 | An Epistle to a Lady |  |
AN Epistle to a LADY,
Concerning some important and necessary TRUTHS IN RELIGION.
Talk they of Morals? Oh thou bleeding Love,
Thou maker of new morals to mankind,
The grand morality is love of thee! [OMITTED]
A God all-mercy is a God unjust.
See Young's Night-Thoughts, Nig. 4th, 114. 8th Edit.
Thou maker of new morals to mankind,
The grand morality is love of thee! [OMITTED]
A God all-mercy is a God unjust.
See Young's Night-Thoughts, Nig. 4th, 114. 8th Edit.
1
You say, that spite of all your zeal and art,
You find no ent'rance to his languid heart:
So founded on opinion's rock he stands,
So fenc'd with mighty reasoning's hundred hands:
And made by blest Morality so sure,
He deems it needless quite to be more pure;
Nor thinks a Saviour's blood a gift so great,
Since Heaven is purchas'd at an easy rate:
And that good, honest, upright Man's demand,
Who breaks no laws, and gives no vice his hand.
What shall I do—or how this Reasoner quell,
Tell me you cry—my kind instructor, tell?
You find no ent'rance to his languid heart:
So founded on opinion's rock he stands,
So fenc'd with mighty reasoning's hundred hands:
And made by blest Morality so sure,
He deems it needless quite to be more pure;
Nor thinks a Saviour's blood a gift so great,
Since Heaven is purchas'd at an easy rate:
And that good, honest, upright Man's demand,
Who breaks no laws, and gives no vice his hand.
What shall I do—or how this Reasoner quell,
Tell me you cry—my kind instructor, tell?
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My kind Instructor—Let me glory there,
And own my transport in a name so dear:
That appellation makes me truly blest,
And pours full comfort thro' my languid breast:
A breast too cold, too faint, for love divine,
And all unworthy, Saviour, to be thine:
Yet for her sake confessing that from me
She gain'd the knowledge of thy truth and thee:
Oh sure the instrument thou'lt not destroy,
But save from wrath and welcome into joy!
And own my transport in a name so dear:
That appellation makes me truly blest,
And pours full comfort thro' my languid breast:
A breast too cold, too faint, for love divine,
And all unworthy, Saviour, to be thine:
Yet for her sake confessing that from me
She gain'd the knowledge of thy truth and thee:
Oh sure the instrument thou'lt not destroy,
But save from wrath and welcome into joy!
'Tis sure, from mortals no relief can rise
To men thus righteous, thus self-will'd and wise:
'Tis vain, each gospel-med'cine to apply:
All Grace they scorn, or view with jaundic'd eye:
To poison turn submission of the will,
Swell with false glory, and are reasoners still!
With subtle logic fill the arguing head,
While the soul faints, and while the heart is dead!
For no Religion can avail mankind,
How nice soe'er distinguish'd or defin'd:
No modes of things, no metaphysic art,
None but the pure devotion of the heart:
There God must reign, our whole intentions fill,
Our Love his Service, and our Rule his Will.
To men thus righteous, thus self-will'd and wise:
'Tis vain, each gospel-med'cine to apply:
All Grace they scorn, or view with jaundic'd eye:
To poison turn submission of the will,
Swell with false glory, and are reasoners still!
With subtle logic fill the arguing head,
While the soul faints, and while the heart is dead!
For no Religion can avail mankind,
How nice soe'er distinguish'd or defin'd:
No modes of things, no metaphysic art,
None but the pure devotion of the heart:
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Our Love his Service, and our Rule his Will.
But whence such fervency of soul can rise,
Puzzles indeed the learned and the wise,
Tho' Babes in Christ , and infants yet in grace,
With mighty ease the mystery can trace;
Telling aloud that Christ alone can give
Life to the dead, and sinners pow'r to live;
That Christ alone can purge the human heart,
And the pure flame of love divine impart!
Puzzles indeed the learned and the wise,
Tho' Babes in Christ , and infants yet in grace,
With mighty ease the mystery can trace;
Telling aloud that Christ alone can give
Life to the dead, and sinners pow'r to live;
That Christ alone can purge the human heart,
And the pure flame of love divine impart!
Paint to your moralist this suffering God,
Beneath the crown of thorns and scourging rod;
Paint him extended on the fatal tree,—
And tell him, “Sinner, this was borne for thee.”
Then to himself his sinful self display,
His life imperfect in each work and way,
His sins demanding ransom to be paid,
And Justice hovering o'er his guilty head;
Tell him that blood, blood only can atone,—
And make him fear and tremble for his own.
Beneath the crown of thorns and scourging rod;
Paint him extended on the fatal tree,—
And tell him, “Sinner, this was borne for thee.”
Then to himself his sinful self display,
His life imperfect in each work and way,
His sins demanding ransom to be paid,
And Justice hovering o'er his guilty head;
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And make him fear and tremble for his own.
