
Dr. Thomas Turner, President of Corpus Christi College in Oxford gave 22,000l. to the Corporation of the Sons of the Clergy.
In one of her first Speeches to her Parliament (the very First, as I remember) She said Her Heart was Entirely English. Which She abundantly verify'd by the Tenor of her Actions; particularly by her allowing, as a free Gift to her Subjects, 100000 l. per Annum out of her own private Revenue, for the Service of the Publick.
This is not in the least intended to lessen the Value and Excellence of Those Charitys which are left by Will, or to detract from the just Praise of those who leave them. Very often they cannot do otherwise; with regard to their own Familys, and Relations, and even to themselves. But, other Circumstances being equal, it is certainly best, and most acceptable to God and Man, to give in one's Life-Time; for Reasons too obvious to be mention'd, and which, I suppose, will be deny'd by No-body.
Sir Francis Walsingham, Secretary of State to Q. Elizabeth; who was a most able Statesman, and true Patriot; and dy'd very poor. Earl of Southampton, in the Reigns of K. Charles the First, and Second. Sir Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon (Author of the famous History) and Lord High Chancellour of England.
This was the Doctrine of Plato, Virgil, and Others among the ancient Heathen Philosophers; and Christian Divines have made it clear, and evident. Dr. Scott's Christian Life, in particular, is entirely built upon This Principle. The Thing indeed is so agreeable to Reason; that the Contrary can scarce be conceived possible. And This shews the Absolute Necessity of our being Vertuous, and Holy: Since without it we are, in the Nature of Things, incapable of being Happy. God Himself cannot make us so, without changing our Nature by Miracle: Which is impossible; because it is inconsistent with his own infinite Perfections: Because it would be absurd, and irrational for him to do so.
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IV. Part IV. HELL.
The ARGUMENT.
The amazing Dread, and Terror of the Subject. The Madness of the Infidels, who say God cannot, or will not punish. That monstrous Notion expos'd; and their senseless Reasonings answer'd. The Place of Hell uncertain. Whether in Chaos, and the extramundane Space. Or in the Bowels of the Earth. Or in the Sun. This last enlarg'd upon. Tho' we know not Where it is, we know What it is; viz. perfect Misery. Fire must make the Sensible Part of it. The inconceivable Horrours and Misery both of the Place, and State, described at large. An Objection obviated, That all This is Fancy, and Poetick Fiction. The Eternity of the Torments. Arguments, on both sides. Supposing them not Eternal; they may be dreadful beyond Imagination. However, (since we cannot demonstrate the Contrary) 'tis safer to think them Eternal, than feel them to be so. Who shall be in Hell. In general; all impenitent Sinners. More particularly; Adulterers, and Fornicators. Covetous Persons. Wicked Clergymen; both Priests, and Prelates. Wicked Ministers of State. Wicked Kings, Queens, and Sovereign Princes. Traytors: Corrupt Betrayers, and Sellers of their Country, on the one hand; Factious, Seditious, false Patriots on the other. Those who debauch'd the World by their wicked Writings of any Kind. Evil-speakers, and Censorious Persons: Under which Head, an Objection is obviated with relation to the Author's Severity against Vice, and, vicious Men as Such. Objection, That all This is Priestcraft, &c. This answer'd. Infidelity set in all imaginable Lights; and shewn to be perfect Madness in every one of them.
Tremble, ye Guilty! Tremble, ev'n the Good!
Almighty Vengeance!—Chills it not the Blood?
Can ev'n the Blest Hell's horrid Gulph behold,
Torrents of Fire in boiling Billows roll'd;
And not shrink back with Terror and Affright;
And, tho' secure, not shudder at the Sight?
A Misery complete, unmix'd, and pure,
What Fancy can conceive? what Thoughts endure?
Almighty Vengeance!—Chills it not the Blood?
Can ev'n the Blest Hell's horrid Gulph behold,
Torrents of Fire in boiling Billows roll'd;
And not shrink back with Terror and Affright;
And, tho' secure, not shudder at the Sight?
A Misery complete, unmix'd, and pure,
What Fancy can conceive? what Thoughts endure?
“What Thoughts indeed? the Infidel replys;
“God must not, will not, cannot punish Vice,
“When all the Ends of Discipline are past;
“In the next World his Anger will not last.
“'Twould argue Weakness, Passion impotent,
“Rage, Cruelty, and Malice, to torment
“(Merely for Torment's sake) with penal Pain
“His wretched Creatures: Are their Plagues his Gain?
“When from their Punishment, however due,
“No Profit, or Advantage can accrue
“To Others, or Themselves; Can God impose
“That Punishment? and triumph in their Woes?
“Can Shrieks, cast upwards from Hell's Depth of Fires,
“Mix grateful Musick with th'Angelick Lyres?
“God is all Good; In Him, as Good, we trust.”
But is He not, too, Holy, Wise, and Just?
Think'st thou, has God one Attribute alone?
Can Mercy, ev'n tho' infinite, be thrown
On Objects which are capable of None?
Must Wisdom, Holiness, Truth, Justice, fail
In God; that Goodness only may prevail?
And can'st thou prove, that Punishment can tend,
Hereafter, to no salutary End?
That all Examples Then their force shall lose,
And Pains, and Terrors be no more of Use?
Or grant, thou could'st; yet in the Scheme of Things,
Reason, and Nature, is the King of Kings
The only Potentate, who cannot take
On Rebels Vengeance due, for his Own sake?
Is it for Him, for Him alone too much
To punish Crimes against Himself, as such?
T'assert his scorn'd, his violated Laws,
And vindicate his Glory's injur'd Cause?
Where is his Greatness, Majesty, and Awe;
If Man be with Impunity his Foe?
Under Pretext, in impious vain Dispute,
Of honouring his One mild Attribute;
Thou mak'st Him despicable, a God of small,
Or no Account; that is, no God at all.
In thy Mock-Robe the Deity thus dress'd,
Appears a perfect Ridicule, and Jest:
The Deist quite unmask'd; the Atheist stands confess'd.
“God must not, will not, cannot punish Vice,
“When all the Ends of Discipline are past;
“In the next World his Anger will not last.
“'Twould argue Weakness, Passion impotent,
“Rage, Cruelty, and Malice, to torment
“(Merely for Torment's sake) with penal Pain
“His wretched Creatures: Are their Plagues his Gain?
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“No Profit, or Advantage can accrue
“To Others, or Themselves; Can God impose
“That Punishment? and triumph in their Woes?
“Can Shrieks, cast upwards from Hell's Depth of Fires,
“Mix grateful Musick with th'Angelick Lyres?
“God is all Good; In Him, as Good, we trust.”
But is He not, too, Holy, Wise, and Just?
Think'st thou, has God one Attribute alone?
Can Mercy, ev'n tho' infinite, be thrown
On Objects which are capable of None?
Must Wisdom, Holiness, Truth, Justice, fail
In God; that Goodness only may prevail?
And can'st thou prove, that Punishment can tend,
Hereafter, to no salutary End?
That all Examples Then their force shall lose,
And Pains, and Terrors be no more of Use?
Or grant, thou could'st; yet in the Scheme of Things,
Reason, and Nature, is the King of Kings
The only Potentate, who cannot take
On Rebels Vengeance due, for his Own sake?
Is it for Him, for Him alone too much
To punish Crimes against Himself, as such?
T'assert his scorn'd, his violated Laws,
And vindicate his Glory's injur'd Cause?
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If Man be with Impunity his Foe?
Under Pretext, in impious vain Dispute,
Of honouring his One mild Attribute;
Thou mak'st Him despicable, a God of small,
Or no Account; that is, no God at all.
In thy Mock-Robe the Deity thus dress'd,
Appears a perfect Ridicule, and Jest:
The Deist quite unmask'd; the Atheist stands confess'd.
Thus far the Views of human Reason reach:
But more express the sacred Pages teach.
There God 'gainst Sin incens'd with vengeful Ire,
With Terrors arm'd, a fierce consuming Fire,
Shines forth tremendous. True, He courts, and woes,
In melting Strains, his most rebellious Foes
To Penitence, and Happiness; declares,
Protests, and by Himself, as Living, swears,
He stands most ready Sinners to forgive;
Intreats, and begs them to repent, and live.
But on th'obdur'd, Plagues, Storms, and Tempest pours,
And Wrath, which to Eternity devours.
God cannot punish—So thou say'st—But still
That God Himself proclaims He can, and will.
As thus the strong Assertors disagree;
Must we, I ask, believe in God, or Thee?
But more express the sacred Pages teach.
There God 'gainst Sin incens'd with vengeful Ire,
With Terrors arm'd, a fierce consuming Fire,
Shines forth tremendous. True, He courts, and woes,
In melting Strains, his most rebellious Foes
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Protests, and by Himself, as Living, swears,
He stands most ready Sinners to forgive;
Intreats, and begs them to repent, and live.
But on th'obdur'd, Plagues, Storms, and Tempest pours,
And Wrath, which to Eternity devours.
God cannot punish—So thou say'st—But still
That God Himself proclaims He can, and will.
As thus the strong Assertors disagree;
Must we, I ask, believe in God, or Thee?
“But Oh! the Bible!—Book so much ador'd;
“Which, Priests, and dull Believers, call God's Word—
Why, is it Not so? Dost thou never read?
But only laugh, and shake thy empty Head?
Cavil thou may'st; but never canst refute
Those Facts, which prove it genuine past Dispute,
God's genuine Word—But 'tis not Now the Time
For That Debate: I pass it; till in Rhime
I on That Theme Thy Madness shall expose;
As I, and Others, oft have done in Prose.
