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