Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thro' jaundic'd eyes Enthusiasts see
The image of the Deity;
A Portrait false, held up to view
By a designing impious crew:
But no Tartuffe or strolling widgeon
Shall be my cat'rer in Religion;
By Reason's chart for Truth I'll steer,
Nor Gorgons or Chimæras fear.

In spight of Whitfield and of Rome,
I'll laugh at Superstition's gloom;
For modes of Faith will ne'er dispute,
Nor damn a Man for his surtout;
Deist or Atheist let 'em call me,
And with Cathedral pellets mawl me,
Threaten with brimstone, fire, and hell,
My cry is—Vive la Bagatelle.

Our heav'nly Father never fram'd
Children elected to be damn'd;
Wou'd earthly Parent thus decree?
Can God?—the thought were Blasphemy;
But knaves and fools paint the Almighty
A Mumbo Jumbo, to affright ye.

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When nerves relax'd are weather-shaken,
Spleen for Religion's oft mistaken;
Then comes Despair with Stygian frown,
Impelling fools to hang or drown:
But true Religion soothes the breast,
And makes her willing vot'ries blest;
Conducts them with a chearful air,
And banishes the fiend Despair.

Happy the Man, whose feeling Breast
Hails soft Benevolence a Guest!—
Grant, Heaven, I never may forget
From Man to Man that social debt,
And not to one poor spot confine
Good-will, which like the Sun should shine
On all;—nor hurl Heaven's Bolts below,
But leave to Heav'n the Heart to know;
For this I hold Religion's Test,
“Who most resembles God, worships God best.”

Oh, Charity, thou Heav'n-born maid,
In garb of purest white array'd,
Within whose eyes, suffus'd with tears,
Pity, in smiles adorn'd, appears;
Who as thou deal'st thy balmy store,
Thy wish to bless increases more;
Thy feeling beams into my heart,
With all thy heav'nly influence dart;
For what were life by thee unblest?
A gloomy Twilight at the best.

132

Nor should Benevolence alone,
A debt from Man to Man be shown,
The tenants of the field and air,
Birds, beasts, and insects claim a share;
To them, as brethren of the dust,
Man shou'd be merciful and just,
Nor e'er destroy but where he must;
Not, tyrant-like, destruction deal,
But still remember All can feel;
Some pity, ev'n in death shou'd show,
And lightning-like direct the blow:—
What Spleen must in that bosom reign,
That can delight in giving pain!—

Self-evident Two Axioms—clear
As the Sun's blaze at noon appear;—
That there's a God all good, all wise,
Who frailty views with Mercy's eyes,
Author of Life, our Parent, Friend,
Without Beginning, Time, or End,
All Nature speaks:—In this mankind
(And but in this)—are of one mind:
From hence a second Axiom springs,
Which Hope presents on angel-wings,
If God there is, as God must be,
It speaks Man's Immortality;
For cou'd the Author of our state
A Thinking Essence e'er create,
Into Existence but to peep,
Then—sink into eternal sleep?

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The thought were impious and profane,
'Twere Heav'n's High Wisdom to arraign;
'Twere Vice triumphant to enthrone,
Whilst Virtue at her feet lies prone.

Full well has Wisdom's Bard exprest,
“Man never is, but to be blest;”
For God wou'd never Hope emplant,
And not Hope's Fruit Enjoyment grant.

Infants when born; what are we more
Than Children when we Death explore?
The longest Lives but flit away
Papilios of an April day,
Whose motley Minutes, changeful, show
Joy's Sunshine, and the Rain of Woe;
Like Meteors into Life we start,
“As shadows come, and straight depart;—
Ere we acquire the art to live,
Our farewel summons we receive,
And a like helpless infant race,
For a few days supplies our place;
Blest proof!—Great moral certainty
Of a more ripe futurity!
Where Manhood's bloom we shall attain;—
Wisdom can ne'er create in vain.

But while we sport on this side Styx,
Children should ne'er play naughty tricks,
Or fitting 'tis correction due
For disobedience should ensue;—

134

Such as a Parent would confer,
But not an Executioner.