“Which, Priests, and dull Believers, call God's Word—
Why, is it Not so? Dost thou never read?
But only laugh, and shake thy empty Head?
Cavil thou may'st; but never canst refute
Those Facts, which prove it genuine past Dispute,
God's genuine Word—But 'tis not Now the Time
For That Debate: I pass it; till in Rhime
I on That Theme Thy Madness shall expose;
As I, and Others, oft have done in Prose.
The Place allotted to this Scene of Woe
We know not; (may we never, feeling, know:)
Whether, beyond the Space immense, and vast
Of the World's Bounds, in Chaos wild, and wast:
Or whether, (so perhaps the Scheme is laid)
When the last Conflagration shall have prey'd
On this Terrestrial Globe, the fiery Tide
Shall in the Bowels of the Earth subside;
And, added to the Central Fire, There make
Hell's flaming Gulph, the molten Brimstone Lake.
Or whether in the Sun, to form whose Beams,
To Us, so distant, salutary Streams,
Millions of Ætnas, and Vesuvios blaze,
There scorching Fires, tho' Here live giving Rays,
The Damn'd shall to their Tartarus be doom'd;
Forever burning, ever unconsum'd.
So Some have thought; and thought they made it plain;
Nor is perhaps th'acute Conjecture vain.
However to our erring Fancy's Eye
That Orb appears above, aloft, on high;
In the World's Centre fix'd, 'tis most profound,
Lowest, to all the wide Circumf'rence round.
And Hell by All most low was ever deem'd:
O! may'st not Thou, howe'er to Thee have seem'd
These Things abstruse, when Life's short Race is run,
Cast down from Earth, descend into the Sun.
We know not; (may we never, feeling, know:)
99
Of the World's Bounds, in Chaos wild, and wast:
Or whether, (so perhaps the Scheme is laid)
When the last Conflagration shall have prey'd
On this Terrestrial Globe, the fiery Tide
Shall in the Bowels of the Earth subside;
And, added to the Central Fire, There make
Hell's flaming Gulph, the molten Brimstone Lake.
Or whether in the Sun, to form whose Beams,
To Us, so distant, salutary Streams,
Millions of Ætnas, and Vesuvios blaze,
There scorching Fires, tho' Here live giving Rays,
The Damn'd shall to their Tartarus be doom'd;
Forever burning, ever unconsum'd.
So Some have thought; and thought they made it plain;
Nor is perhaps th'acute Conjecture vain.
However to our erring Fancy's Eye
That Orb appears above, aloft, on high;
In the World's Centre fix'd, 'tis most profound,
Lowest, to all the wide Circumf'rence round.
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O! may'st not Thou, howe'er to Thee have seem'd
These Things abstruse, when Life's short Race is run,
Cast down from Earth, descend into the Sun.
From th'Empyrean Heav'n, the blest Abode
Of Saints in Bliss, of Angels, and of God,
Most distant sure is Hell; and 'tis as clear,
Most distant from it is the Solar Sphere.
Of Saints in Bliss, of Angels, and of God,
Most distant sure is Hell; and 'tis as clear,
Most distant from it is the Solar Sphere.
But is not Hell all Darkness, thickest Night?
The Sun a glorious Orb of cheerful Light?
Yes, in It's Surface; as to Us It shines:
But Figure to thyself Its Caverns, Mines;
Its hollow Rocks, Its inmost gloomy Dens:
O! wert thou There, how chang'd would be the Scenes!
Ev'n Here we spy thro' Galileo's Glass
Black Spots, and smoaking Mountains o'er Its Face.
And as th'All-wise, Great God, with diff'rent Views,
By the same Means, Ends contrary pursues;
Perhaps the Sun, which Now with Light, and Heat
This Solar System cheers, may prove the Seat
Of Woe Hereafter; rage with sulph'rous Storms;
And torture Those, whom Now it kindly warms.
The Sun a glorious Orb of cheerful Light?
Yes, in It's Surface; as to Us It shines:
But Figure to thyself Its Caverns, Mines;
Its hollow Rocks, Its inmost gloomy Dens:
O! wert thou There, how chang'd would be the Scenes!
Ev'n Here we spy thro' Galileo's Glass
Black Spots, and smoaking Mountains o'er Its Face.
And as th'All-wise, Great God, with diff'rent Views,
By the same Means, Ends contrary pursues;
Perhaps the Sun, which Now with Light, and Heat
This Solar System cheers, may prove the Seat
Of Woe Hereafter; rage with sulph'rous Storms;
And torture Those, whom Now it kindly warms.
However, taught by Revelation clear,
We know What Hell is, tho' we know not Where.
In Heav'n as perfect endless Pleasures flow;
Hell is consummate, and eternal Woe.
Fire too must make the Sensible of Hell:
“With everlasting Burnings who can dwell?
“Tormenting Tophet is ordain'd long since;
“Ev'n for the King, the Potentate, the Prince,
“It is prepar'd: 'Tis roomy, vast, and wide,
“With Store of Fuel plenteously supply'd:
“The Breath of God makes the full Furnace boil;
“And, like a Stream of Brimstone, fires the Pile.
We know What Hell is, tho' we know not Where.
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Hell is consummate, and eternal Woe.
Fire too must make the Sensible of Hell:
“With everlasting Burnings who can dwell?
“Tormenting Tophet is ordain'd long since;
“Ev'n for the King, the Potentate, the Prince,
“It is prepar'd: 'Tis roomy, vast, and wide,
“With Store of Fuel plenteously supply'd:
“The Breath of God makes the full Furnace boil;
“And, like a Stream of Brimstone, fires the Pile.
Doom'd to live Death, and never to expire,
“In Floods, and Whirlwinds of tempestuous Fire
The Damn'd shall groan: Fire of all Kinds, and Forms;
In Rain, in Hail, in Hurricanes, and Storms;
Liquid, and solid, livid, red, and pale;
A flaming Mountain here, and there a flaming Vale.
The liquid Fire make Seas; the solid, Shores;
Arch'd-o'er with Flames the horrid Concave roars.
All Hell is Fire—Above, Beside, Below,
Fires or in hard metallick Substance glow,
Or spout in Cataracts, or in Rivers flow.
In bubbling Eddies rolls the fiery Tide,
And sulph'rous Surges on each other ride.
The hollow, winding Vaults, and Dens, and Caves
Bellow, like Furnaces, with flaming Waves.
Pillars of Flame in spiral Volumes rise,
Like fiery Snakes, and lick th'infernal Skies.
Sulphur, th'eternal Fuel, unconsum'd,
Vomits redounding Smoke, thick, unillum'd:
For all That Mass of Fire projects no Light,
But Darkness visible, and glaring Night;
Which to the Eye serves only to reveal
Sad Scenes of Woe, and add Affright to Hell:
Pale Fantoms, hideous Spectres, Shapes which scare
The Damn'd themselves, and terrify Despair;
“Gorgons, and Harpyes, and Chimæras dire,
And Swarms of twisted Serpents, hissing Fire.
There Sin, now strip'd of all her borrow'd Charms,
Which lur'd deluded Wretches to her Arms,
Of Bulk immense, immeasurably tall,
So high, and vast, as to be seen by All,
Thro' the unbounded Space, Herself uprears,
And spred in full Deformity appears.
Her close Attendant Death, and by Her made
Immortal, Now a Substance not a Shade,
By Her supply'd, thick Darts around her flings,
Keen with God's Wrath, and shoots unnumber'd Stings;
More ugly than ten thousand Furies scowls;
And Plagues infixes in the guilty Souls.
Horrour, throughout, and perfect Mis'ry reigns;
An endless, sad Variety of Pains;
Clatt'ring of Iron, and the Clank of Chains:
The Clang of lashing Whips; shrill Shrieks, and Groans,
Loud ceaseless Howlings, Crys, and piercing Moans;
Damnation, Death, in ev'ry dreadful Form,
The gnawing Conscience, never-dying Worm;
The inextinguishable Fire: No Gleam
Of cheerful Light; No sweet, refreshing Beam
Of Joy, or Hope: Despair, Despair, Despair,
Is still the Sound that breaks the dusky Air.
Forever! Never! Never be releas'd?
O No! 'Tis Torment never to be eas'd.
All Evil There; no Good: Death lives, Life dies:
“Deliver us, good Lord”—In Tears, and Sighs,
Here rather Pardon let us strive to gain,
Than There, when Seas of Tears will stream in vain.
“In Floods, and Whirlwinds of tempestuous Fire
The Damn'd shall groan: Fire of all Kinds, and Forms;
In Rain, in Hail, in Hurricanes, and Storms;
Liquid, and solid, livid, red, and pale;
A flaming Mountain here, and there a flaming Vale.
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Arch'd-o'er with Flames the horrid Concave roars.
All Hell is Fire—Above, Beside, Below,
Fires or in hard metallick Substance glow,
Or spout in Cataracts, or in Rivers flow.
In bubbling Eddies rolls the fiery Tide,
And sulph'rous Surges on each other ride.
The hollow, winding Vaults, and Dens, and Caves
Bellow, like Furnaces, with flaming Waves.
Pillars of Flame in spiral Volumes rise,
Like fiery Snakes, and lick th'infernal Skies.