Oh can you raise him to so blest a fear,
The work is finish'd and salvation near;—
Then to the Cross direct his longing view;
Peace will return, and comfort will ensue;
His dread of Sin will soon be done away,
His fear of death will instantly decay;
And his heart burning with true love divine,
How will he pant, Redeemer, to be thine!
Faith then and Hope will all his soul employ,
And Jesus reign his everlasting Joy!
The work is finish'd and salvation near;—
Then to the Cross direct his longing view;
Peace will return, and comfort will ensue;
His dread of Sin will soon be done away,
His fear of death will instantly decay;
And his heart burning with true love divine,
How will he pant, Redeemer, to be thine!
Faith then and Hope will all his soul employ,
And Jesus reign his everlasting Joy!
But where, alas, too rapid am I borne?
'Tis not so speedy Prodigals return;
Want must pinch home, and dearth indeed surround,
Before their sad necessities are found;
Before themselves they see, themselves they know,
And to their Father in contrition go;
In deep humility their sins declare,
And find—Oh Mercy! full Forgiveness near!
My son, my son, the gladden'd father cries,
And to the lov'd returning sinner flies!
'Tis not so speedy Prodigals return;
Want must pinch home, and dearth indeed surround,
Before their sad necessities are found;
Before themselves they see, themselves they know,
And to their Father in contrition go;
In deep humility their sins declare,
And find—Oh Mercy! full Forgiveness near!
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And to the lov'd returning sinner flies!
Oh, if thy heart, not frozen into stone,
Hath ought, my Brother, of affection known,
Such wond'rous Grace, such mighty Love survey,
And in return thy heart's oblation pay;
So kind a Father, and a God so kind,
Claim the warm tribute of the warmest mind;
Oh seize his Grace, and to his Mercy fly,
And angels harps shall tell it thro' the sky;
For joys thro' those celestial regions sound,
When one returning Prodigal is found:
Joy reigns amidst the blest!—and ah below,
Wou'd God—was found such love and gladness too!
But we, to earthly wisdom only wise,
The love of souls, or know not, or despise:
With one consent, the mad Enthusiasts blame,
And mock the pious with opprobrious shame,
Who burn with earnest zeal and warm desire
To snatch from death, and rescue from the fire!
Hath ought, my Brother, of affection known,
Such wond'rous Grace, such mighty Love survey,
And in return thy heart's oblation pay;
So kind a Father, and a God so kind,
Claim the warm tribute of the warmest mind;
Oh seize his Grace, and to his Mercy fly,
And angels harps shall tell it thro' the sky;
For joys thro' those celestial regions sound,
When one returning Prodigal is found:
Joy reigns amidst the blest!—and ah below,
Wou'd God—was found such love and gladness too!
But we, to earthly wisdom only wise,
The love of souls, or know not, or despise:
With one consent, the mad Enthusiasts blame,
And mock the pious with opprobrious shame,
Who burn with earnest zeal and warm desire
To snatch from death, and rescue from the fire!
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“And are there such, thrice-blest Nicanor cries?
“Tis very strange, from whence their zeal should rise:
“Mad men no doubt, who, wand'ring from the way,
“Cry out Confusion, and lead all astray!
“With me these settled principles prevail,
“And the world's stubble—if such maxims fail!
“I do no Ill—I follow what seems right:
“Walk not by mystic rule, but certain sight:
“The social duties well discharge: And see
“No creature injur'd or aggriev'd by me.
“Of innocent enjoyments freely share;
“And every Morn and Eve repeat a Prayer.
“Thus doing who shall say, I'm not secure?
“Condemn ye proud ones, and convince ye pure.”
“Tis very strange, from whence their zeal should rise:
“Mad men no doubt, who, wand'ring from the way,
“Cry out Confusion, and lead all astray!
“With me these settled principles prevail,
“And the world's stubble—if such maxims fail!
“I do no Ill—I follow what seems right:
“Walk not by mystic rule, but certain sight:
“The social duties well discharge: And see
“No creature injur'd or aggriev'd by me.
“Of innocent enjoyments freely share;
“And every Morn and Eve repeat a Prayer.
“Thus doing who shall say, I'm not secure?
“Condemn ye proud ones, and convince ye pure.”
And wou'd Nicanor then his servants praise,
Bless with rewards, and high in honours raise,
Because his Goods they never had purloin'd,
But done the very duties he enjoin'd?
(This old example chance his taste may hit,
'Tis Classic and Nicanor loves a wit—)
And Horace tells us, such a servant gains,
Not to be hang'd or beaten for his pains:
So who the paths of duty have pursued,
Can certain merit no reward from God!
Bless with rewards, and high in honours raise,
Because his Goods they never had purloin'd,
But done the very duties he enjoin'd?
7
'Tis Classic and Nicanor loves a wit—)
And Horace tells us, such a servant gains,
Not to be hang'd or beaten for his pains:
So who the paths of duty have pursued,
Can certain merit no reward from God!
See, scorner, then thy expectation here,
Grant thy pretended honesty sincere:
Grant thy morality its utmost due,
Here, here, alas thy whole dependance view!