From Earth escap'd, whether again
We shall resurge in forms of Men,
With Organs which we then might spare,
Or flutter, Sylphid-like, in air;
Or whether to some Star assign'd
With senses diff'ring from mankind;
Or whether Immaterials—free
To range Creation's boundary
We shall exist, little avails,
Justice Supreme the rest conceals;
That we shall Be's a truth confest,
To Pow'r Almighty leave the rest.

Where Myst'ry shows his juggling Face,
Banish'd Religion flies the place;
And Miracles are Slight of Hand,
Which Fools admire, not understand.

All Zealots diff'ring tho' in name,
Are but in fact the very same;
Like trav'lers, who at setting out
Take back to back a diff'rent rout,
Yet in a circle wand'ring—soon
Meet face to face in unison;
In one point thus they all agree,
To damn each other heartily.

Enthusiasts a Postulatum
Loudly demand, on which si datum,

135

A Superstructure they upraise,
More puzzling than Dedalian Maze;
Shou'd you their Postulate disown,
Their Pandemonium tumbles down.

Tho' charitable, kind, sincere,
Tho' moist your eye with Pity's tear,
Tho' social Virtue shines confest,
And warms the mansion of your breast,
Should you some Tenet disbelieve
Which honest Reason can't conceive,
That saving Nostrum shou'd you lack,
To flames eternal you must pack:—
This Creed by zealot knaves is fram'd;
Who doubts—undoubtedly is damn'd.—

Whether with Bible or with Beads,
Or Orthodox denouncing Creeds
Enthusiasm wings—the fiend
Bloodshed and Murder still attend;
'Tis he who in th'Assassin's hand,
Fixes the dagger and the brand;
Whose fav'rite doctrine is—Compel;
Who aims at Heav'n by serving Hell:—
Happy the Realm where Civil Law
The bloody Monster keeps in awe,
In social bonds makes Man unite,
Nor suffers fools to scrat and bite.

Implicit Faith can ne'er be given
As a Command from Parent Heaven,

136

The same dull argument may do,
For Pagan, Christian, Turk, or Jew;
It proves—no matter how absurd—
The Alcoran God's Holy Word,
The Pope infallible,—nay more
Proves him an Antiquated Whore:
Implicit Faith! 'Tis Falshoood's Fence
'Gainst the attacks of Common Sense;
The trite stale trick of coz'ning Knaves,
To make their cred'lous Followers Slaves;
To make Fools fancy they believe,
And their own Consciences deceive:
Reason discarded, straight the soul,
All darklin, grovels like a mole;—
(Thus snuffling Jack, with custard fed,
'Gainst post and pillar run his head,
Abusing Heav'n with impious lies,
Because the blockhead shut his eyes:)—
Endarken'd thus, no wonder we
For Faith shou'd hail Credulity.

Our earliest Faith we shou'd, if wise,
Most critically analyse;
For with our Mother's Milk too oft
We take in Error's pois'nous Draught;
And Habit, partial, warps the Mind,
And makes to Truth and Reason blind.

That fear which God commands Man know,
From Gratitude's fair Spring must flow,
Lest by our actions we offend
Our God, Preserver, Father, Friend,

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And not that servile fear which frights,
With brimstone, flames, and horned sprites,
Or such as in the culprit cart,
The wretch feels-rankling at his heart.

The Heav'ns above, the Earth below
One great benign Creator show;
Blest Revelation! unconfin'd,
And legible to all Mankind;
Not given to a petted Few,
But shed on All, like Heav'n's rich Dew:—
Who partial paint the Pow'r supreme,
Our Universal Sire blaspheme.

To sublunary Kings abodes,
How many hundred diff'rent roads!
And shall We (partial) judge, but One
Must Worlds conduct to Heaven's high throne?

With sweet Benevolence our guide,
On future bliss we may confide;
May, unabsolv'd, attend our fate,
And Death's grand summons smiling wait;
On Heav'n's just mercy fix reliance,
And set Old Nick at bold defiance.

See Swift's Tale of the Tub.