Sulphur, th'eternal Fuel, unconsum'd,
Vomits redounding Smoke, thick, unillum'd:
For all That Mass of Fire projects no Light,
But Darkness visible, and glaring Night;
Which to the Eye serves only to reveal
Sad Scenes of Woe, and add Affright to Hell:
Pale Fantoms, hideous Spectres, Shapes which scare
The Damn'd themselves, and terrify Despair;
“Gorgons, and Harpyes, and Chimæras dire,
And Swarms of twisted Serpents, hissing Fire.
There Sin, now strip'd of all her borrow'd Charms,
Which lur'd deluded Wretches to her Arms,
Of Bulk immense, immeasurably tall,
So high, and vast, as to be seen by All,
103
And spred in full Deformity appears.
Her close Attendant Death, and by Her made
Immortal, Now a Substance not a Shade,
By Her supply'd, thick Darts around her flings,
Keen with God's Wrath, and shoots unnumber'd Stings;
More ugly than ten thousand Furies scowls;
And Plagues infixes in the guilty Souls.
Horrour, throughout, and perfect Mis'ry reigns;
An endless, sad Variety of Pains;
Clatt'ring of Iron, and the Clank of Chains:
The Clang of lashing Whips; shrill Shrieks, and Groans,
Loud ceaseless Howlings, Crys, and piercing Moans;
Damnation, Death, in ev'ry dreadful Form,
The gnawing Conscience, never-dying Worm;
The inextinguishable Fire: No Gleam
Of cheerful Light; No sweet, refreshing Beam
Of Joy, or Hope: Despair, Despair, Despair,
Is still the Sound that breaks the dusky Air.
Forever! Never! Never be releas'd?
O No! 'Tis Torment never to be eas'd.
All Evil There; no Good: Death lives, Life dies:
“Deliver us, good Lord”—In Tears, and Sighs,
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Than There, when Seas of Tears will stream in vain.
Sometimes, as if such Groans could soften Hell,
They throw to Heav'n, with hideous, frantick Yell,
Expostulating Crys—They cannot Pray—
“Is there then left of Hope no glimm'ring Ray?
“Can Nothing, Nothing for our Crimes attone?
“Great God, is Mercy infinite Thus shown?
“Can Nothing ever wash away our Guilt?
“Was it for This Thy precious Blood was spilt?
“That Millions, who have oft invok'd Thy Name,
“Should, Years unnumber'd, welter in This Flame?
“Made we Ourselves? Did Our Invention weave
“Life's slender Web, and teach the Heart to heave?
“And didst Thou call from Nothing's darksom Womb
“Thy wretched Creatures to This dreadful Doom?
“Unmake us; 'Tis far better not to Be,
“Than to be curst with boundless Misery.
“Vain Thoughts! Ourselves, Ourselves alone have made
“This Wretchedness: We cannot Thee upbraid.
“Good only issu'd from Thy plastick Will;
“Creatures the sole Creators are of Ill:
“Evil, and Nothing else they could create—
“Then to Your selves alone impute your Fate,
Ye Reprobate—Ev'n Here, in Hell's deep Pit,
“Our righteous Judge, tho' Damn'd, we must acquit:
“We only to our Lusts ourselves enslav'd;
“He would have sav'd us—would we have been sav'd.
But as the boiling Seas, in which they howl,
By counter Gusts, now This, now That way, roll;
So fluctuates in their Breasts the refluent Tide
Of Passions: God e'erwhile they justify'd:
Dire Execrations next succeed; They fling
Tartarean Rage tow'rds Heav'n, against Heav'n's King;
Against the Highest fiercely they blaspheme:
But then again their own mad Choice condemn;
Much they curse God, but curse Themselves much more:
In Consort the sulphureous Torrents roar.
Meanwhile, as if but light were all These Pains,
Legions of Devils, bound, Themselves, in Chains,
Tormented, and Tormenters, o'er them shake
Thongs, and fork'd Iron, in the burning Lake;
Belching infernal Flames, and wreath'd with Spires
Of curling Serpents, rouse the Brimstone-Fires;
With Whips of fiery Scorpions scourge their Slaves,
And in their Faces dash the livid Waves:
Slaves to the Dev'l, and Sin; who rather chose,
Vassals of Hell, to suffer endless Woes;
Than to enjoy, in Heav'n's high, blest Abode,
The glorious Freedom of the Sons of God.
They throw to Heav'n, with hideous, frantick Yell,
Expostulating Crys—They cannot Pray—
“Is there then left of Hope no glimm'ring Ray?
“Can Nothing, Nothing for our Crimes attone?
“Great God, is Mercy infinite Thus shown?
“Can Nothing ever wash away our Guilt?
“Was it for This Thy precious Blood was spilt?
“That Millions, who have oft invok'd Thy Name,
“Should, Years unnumber'd, welter in This Flame?
“Made we Ourselves? Did Our Invention weave
“Life's slender Web, and teach the Heart to heave?
“And didst Thou call from Nothing's darksom Womb
“Thy wretched Creatures to This dreadful Doom?
“Unmake us; 'Tis far better not to Be,
“Than to be curst with boundless Misery.
“Vain Thoughts! Ourselves, Ourselves alone have made
“This Wretchedness: We cannot Thee upbraid.
“Good only issu'd from Thy plastick Will;
“Creatures the sole Creators are of Ill:
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“Then to Your selves alone impute your Fate,
Ye Reprobate—Ev'n Here, in Hell's deep Pit,
“Our righteous Judge, tho' Damn'd, we must acquit:
“We only to our Lusts ourselves enslav'd;
“He would have sav'd us—would we have been sav'd.
But as the boiling Seas, in which they howl,
By counter Gusts, now This, now That way, roll;
So fluctuates in their Breasts the refluent Tide
Of Passions: God e'erwhile they justify'd:
Dire Execrations next succeed; They fling
Tartarean Rage tow'rds Heav'n, against Heav'n's King;
Against the Highest fiercely they blaspheme:
But then again their own mad Choice condemn;
Much they curse God, but curse Themselves much more:
In Consort the sulphureous Torrents roar.
Meanwhile, as if but light were all These Pains,
Legions of Devils, bound, Themselves, in Chains,
Tormented, and Tormenters, o'er them shake
Thongs, and fork'd Iron, in the burning Lake;
Belching infernal Flames, and wreath'd with Spires
Of curling Serpents, rouse the Brimstone-Fires;
With Whips of fiery Scorpions scourge their Slaves,
And in their Faces dash the livid Waves:
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Vassals of Hell, to suffer endless Woes;
Than to enjoy, in Heav'n's high, blest Abode,
The glorious Freedom of the Sons of God.
In those dark Depths, and Flames (still Torment new)
Heav'n's Joys, at distance infinite, They view;
From That abhorr'd, unfathomable Abyss,
Look up, and ken th'exulting Saints in Bliss.
Chiefly the Rich, the Mighty, and the Proud,
Earth's Tyrants Once, will gnash, and rage aloud;
When Those, whom Here, as Dung upon the Soil,
Ev'n than the Dogs, that lick'd their Sores, more vile,
They scorn'd, on whom with haughty Air they frown'd,
They see aloft, with brightest Glory crown'd.
“Groaning for Anguish, Envy, and Despair,
How will they bite their Flesh, and rend their Hair!
“Lo! These are They, whom We, in Life's Debauch,
“A Bye-word held, a Proverb of Reproach:
“We Fools, immers'd in Luxury, and Vice;
“Esteem'd Them Mad, who were the only Wise;
“Madness their Life, we said, their End is Shame.
“How do They There deride Our boasted Fame?
“How are They, erst so Poor, Despis'd, Distress'd
“Number'd among God's Children! Saints most blest!
“What Profit have we from our Pride? Or What
“Has Wealth immense, with all our Vaunting, bought?
“Damnation. Joyless Purchase! Sunk thus low,
“At least, tho' doom'd to everlasting Woe,
“Screen'd from That hateful Prospect let us dwell:
“To be Heav'n-Damn'd is the worst Plague of Hell.
Heav'n's Joys, at distance infinite, They view;
From That abhorr'd, unfathomable Abyss,
Look up, and ken th'exulting Saints in Bliss.
Chiefly the Rich, the Mighty, and the Proud,
Earth's Tyrants Once, will gnash, and rage aloud;
When Those, whom Here, as Dung upon the Soil,
Ev'n than the Dogs, that lick'd their Sores, more vile,
They scorn'd, on whom with haughty Air they frown'd,
They see aloft, with brightest Glory crown'd.
“Groaning for Anguish, Envy, and Despair,
How will they bite their Flesh, and rend their Hair!
“Lo! These are They, whom We, in Life's Debauch,
“A Bye-word held, a Proverb of Reproach:
“We Fools, immers'd in Luxury, and Vice;
“Esteem'd Them Mad, who were the only Wise;
107
“How do They There deride Our boasted Fame?
“How are They, erst so Poor, Despis'd, Distress'd
“Number'd among God's Children! Saints most blest!
“What Profit have we from our Pride? Or What
“Has Wealth immense, with all our Vaunting, bought?
“Damnation. Joyless Purchase! Sunk thus low,
“At least, tho' doom'd to everlasting Woe,
“Screen'd from That hateful Prospect let us dwell:
“To be Heav'n-Damn'd is the worst Plague of Hell.
This Thou reply'st, is Fiction—Fancy's Paint—
It may be so—But is it not too faint?
Believe it, Sinner; Hell's tremendous Curse
Is what we have delineated—Or Worse;
'Tis perfect Mis'ry. What, tho' Poets feign
That Light'ning is compos'd of Wind, and Rain,
Of Cloud, and Flame; that 'tis God's Weapon, hurl'd
By his own red Right-hand, to awe the World,
To fill Mankind with Terror, and Amaze?
What, tho' fictitious be its forky Rays?
It's trifid Fire? All Nature sees, and feels,
That Lightning is; and where It strikes, It kills.
It may be so—But is it not too faint?
Believe it, Sinner; Hell's tremendous Curse
Is what we have delineated—Or Worse;
'Tis perfect Mis'ry. What, tho' Poets feign
That Light'ning is compos'd of Wind, and Rain,
Of Cloud, and Flame; that 'tis God's Weapon, hurl'd
By his own red Right-hand, to awe the World,
To fill Mankind with Terror, and Amaze?
What, tho' fictitious be its forky Rays?
It's trifid Fire? All Nature sees, and feels,
That Lightning is; and where It strikes, It kills.
“Eternal
Punishment, at least, annex'd
“To Short-liv'd Crimes, whate'er the sacred Text
“May seem to threaten, cannot be conceiv'd
“By Reason; nor on solid grounds believ'd.
“Is This God's Goodness infinite? Is This
“Ev'n common Justice? that in Hell's Abyss,
“For Sins of fifty Years, however foul,
“We should to everlasting Ages howl?
“The Word Forever, in God's Book elsewhere,
“Means not Eternity, and cannot Here.
If so; if This be true; Thyself assure,
Hell will not to Eternity endure:
God will most Just, and Merciful be found.
But art thou sure thy Argument is sound?
Murder, suppose, is a short transient Act:
But lasts the Guilt no longer than the Fact?
Yes; but Eternity—Why, if thy Soul,
By God immortal made, by Vice made foul,
Sin on forever; as it must, since Grace
In Thee uncapable can find no place:
Thou must (Eternal Reason makes it so)
Forever sinning, suffer endless Woe.
But God, belike, is bound t'annihilate
Those who must Else be wretched in That State.
Must he then change the Universal Frame
Of Nature, lest Thou suffer in That Flame?
Work gross Absurditys? untwist the Chain
Of Causes, and Effects; to end Thy Pain?
However; (for I grant, when Infinite
Employs our narrow Thoughts; 'tis Faith, not Sight:
Our Reason is perplex'd; Ev'n Heav'n, when join'd
To vast Eternity, confounds the Mind:)
Admit Hell's Torments shall at length be past;
Suppose, but for a thousand Ages last;
Say but for One—One Century—One Year—
Coud'st thou, ev'n Then, Almighty Vengeance bear?
Are all Sin's Pleasures in the Ballance laid
Equal to This? Oh! How are they outweigh'd!
Could'st thou, one Day, one Hour in burning Oil,
Or Sulphur, roaring in a Furnace, boil?
Nay try, thy strong unruly Lusts to tame,
Thy little Finger in a Candle's Flame
But for a Minute—Hold it fix'd, be sure—
What? shrink'st thou back?—Hell how canst thou endure?
Forever needs must mean some Length of Time;
Some Ages in appearance: 'Tis no Crime,
At least, to think it means Eternity:
No Crime, nor Indiscretion can This be—
Eternal Punishment to Sinners due
'Tis far more prudent to suppose, than rue;
And rather think, than feel it to be true.
“To Short-liv'd Crimes, whate'er the sacred Text
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“By Reason; nor on solid grounds believ'd.
“Is This God's Goodness infinite? Is This
“Ev'n common Justice? that in Hell's Abyss,
“For Sins of fifty Years, however foul,
“We should to everlasting Ages howl?
“The Word Forever, in God's Book elsewhere,
“Means not Eternity, and cannot Here.
If so; if This be true; Thyself assure,
Hell will not to Eternity endure:
God will most Just, and Merciful be found.
But art thou sure thy Argument is sound?
Murder, suppose, is a short transient Act:
But lasts the Guilt no longer than the Fact?
Yes; but Eternity—Why, if thy Soul,
By God immortal made, by Vice made foul,
Sin on forever; as it must, since Grace
In Thee uncapable can find no place:
Thou must (Eternal Reason makes it so)
Forever sinning, suffer endless Woe.
But God, belike, is bound t'annihilate
Those who must Else be wretched in That State.
Must he then change the Universal Frame
Of Nature, lest Thou suffer in That Flame?
109
Of Causes, and Effects; to end Thy Pain?
However; (for I grant, when Infinite
Employs our narrow Thoughts; 'tis Faith, not Sight:
Our Reason is perplex'd; Ev'n Heav'n, when join'd
To vast Eternity, confounds the Mind:)
Admit Hell's Torments shall at length be past;
Suppose, but for a thousand Ages last;
Say but for One—One Century—One Year—
Coud'st thou, ev'n Then, Almighty Vengeance bear?
Are all Sin's Pleasures in the Ballance laid
Equal to This? Oh! How are they outweigh'd!
Could'st thou, one Day, one Hour in burning Oil,
Or Sulphur, roaring in a Furnace, boil?
Nay try, thy strong unruly Lusts to tame,
Thy little Finger in a Candle's Flame
But for a Minute—Hold it fix'd, be sure—
What? shrink'st thou back?—Hell how canst thou endure?
Forever needs must mean some Length of Time;
Some Ages in appearance: 'Tis no Crime,
At least, to think it means Eternity:
No Crime, nor Indiscretion can This be—
Eternal Punishment to Sinners due
'Tis far more prudent to suppose, than rue;
And rather think, than feel it to be true.
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The Wretches peopl'ing This Infernal World,
By God's just Wrath, and Vengeance Thither hurl'd,
Are all th'Impenitent; who dy'd in Vice,
Sin unatton'd; who more than Truth lov'd Lies;
The Indevout, th'Unmerciful, th'Unjust,
Those who indulg'd their Malice, Pride, or Lust.
With what Abhorrence shall th'Adult'rer meet
His foul Adult'ress There! O how they greet!
The Fornicator, and his Strumpet leud,
Who once Each other with such Rapture view'd,
No more their mutual Beauties Now admire;
Their Flames of Lust extinct in Flames of Fire.
Their Beauties, which reciprocally warm'd,
To most detested Ugliness transform'd
They There behold; Condemn'd (No more of Charms)
To loath'd Embraces in Each other's Arms:
Turning to Hate their Lust (They call'd it Love)
Furies, and Fiends they to Each other prove;
Plaguing, and Plagu'd: She curses Him, He Her,
(Themselves, belike, of Fault and Blame Both clear,)
That by Each Other's Guilt they meet Each other There.
By God's just Wrath, and Vengeance Thither hurl'd,
Are all th'Impenitent; who dy'd in Vice,
Sin unatton'd; who more than Truth lov'd Lies;
The Indevout, th'Unmerciful, th'Unjust,
Those who indulg'd their Malice, Pride, or Lust.
With what Abhorrence shall th'Adult'rer meet
His foul Adult'ress There! O how they greet!
The Fornicator, and his Strumpet leud,
Who once Each other with such Rapture view'd,
No more their mutual Beauties Now admire;
Their Flames of Lust extinct in Flames of Fire.
Their Beauties, which reciprocally warm'd,
To most detested Ugliness transform'd
They There behold; Condemn'd (No more of Charms)
To loath'd Embraces in Each other's Arms:
Turning to Hate their Lust (They call'd it Love)
Furies, and Fiends they to Each other prove;
Plaguing, and Plagu'd: She curses Him, He Her,
(Themselves, belike, of Fault and Blame Both clear,)
That by Each Other's Guilt they meet Each other There.
This, I say, is one instance among Others; by which it appears that Deism (as it is Now call'd) resolves at last into downright Atheism. Such a God as These Men have painted out to us is a most contemptible, ridiculous Being; that is, no God. For other Proofs that Deism, as it now stands, is mere Atheism; see Bp. Gastrell's (for it is His, tho' his Name is not to it) Dialogue between a Sceptick, and a Deist; Scripture Vindicated against Christianity as Old as the Creation, in many places.
Philosophers suppose that there is a vast Body of Fire in the Centre, i. e. the Middle, of the Earth.
Isai. xxxiii. 14. I am sensible that another Interpretation may be given of That Text. But that in one Sense it may mean Hell, is allow'd by Expositors. However; there are so many places in the New Testament which speak of Hell-Fire, that it would be needless to cite any.
Isai. xxx. 33. Here again Something else is meant besides Hell: But That is meant too; as Commentators agree.
In Wealthy Waves, shall have their Fill of Gold:
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And down their Throats the liquid Mammon pours.
With These, the most abhor'd of human Race
Shall wicked Priests, and Prelates find their Place.
Prelates, and Priests, who partial preach'd God's Laws;
Flatter'd his Enemys, betray'd his Cause;
Or by their Lives and Actions disavow'd
Those Truths they zealous taught the list'ning Croud.
Prelates, who study'd for This World alone;
And Learning scorn'd, because Themselves had None.
Or Learning if they had; their Guilt was still
The greater, if 'twas us'd in doing Ill:
If, the Divine postpon'd, with more Regard
They Statesman, Lord, and Politician heard;
If, at a worthless, vicious Courtier's Nod,
They sacrific'd their Country, Church, and God.
For These the Curs'd, by Their Example damn'd,
With fierce Resentment, and Revenge inflam'd,
To sev'n-fold Rage th'infernal Fires shall blow,
And hoot th'Apostates thro' the Shades below.
Corrupt, rapacious Ministers of State
Shall There bewail their ill-got Wealth too late.
Suppose a weak, and wicked Tyrant's Tool,
Pander to Av'rice, Pride, and Lust of Rule;
Most prompt to act in Courts each bidden Part,
A vicious Head, and a more vicious Heart;
A Foe profess'd to Truth, and common Sense,
Lost to all Reason, steel'd with Impudence:
Who made his Country, weeping on the Ground,
The Scorn, and Jest of all the Nations round;
Beggar'd, enslav'd her; proud enjoy'd her Toils,
Laugh'd at Her Woes, and revel'd in Her Spoils;
Debauch'd her Sons with Vice; dispatch'd in Shoals
To Jayls their Bodys, and to Hell their Souls;
Exploded Vertue, Honesty, and Shame;
And taught that Villany alone was Fame:
By whose Example, Influence, and Command,
Hateful Corruption delug'd all the Land:
Who made the Publick Loss his Private Gain;
His Country's Evil Genius, Pest, and Bane;
Corrupted, and Corrupting—Where can dwell
(For such have been, as Time's long Annals tell)
So Heav'n-abhor'd a Monster, but in Hell?
Shall There bewail their ill-got Wealth too late.
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Pander to Av'rice, Pride, and Lust of Rule;
Most prompt to act in Courts each bidden Part,
A vicious Head, and a more vicious Heart;
A Foe profess'd to Truth, and common Sense,
Lost to all Reason, steel'd with Impudence:
Who made his Country, weeping on the Ground,
The Scorn, and Jest of all the Nations round;
Beggar'd, enslav'd her; proud enjoy'd her Toils,
Laugh'd at Her Woes, and revel'd in Her Spoils;
Debauch'd her Sons with Vice; dispatch'd in Shoals
To Jayls their Bodys, and to Hell their Souls;
Exploded Vertue, Honesty, and Shame;
And taught that Villany alone was Fame:
By whose Example, Influence, and Command,
Hateful Corruption delug'd all the Land:
Who made the Publick Loss his Private Gain;
His Country's Evil Genius, Pest, and Bane;
Corrupted, and Corrupting—Where can dwell
(For such have been, as Time's long Annals tell)
So Heav'n-abhor'd a Monster, but in Hell?
113
If Thus the Tyrant-Minister shall fare;
What Portion shall his Tyrant-Master share?
Hell; in the same, or in a worse Degree;
If possible, more deeply damn'd than He.
Proud, avaricious, impious Kings, who Nought
But their own Pleasure, Wealth and Greatness sought;
Who like Destroyers, not Protectors, reign'd,
Their wretched Subjects pillag'd, fleec'd, and drain'd;
Who to be fear'd, and hated, studious strove,
And chose to rule by Terror, not by Love;
As if to One Heav'n such Distinction gave,
That a whole People should be born His Slave:
Who thought Themselves superior to all Laws;
Oppress'd God's Church, and disavow'd his Cause;
Promoted Ign'rance, Leudness, Cowardise,
Profaneness, Atheism, ev'ry Kind of Vice:
All These (and such portentous Plagues have been,
King, Emp'ror, Empress, Sov'reign Prince, and Queen)
Howe'er They once despis'd these serious Things,
Shall feel, in Hell, there is a King of Kings.
What Portion shall his Tyrant-Master share?
Hell; in the same, or in a worse Degree;
If possible, more deeply damn'd than He.
Proud, avaricious, impious Kings, who Nought
But their own Pleasure, Wealth and Greatness sought;
Who like Destroyers, not Protectors, reign'd,
Their wretched Subjects pillag'd, fleec'd, and drain'd;
Who to be fear'd, and hated, studious strove,
And chose to rule by Terror, not by Love;
As if to One Heav'n such Distinction gave,
That a whole People should be born His Slave:
Who thought Themselves superior to all Laws;
Oppress'd God's Church, and disavow'd his Cause;
Promoted Ign'rance, Leudness, Cowardise,
Profaneness, Atheism, ev'ry Kind of Vice:
All These (and such portentous Plagues have been,
King, Emp'ror, Empress, Sov'reign Prince, and Queen)
Howe'er They once despis'd these serious Things,
Shall feel, in Hell, there is a King of Kings.
Among his Damn'd great Maro places Those
Who, sway'd by Bribery, made, and unmade Laws:
Who, venal ev'n Themselves, for Sums of Gold
Impos'd a Tyrant, and their Country sold.
And can That Crime deserve a milder Doom
In Christian Senates, than in Pagan Rome?
Who, sway'd by Bribery, made, and unmade Laws:
Who, venal ev'n Themselves, for Sums of Gold
Impos'd a Tyrant, and their Country sold.
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In Christian Senates, than in Pagan Rome?
To These, however diff'rent seemed their Guilt,
Must Those be added, who their Grandeur built
On Patriotism's usurp'd and injur'd Name;
Wise and good Princes labour'd to defame:
Always Seditious, Restless, Turbulent,
Factious, and without Reason Malecontent,
Mouth'd Tyranny, and Freedom, when no Fear
Of Tyranny, but from Themselves, was near;
Skill'd with the Sound of Liberty t'enslave,
And ruin Those they boasted they would save.
Must Those be added, who their Grandeur built
On Patriotism's usurp'd and injur'd Name;
Wise and good Princes labour'd to defame:
Always Seditious, Restless, Turbulent,
Factious, and without Reason Malecontent,
Mouth'd Tyranny, and Freedom, when no Fear
Of Tyranny, but from Themselves, was near;
Skill'd with the Sound of Liberty t'enslave,
And ruin Those they boasted they would save.
Loose, vicious Writers, who debauch'd Mankind,
And to Their own the Sins of Others join'd,
Shall There deplore the Triumphs of their Wit,
Of All they lewdly, or profanely writ;
Their Heresies, their Blasphemys, the Pride
Of having Truths most evident deny'd.
Those chiefly, who, God's Ministers ordain'd,
Traduc'd the Office which Themselves sustain'd;
(For such a Prodigy may be conceiv'd,
Since sure Experience makes the Fact believ'd;)
Who, to their utmost Pow'r, That Church destroy'd,
Whose wealthiest Posts and Honours They enjoy'd.
And to Their own the Sins of Others join'd,
Shall There deplore the Triumphs of their Wit,
Of All they lewdly, or profanely writ;
Their Heresies, their Blasphemys, the Pride
Of having Truths most evident deny'd.
Those chiefly, who, God's Ministers ordain'd,
Traduc'd the Office which Themselves sustain'd;
(For such a Prodigy may be conceiv'd,
Since sure Experience makes the Fact believ'd;)
Who, to their utmost Pow'r, That Church destroy'd,
Whose wealthiest Posts and Honours They enjoy'd.
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But lest the Muse should seem, while keen on Vice,
Herself to flatter, as she That decrys;
The worst of Men she loves, and would reform,
Howe'er against their wicked Actions warm:
Would warn them to escape Hell's dreadful Doom,
And fly, repentant, from the Wrath to come.
Few shall, she sings, a Vengeance more severe,
Than th'Evil-speakers, and Censorious, bear;
Th'Incontinent of Tongue, and Pen; who take
Delight in Scandal, for mere Scandal's sake.
Nor only Those, who darken the fair Fame
Of the most Innocent, and blast their Name;
But Those who love to dwell on Crimes, tho' true,
And blazon Facts in the worst Point of View:
Who to all Faults quick-sighted, but their own,
Speak ill of Many; good, of Few, or None.
Such Tongues, which Now, with Inflammation dire,
Can the whole Course of Nature set on fire,
Tho' Nothing Here should their Malignance quell,
Shall There indeed be set on fire of Hell.
Herself to flatter, as she That decrys;
The worst of Men she loves, and would reform,
Howe'er against their wicked Actions warm:
Would warn them to escape Hell's dreadful Doom,
And fly, repentant, from the Wrath to come.
Few shall, she sings, a Vengeance more severe,
Than th'Evil-speakers, and Censorious, bear;
Th'Incontinent of Tongue, and Pen; who take
Delight in Scandal, for mere Scandal's sake.
Nor only Those, who darken the fair Fame
Of the most Innocent, and blast their Name;
But Those who love to dwell on Crimes, tho' true,
And blazon Facts in the worst Point of View:
Who to all Faults quick-sighted, but their own,
Speak ill of Many; good, of Few, or None.
Such Tongues, which Now, with Inflammation dire,
Can the whole Course of Nature set on fire,
Tho' Nothing Here should their Malignance quell,
Shall There indeed be set on fire of Hell.
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But This, thou say'st, is Priestcraft all; th'Effect
Of Superstition, which wise Minds reject.
I ask thee, tho' perhaps obdur'd long since,
Whom Nought, I fear, but Hell, will e'er convince;
Is it, at least, not safer to suppose,
Than disbelieve, These dreadful threaten'd Woes?
Wise Minds will by These Terrors sure be mov'd;
Since, were they false, they cannot be disprov'd:
They may be true—And Oh! suppose they shou'd—
Does not ev'n That Suppose congeal thy Blood?
Hast thou not, anxious for thy final Fate,
At least, Suspicions of a future State?
Some sad Misgivings? No; Thou wilt reply:
I tell thee, That's not Error, but a Lye.
To All, to Humane Nature I appeal;
Ev'n to Thyself—The Thing's impossible.
In Vice, and Luxury however sunk,
Thou canst not, certainly, be always drunk:
Th'intruding Thoughts of Hell with sometimes pall
Thy Wine, and sometimes dash thy Cups with Gall.
But Oh! the sage, dry Atheist; He who thinks,
Deliberately reasons, rarely drinks;
(Whoredom, not Drinking, is the Vice He loves)
Who Human Understanding much improves;
Dispensing, while God's Threats he ridicules,
Sententious Nonsense to his Ring of Fools;
With Sneer, and Shrug explodes Religion's Dreams,
And over Coffee's sober Fume blasphemes:
Is not He happy? Yes, belike; Of Fear,
And Doubt His Philosophic Soul is clear:
He can demonstrate—Can demonstrate What?
That there's no Hell? that after Death is Nought?
Atheist, Begin thy Demonstration; say,
How prov'st Thou This? In Us is no Delay.
That such a State there is, We oft have shown
By solid Proofs: How prov'st Thou there is None?
Is it a Contradiction? If it be;
To shew That Contradiction, lies on Thee.
Meanwhile, I tell thee, Thou'rt a Wretch forlorn;
Thou know'st, Thou feel'st it: Publick Hate, and Scorn
Justly attend thee: While thou turn'st to Jest
Hell, and its Terrors, Hell is in thy Breast.
In thy wild, thoughtful Face, thy haggard Air,
We trace plain Marks of Anguish, and Despair.
Inly thou tremblest at the vengeful Rod
Of Him whom thou blasphem'st, the Mighty God:
That Thought confounds thy Atheistic Pride;
He fears Hell most, by whom it is deny'd.
Of Superstition, which wise Minds reject.
I ask thee, tho' perhaps obdur'd long since,
Whom Nought, I fear, but Hell, will e'er convince;
Is it, at least, not safer to suppose,
Than disbelieve, These dreadful threaten'd Woes?
Wise Minds will by These Terrors sure be mov'd;
Since, were they false, they cannot be disprov'd:
They may be true—And Oh! suppose they shou'd—
Does not ev'n That Suppose congeal thy Blood?
Hast thou not, anxious for thy final Fate,
At least, Suspicions of a future State?
Some sad Misgivings? No; Thou wilt reply:
I tell thee, That's not Error, but a Lye.
To All, to Humane Nature I appeal;
Ev'n to Thyself—The Thing's impossible.
In Vice, and Luxury however sunk,
Thou canst not, certainly, be always drunk:
Th'intruding Thoughts of Hell with sometimes pall
Thy Wine, and sometimes dash thy Cups with Gall.
But Oh! the sage, dry Atheist; He who thinks,
Deliberately reasons, rarely drinks;
(Whoredom, not Drinking, is the Vice He loves)
Who Human Understanding much improves;
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Sententious Nonsense to his Ring of Fools;
With Sneer, and Shrug explodes Religion's Dreams,
And over Coffee's sober Fume blasphemes:
Is not He happy? Yes, belike; Of Fear,
And Doubt His Philosophic Soul is clear:
He can demonstrate—Can demonstrate What?
That there's no Hell? that after Death is Nought?
Atheist, Begin thy Demonstration; say,
How prov'st Thou This? In Us is no Delay.
That such a State there is, We oft have shown
By solid Proofs: How prov'st Thou there is None?
Is it a Contradiction? If it be;
To shew That Contradiction, lies on Thee.
Meanwhile, I tell thee, Thou'rt a Wretch forlorn;
Thou know'st, Thou feel'st it: Publick Hate, and Scorn
Justly attend thee: While thou turn'st to Jest
Hell, and its Terrors, Hell is in thy Breast.
In thy wild, thoughtful Face, thy haggard Air,
We trace plain Marks of Anguish, and Despair.
118
Of Him whom thou blasphem'st, the Mighty God:
That Thought confounds thy Atheistic Pride;
He fears Hell most, by whom it is deny'd.
If Hell be Not; We, who believe it Is,
Lose Nothing in the Next World, nor in This,
By That erroneous Faith; Nay more, we gain;
Since Vertue has more Pleasure Here, than Pain.
If neither Heav'n Above, nor Hell Beneath
Exist; no State, or Being after Death;
Thou can'st not laugh at Us: But if There Be;
How will Eternal Justice laugh at Thee?
Thou art undone forever. But if sure
That Vengeance be, and always shall endure;
As God's unerring Oracles proclaim:
Hear, Thou Freethinker of immortal Fame;
The Frenzy of a Lunatic in Chains,
Who baffles the Physician's Care, and Pains,
Whom Keepers in a darken'd Room confine,
Is sober Reason, if compar'd with Thine:
Thou Wit, of thy clear Thoughts so proud and glad,
Thou deep Philosopher, art more than Mad.
Thou art so; should we ev'n allow that Hell,
As 'tis most certain, were but possible.
Lose Nothing in the Next World, nor in This,
By That erroneous Faith; Nay more, we gain;
Since Vertue has more Pleasure Here, than Pain.
If neither Heav'n Above, nor Hell Beneath
Exist; no State, or Being after Death;
Thou can'st not laugh at Us: But if There Be;
How will Eternal Justice laugh at Thee?
Thou art undone forever. But if sure
That Vengeance be, and always shall endure;
As God's unerring Oracles proclaim:
Hear, Thou Freethinker of immortal Fame;
The Frenzy of a Lunatic in Chains,
Who baffles the Physician's Care, and Pains,
Whom Keepers in a darken'd Room confine,
Is sober Reason, if compar'd with Thine:
Thou Wit, of thy clear Thoughts so proud and glad,
Thou deep Philosopher, art more than Mad.
Thou art so; should we ev'n allow that Hell,
As 'tis most certain, were but possible.
119
Weigh well thy present, and thy future State;
Yet, yet Repent—perhaps 'tis not too late:
And to us All be such true Wisdom giv'n,
So to reflect on Hell, as to be bless'd in Heav'n.
Yet, yet Repent—perhaps 'tis not too late:
And to us All be such true Wisdom giv'n,
So to reflect on Hell, as to be bless'd in Heav'n.
Such as the Favourites of Those weak, and wicked Kings, Edward II. and Richard II. of England; and many Others, in all History.
Here, as all along, must be understood, without Repentance. See Ver. 328. Which must be apply'd to all the several Sorts of Sinners here specify'd.
That is, we are ready for the Dispute. 'Tis the Form of accepting a Challenge. The Words are Virgil's, Ecl. iii. in me mora non erit ulla.
121
PARAPHRASE Upon Psalm I.
Happy the Man, who, Innocent, and Wise,
The Pest of wicked Conversation flys;
Refuses with ungodly Men to sit;
Abhors the Guilt of irreligious Wit;
Nor shares the dark Cabals where Scoffers meet:
But meditates on God with pious Awe,
And studys, Night and Day, his sacred Law.
Still shall He thrive; still flourishing, and fair;
Like a tall Tree, that shoots its Boughs in Air
Fast by the running Stream, and ne'er deceives
Its Owner's Hopes; but spreads its verdant Leaves,
Deep fixes in the Mold it's piercing Root,
And in due Season bends with copious Fruit.
Whate'er He does still Providence shall bless,
And crown his righteous Labours with Success.
The Pest of wicked Conversation flys;
Refuses with ungodly Men to sit;
Abhors the Guilt of irreligious Wit;
Nor shares the dark Cabals where Scoffers meet:
But meditates on God with pious Awe,
And studys, Night and Day, his sacred Law.
Still shall He thrive; still flourishing, and fair;
Like a tall Tree, that shoots its Boughs in Air
Fast by the running Stream, and ne'er deceives
Its Owner's Hopes; but spreads its verdant Leaves,
Deep fixes in the Mold it's piercing Root,
And in due Season bends with copious Fruit.
Whate'er He does still Providence shall bless,
And crown his righteous Labours with Success.
A diff'rent Fate shall restless Sinners find;
Dispers'd like Chaff, before the driving Wind.
And when at last stern Justice shall appear,
All trembling they shall stand, and pale with Fear;
Nor be admitted, black with Av'rice, Lust,
And Pride, to join th'Assembly of the Just:
Who now (for God their every Action knows)
Shall take their Seats, where endless Pleasure flows;
Triumphant mingle with th'Ethereal Quire,
And reign in Light, while Sinners howl in Fire.
Dispers'd like Chaff, before the driving Wind.
122
All trembling they shall stand, and pale with Fear;
Nor be admitted, black with Av'rice, Lust,
And Pride, to join th'Assembly of the Just:
Who now (for God their every Action knows)
Shall take their Seats, where endless Pleasure flows;
Triumphant mingle with th'Ethereal Quire,
And reign in Light, while Sinners howl in Fire.
123
PARAPHRASE Upon Psalm CIV.
Begin, my Lyre, the great Creator's Praise,
Who, crown'd with Glory and Immortal Rays,
Majestick shines; unutterably bright
With dazling Robes of uncreated Light:
Who Spacious Sheets of Ether spreads on high,
And, like a Curtain smooth'd, unfolds the Sky.
Vapours condens'd, and fleecy Mists, support
The ample Floor of his Aëreal Court:
Who, borne in Triumph o'er the Heav'nly Plains,
Rides on the Clouds, and holds a Storm in Reins;
Flies on the Pinions of the bounding Wind,
While Light'ning glares before, and Thunder roars behind.
That no incumbring Flesh may clog the Flight
Of his fleet Messengers, or quell their Might,
Them pure unbody'd Essences He frames
Swift of Dispatch, more active than the Flames.
Who, crown'd with Glory and Immortal Rays,
Majestick shines; unutterably bright
With dazling Robes of uncreated Light:
Who Spacious Sheets of Ether spreads on high,
And, like a Curtain smooth'd, unfolds the Sky.
Vapours condens'd, and fleecy Mists, support
The ample Floor of his Aëreal Court:
Who, borne in Triumph o'er the Heav'nly Plains,
Rides on the Clouds, and holds a Storm in Reins;
Flies on the Pinions of the bounding Wind,
While Light'ning glares before, and Thunder roars behind.
That no incumbring Flesh may clog the Flight
Of his fleet Messengers, or quell their Might,
Them pure unbody'd Essences He frames
Swift of Dispatch, more active than the Flames.
He fix'd the steady Basis of the Earth,
And with a fruitful Word gave Nature Birth.
Then circling Waters o'er the Globe he spred,
And the dull Mass with pregnant Moisture fed:
Above the Rocks th'aspiring Surges swell'd,
And Floods the tallest Mountain-Tops conceal'd.
But when th'Almighty's Voice rebuk'd the Tide,
And in loud Thunder bade the Waves subside;
The ebbing Deluge did its Troops recall,
Drew off its Forces, and disclos'd the Ball.
They at th'Eternal's Signal march'd away,
To fill th'unfathom'd Channel of the Sea;
Where roaring, they in endless Wars engage,
And beat those Shores that bound and check their Rage.
And with a fruitful Word gave Nature Birth.
124
And the dull Mass with pregnant Moisture fed:
Above the Rocks th'aspiring Surges swell'd,
And Floods the tallest Mountain-Tops conceal'd.
But when th'Almighty's Voice rebuk'd the Tide,
And in loud Thunder bade the Waves subside;
The ebbing Deluge did its Troops recall,
Drew off its Forces, and disclos'd the Ball.
They at th'Eternal's Signal march'd away,
To fill th'unfathom'd Channel of the Sea;
Where roaring, they in endless Wars engage,
And beat those Shores that bound and check their Rage.
Hence straggling Waters unperceiv'd get loose,
And genial Moisture thro' the Globe diffuse;
Purling thro' porous Earth, where Way there lyes,
They run, and on high Hills in Fountains rise:
Or bubbling out in Springs, they gently slide
Down by the craggy Mountain's sloping side,
And o'er the verdant Turf along the Valleys glide.
Till tir'd with various Errors, back they come
To their appointed universal Home;
Which God has destin'd for the Mustring-place
And gen'ral Rendezvous of all the watry Race.
And genial Moisture thro' the Globe diffuse;
Purling thro' porous Earth, where Way there lyes,
They run, and on high Hills in Fountains rise:
Or bubbling out in Springs, they gently slide
Down by the craggy Mountain's sloping side,
And o'er the verdant Turf along the Valleys glide.
Till tir'd with various Errors, back they come
To their appointed universal Home;
Which God has destin'd for the Mustring-place
And gen'ral Rendezvous of all the watry Race.
125
For tho' th'Almighty checks the Ocean's Pride,
And in due Limits bounds the raging Tide;
That it may ne'er again roll unconfin'd
O'er all the Universe, and drown Mankind;
Yet Nought restrains its happier Influence,
Nor stops those Blessings which its Streams dispense.
These, or in Rivers from, and to the Main,
Thro' Oozy Channels draw their winding Train;
Or branching into Brooks, and murm'ring Rills,
Creep thro' the Vales, and shine between the Hills.
Whither the Savage Beasts which roam abroad,
Owning no Master, and no fix'd Abode;
And Those which under galling Harness bow,
Inur'd to Pains, and patient of the Plough;
Repair, when scorch'd with Summer's scalding Beams,
To slake their Thirst, and drink the cooling Streams.
Near which the Poplar, and green Willows grow,
Adorn the Banks, and shade the Brooks below.
Perch'd on their Boughs, the Birds their Voices raise,
And in soft Musick sing their Maker's Praise.
And in due Limits bounds the raging Tide;
That it may ne'er again roll unconfin'd
O'er all the Universe, and drown Mankind;
Yet Nought restrains its happier Influence,
Nor stops those Blessings which its Streams dispense.
These, or in Rivers from, and to the Main,
Thro' Oozy Channels draw their winding Train;
Or branching into Brooks, and murm'ring Rills,
Creep thro' the Vales, and shine between the Hills.
Whither the Savage Beasts which roam abroad,
Owning no Master, and no fix'd Abode;
And Those which under galling Harness bow,
Inur'd to Pains, and patient of the Plough;
Repair, when scorch'd with Summer's scalding Beams,
To slake their Thirst, and drink the cooling Streams.
Near which the Poplar, and green Willows grow,
Adorn the Banks, and shade the Brooks below.
Perch'd on their Boughs, the Birds their Voices raise,
And in soft Musick sing their Maker's Praise.
Who from his airy Chambers Rain distills
And with new Verdure cloaths th'unsightly Hills;
The thirsty Glebe, refresh'd with soft'ning Drops,
Rewards the painful Hind with plenteous Crops.
The teeming Earth luxuriant Herbage breeds,
And Flocks and Herds with grassy Fodder feeds.
At his Command, the Spring, for Human Use,
The Birth of Herbs and healing Plants renews.
Then rip'ning Fruits and waving Ears of Corn,
In Summer's Heat the fertile Fields adorn.
Succeeding Autumn from the clustring Vine
Gives sprightly Juice, and glads the World with Wine:
Which with its joyous Gust and Flavour chears
The drooping Spirit, and dispels its Cares.
Then the fat Olive, in a diff'rent Soil,
Yields the Year's Product, and resigns its Oil;
Which adds a Lustre, and a smoother Grace,
To wrinkled Skin, and sleeks the shining Face.
And with new Verdure cloaths th'unsightly Hills;
The thirsty Glebe, refresh'd with soft'ning Drops,
Rewards the painful Hind with plenteous Crops.
126
And Flocks and Herds with grassy Fodder feeds.
At his Command, the Spring, for Human Use,
The Birth of Herbs and healing Plants renews.
Then rip'ning Fruits and waving Ears of Corn,
In Summer's Heat the fertile Fields adorn.
Succeeding Autumn from the clustring Vine
Gives sprightly Juice, and glads the World with Wine:
Which with its joyous Gust and Flavour chears
The drooping Spirit, and dispels its Cares.
Then the fat Olive, in a diff'rent Soil,
Yields the Year's Product, and resigns its Oil;
Which adds a Lustre, and a smoother Grace,
To wrinkled Skin, and sleeks the shining Face.
With circulating Sap the Trees are fed;
Refresh'd with which, the Cedar rears its Head,
And lofty Firs their thriving Branches spread:
Which, moisten'd with invigorating Juice,
A fragrant Scent thro' Lebanon diffuse.
These to the Birds convenient Mansions yield,
Which in th'intangling Boughs their Eyries build.
The stately Stork here plants her Nest on high,
Disdains this lower Air, and seeks the Sky.
The shaggy Goats a hilly Refuge love,
Clamber the Cliffs, and o'er bleak Mountains rove.
O'er stony Rocks the sportive Conies play,
And on the ragged Flints their tender Offspring lay.
Refresh'd with which, the Cedar rears its Head,
And lofty Firs their thriving Branches spread:
Which, moisten'd with invigorating Juice,
A fragrant Scent thro' Lebanon diffuse.
These to the Birds convenient Mansions yield,
Which in th'intangling Boughs their Eyries build.
The stately Stork here plants her Nest on high,
Disdains this lower Air, and seeks the Sky.
127
Clamber the Cliffs, and o'er bleak Mountains rove.
O'er stony Rocks the sportive Conies play,
And on the ragged Flints their tender Offspring lay.
Appointed by his Providential Care,
The changing Moon divides the circling Year;
Distinguishes the Seasons, rules the Night,
And fills her dusky Orb with borrow'd Light.
The Sun with Glory, fearless of Decay,
Rolls regular, and gives alternate Day.
By turns, He, entring, gilds the rosy East;
By turns, with setting Rays, he paints the West:
Then gloomy Night involves the Hemisphere,
And spreads dark Horrors o'er the dewy Air.
Then the wild Tenants of the desart Woods
Begin to move, and quit their warm Abodes:
For Prey the yawning Bears forsake their Holds,
And prouling Wolves explore th'unguarded Folds.
With raging Hunger pinch'd, the Lions roar,
Expand their Jaws, and range the Forest o'er:
Dreadfully suppliant, for their Meat they pray
To Heav'n, and savage Adoration pay.
But soon as Streaks of Light the East adorn,
And flying Mists confess the dawning Morn;
Back to their Dens the rav'nous Hunters speed
With their raw Booty, and at Leisure feed.
But when the Lion to his Rest repairs,
Laborious Mortals wake, and rise from Theirs;
To Care and Bus'ness they themselves address,
Begin with Morning, and with Ev'ning cease.
The changing Moon divides the circling Year;
Distinguishes the Seasons, rules the Night,
And fills her dusky Orb with borrow'd Light.
The Sun with Glory, fearless of Decay,
Rolls regular, and gives alternate Day.
By turns, He, entring, gilds the rosy East;
By turns, with setting Rays, he paints the West:
Then gloomy Night involves the Hemisphere,
And spreads dark Horrors o'er the dewy Air.
Then the wild Tenants of the desart Woods
Begin to move, and quit their warm Abodes:
For Prey the yawning Bears forsake their Holds,
And prouling Wolves explore th'unguarded Folds.
With raging Hunger pinch'd, the Lions roar,
Expand their Jaws, and range the Forest o'er:
Dreadfully suppliant, for their Meat they pray
To Heav'n, and savage Adoration pay.
But soon as Streaks of Light the East adorn,
And flying Mists confess the dawning Morn;
128
With their raw Booty, and at Leisure feed.
But when the Lion to his Rest repairs,
Laborious Mortals wake, and rise from Theirs;
To Care and Bus'ness they themselves address,
Begin with Morning, and with Ev'ning cease.
How various, Lord, are all thy Works, which raise
Our Admiration, and transcend our Praise!
Wisely the World's great Fabrick was design'd,
And boundless Wisdom ev'ry Atom join'd.
With thy rich Bounty fill'd the Earth appears,
Which Food, and Physick, on its Surface bears;
And in its Bowels hides a wealthier Store;
Bright Veins of Gold, and Silver's glitt'ring Ore.
Our Admiration, and transcend our Praise!
Wisely the World's great Fabrick was design'd,
And boundless Wisdom ev'ry Atom join'd.
With thy rich Bounty fill'd the Earth appears,
Which Food, and Physick, on its Surface bears;
And in its Bowels hides a wealthier Store;
Bright Veins of Gold, and Silver's glitt'ring Ore.
Profuse of Blessings, with a lavish Hand,
Thou pour'st thy Gifts on Sea, as well as Land.
The vast unmeasur'd Kingdoms of the Main,
Copious Materials for thy Praise contain.
There scaly Monsters of enormous Size
Flounce in the Waves, and dash with Foam the Skies.
While Shoals innumerable, and the Fry
Of smaller Fish, glide unregarded by.
Others, in jointed shelly Armour, creep
Upon the Rocks, or seek the slimy Deep.
Here big with War, or Traffick, Vessels ride,
Driv'n by the Winds, and bound along the Tide.
There huge Leviathan, of cumb'rous Form,
Embroils the Sea in Sport, and breathes a Storm:
He sucks the briny Ocean at his Gills,
And his vast Maw with finny Nations fills;
Then laves the Clouds with salt, ascending Rain,
And with his spouting Trunk refunds the Main.
Thou pour'st thy Gifts on Sea, as well as Land.
The vast unmeasur'd Kingdoms of the Main,
Copious Materials for thy Praise contain.
There scaly Monsters of enormous Size
Flounce in the Waves, and dash with Foam the Skies.
While Shoals innumerable, and the Fry
Of smaller Fish, glide unregarded by.
Others, in jointed shelly Armour, creep
Upon the Rocks, or seek the slimy Deep.
129
Driv'n by the Winds, and bound along the Tide.
There huge Leviathan, of cumb'rous Form,
Embroils the Sea in Sport, and breathes a Storm:
He sucks the briny Ocean at his Gills,
And his vast Maw with finny Nations fills;
Then laves the Clouds with salt, ascending Rain,
And with his spouting Trunk refunds the Main.
These all dependent on his Bounty live,
And from his Providence their Meat receive.
His open'd Hand profusely scatters Food,
Which pleas'd they gather, and are fill'd with Good.
But when his Hand is shut, the Creatures mourn,
'Till his withdrawn Beneficence return.
When his Command puts out their Vital Flame,
They moulder to the Dust, from whence they came;
Then to repair the Loss sustain'd by Death,
He gives new Life, with his inspiring Breath,
To Forms, which from the vast Material Mass
Are still wrought off, and so renews the Race.
Thus a successive Offspring He supplies,
And th'undecaying Species never dies.
And from his Providence their Meat receive.
His open'd Hand profusely scatters Food,
Which pleas'd they gather, and are fill'd with Good.
But when his Hand is shut, the Creatures mourn,
'Till his withdrawn Beneficence return.
When his Command puts out their Vital Flame,
They moulder to the Dust, from whence they came;
Then to repair the Loss sustain'd by Death,
He gives new Life, with his inspiring Breath,
To Forms, which from the vast Material Mass
Are still wrought off, and so renews the Race.
Thus a successive Offspring He supplies,
And th'undecaying Species never dies.
No Bounds th'Eternal's Glory can restrain,
Nor Time's Dimensions terminate his Reign.
From his bright Regions of celestial Day,
He with Complacence shall his Works survey.
At his Reproof convulsive Nature shakes,
And shudd'ring Earth from its Foundation quakes:
His awful Touch the quiv'ring Mountains rends,
And curling Smoak in spiry Clouds ascends.
Nor Time's Dimensions terminate his Reign.
130
He with Complacence shall his Works survey.
At his Reproof convulsive Nature shakes,
And shudd'ring Earth from its Foundation quakes:
His awful Touch the quiv'ring Mountains rends,
And curling Smoak in spiry Clouds ascends.
For me, while unextinguish'd Life maintains
Heat in my Blood, and Pulses in my Veins,
His wond'rous Works shall animate my Song,
Exalt my Thoughts, and dwell upon my Tongue.
While on Rebellious Foes his Vengeance hurl'd
Confounds their Pride, and sweeps them from the World;
His Glory shall my ravish'd Soul inspire,
And to the gay Creation tune my Lyre:
That imitates, in various-sounding Lays,
Th'Harmonious Discord which it strives to praise.
Heat in my Blood, and Pulses in my Veins,
His wond'rous Works shall animate my Song,
Exalt my Thoughts, and dwell upon my Tongue.
While on Rebellious Foes his Vengeance hurl'd
Confounds their Pride, and sweeps them from the World;
His Glory shall my ravish'd Soul inspire,
And to the gay Creation tune my Lyre:
That imitates, in various-sounding Lays,
Th'Harmonious Discord which it strives to praise.
131
PARAPHRASE Upon Psalm CXXXVII.
Upon the Banks which fam'd Euphrates laves
Pensive we sate, and swell'd with Tears the Waves;
When the Remembrance of our native Seat,
And Sion's lov'd Idea did create
Fresh Melancholy, and improv'd our Fate.
On the green Branches of the Trees which stood,
Rang'd on the Margin of the rolling Flood;
To whist'ling Winds our tuneless Harps we hung;
Our Souls were Discord, and our Lyres unstrung:
Then with keen Scoffs th'insulting Victors cry'd,
“Why is your Jewish Musick lay'd aside?
“Come sing some Hebrew Song, and let us hear
“How Sion's Harmony will please the Ear.
How shall we sing, at your absurd Command,
Jehovah's Song in this unhallow'd Land?
Our Notes shall ne'er in unbless'd Vales rebound,
Nor barb'rous Air prophane the sacred Sound.
Jerusalem, thou Solace of our Woe,
If I thy dear Remembrance e'er foregoe;
If thou e'er cease to be my darling Theme,
My Thought when waking, and in Sleep my Dream;
Then may my skilful Hand forget the Lyre,
Forget to tune the Strings, and strike the sounding Wire.
May e'vn my Tongue, when I this Subject leave,
Struck Speechless to my clammy Palate cleave:
By plaintive Songs no more afford Relief,
But lose the wretched Privilege of Grief.
Remember, Lord, how Edom's hostile Race
Urg'd on the Foes our Glory to deface:
How in Jerusalem's last Day they cry'd,
Raze her Foundations, crush her tow'ring Pride;
Lay wast her Buildings with devouring Fires,
And level with the Ground her glit'ring Spires.
And Thou who hast our shining Pomp consum'd,
Curs'd Babylon, to sure Destruction doom'd;
Blest shall He be, who all the Woes We mourn
Shall on Thy own devoted Head return:
Blest shall He be that splits thy Children's Bones,
And strikes their sprawling Limbs against the Stones;
Who all thy Streets with Slaughter covers o'er,
And daubs the rugged Flints with clotted Brains and Gore.
Pensive we sate, and swell'd with Tears the Waves;
When the Remembrance of our native Seat,
And Sion's lov'd Idea did create
Fresh Melancholy, and improv'd our Fate.
On the green Branches of the Trees which stood,
Rang'd on the Margin of the rolling Flood;
To whist'ling Winds our tuneless Harps we hung;
Our Souls were Discord, and our Lyres unstrung:
Then with keen Scoffs th'insulting Victors cry'd,
“Why is your Jewish Musick lay'd aside?
“Come sing some Hebrew Song, and let us hear
“How Sion's Harmony will please the Ear.
How shall we sing, at your absurd Command,
Jehovah's Song in this unhallow'd Land?
Our Notes shall ne'er in unbless'd Vales rebound,
Nor barb'rous Air prophane the sacred Sound.
Jerusalem, thou Solace of our Woe,
If I thy dear Remembrance e'er foregoe;
132
My Thought when waking, and in Sleep my Dream;
Then may my skilful Hand forget the Lyre,
Forget to tune the Strings, and strike the sounding Wire.
May e'vn my Tongue, when I this Subject leave,
Struck Speechless to my clammy Palate cleave:
By plaintive Songs no more afford Relief,
But lose the wretched Privilege of Grief.
Remember, Lord, how Edom's hostile Race
Urg'd on the Foes our Glory to deface:
How in Jerusalem's last Day they cry'd,
Raze her Foundations, crush her tow'ring Pride;
Lay wast her Buildings with devouring Fires,
And level with the Ground her glit'ring Spires.
And Thou who hast our shining Pomp consum'd,
Curs'd Babylon, to sure Destruction doom'd;
Blest shall He be, who all the Woes We mourn
Shall on Thy own devoted Head return:
Blest shall He be that splits thy Children's Bones,
And strikes their sprawling Limbs against the Stones;
Who all thy Streets with Slaughter covers o'er,
And daubs the rugged Flints with clotted Brains and Gore.
FINIS.
| Thoughts Upon The Four Last Things | |