But come, be open, and declare thy soul,
Own Pharisaic pride pollutes the whole:
Own, spite of all this fairly-acted part,
Deceit and sin possess thy poison'd heart:
For know—whate'er to morals you pretend;
Who scorns a Saviour, can't be Virtue's friend!
Or if sincere upon yourself you stand,
And think Heaven's joys your Merits just demand:
If of this Saviour you no need can find,
But deem him wholly useless to mankind:
Come then at once your firm assent declare,
And sign and seal your Abjuration here:
Set to your seal at once your Heart and Name,
And write, “All title I to Christ disclaim:
At once his whole Redemption I abjure,
Desire no service and expect no cure.”
Ah wherefore dost thou start—why thus grow pale?
—See thy hand trembles—and thy spirits fail:
Behold and wonder, proud of heart behold,
(Nor be it, scorners, 'midst your scornings told!)
Something behold, in this mock'd Saviour's Name,
To shock a moralist's whole haughty frame!
No more to outward honesty pretend,
Confess the truth and all disputing end,—
Own (for this shews it, as the day-light clear)
You hate not Christ,—but his religion fear:
Fond of those sins his precepts disapprove,
You mock these precepts, while the sins you love:
'Tis not the teacher, man, you set at nought,
But 'tis that conquest of yourself, he taught,
To Death-beds go:—See, upright sinner, there,
This frightful truth in all its guilt appear!
Grant thy pretended honesty sincere:
Grant thy morality its utmost due,
Here, here, alas thy whole dependance view!
But come, be open, and declare thy soul,
Own Pharisaic pride pollutes the whole:
Own, spite of all this fairly-acted part,
Deceit and sin possess thy poison'd heart:
For know—whate'er to morals you pretend;
Who scorns a Saviour, can't be Virtue's friend!
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And think Heaven's joys your Merits just demand:
If of this Saviour you no need can find,
But deem him wholly useless to mankind:
Come then at once your firm assent declare,
And sign and seal your Abjuration here:
Set to your seal at once your Heart and Name,
And write, “All title I to Christ disclaim:
At once his whole Redemption I abjure,
Desire no service and expect no cure.”
Ah wherefore dost thou start—why thus grow pale?
—See thy hand trembles—and thy spirits fail:
Behold and wonder, proud of heart behold,
(Nor be it, scorners, 'midst your scornings told!)
Something behold, in this mock'd Saviour's Name,
To shock a moralist's whole haughty frame!
No more to outward honesty pretend,
Confess the truth and all disputing end,—
Own (for this shews it, as the day-light clear)
You hate not Christ,—but his religion fear:
Fond of those sins his precepts disapprove,
You mock these precepts, while the sins you love:
9
But 'tis that conquest of yourself, he taught,
To Death-beds go:—See, upright sinner, there,
This frightful truth in all its guilt appear!
View your lov'd Clodio, late in reason strong,
Clodio the gay, the witty, wise, and young:
Proud of each blessing every power can give,
Of every good that makes it joy to live;—
Behold him struggling with despair and death,
And venting curses with his gasping breath:
Hear him, O hear him,—wishing to expire
In Hell's dark horrors and eternal fire:
“Consume my soul, to ashes, ashes turn,
“Burn me avenging God, to nothing burn:
“No Mercy do I hope, or can request,
“I feel, I feel, all Hell within my breast:
“And yet—Heaven's tyrant—cou'd I yet be free—
“Were there another,—but to fly from thee!
“Oh impotence of thought—then hither dart
“Thy hottest bolt, consume this raging heart:
“To nothing grind this frame with bitterest pain,
“And torture from existence every grain!
Clodio the gay, the witty, wise, and young:
Proud of each blessing every power can give,
Of every good that makes it joy to live;—
Behold him struggling with despair and death,
And venting curses with his gasping breath:
Hear him, O hear him,—wishing to expire
In Hell's dark horrors and eternal fire:
“Consume my soul, to ashes, ashes turn,
“Burn me avenging God, to nothing burn:
“No Mercy do I hope, or can request,
“I feel, I feel, all Hell within my breast:
10
“Were there another,—but to fly from thee!
“Oh impotence of thought—then hither dart
“Thy hottest bolt, consume this raging heart:
“To nothing grind this frame with bitterest pain,
“And torture from existence every grain!
“Oh that I cou'd, I cou'd repent,—or see
“One ray of Hope, Redeemer, glance from thee:
“Redeemer—thought acurst! for what relief
“Can come from that which aggravates my grief?
“He once was mine—his power and comforts known,
“I knew him always, but I wou'd not own:
“Curs'd be the day—for ever curs'd the hour,
“I gave my soul to sin and reason's power:
“Curs'd be the day, ye sons of shame, I heard
“Your cold discussions and each arguing Word:
“Your nicer reasonings, metaphysics boast—
“Curs'd be the day, I listen'd and was lost!
“One ray of Hope, Redeemer, glance from thee:
“Redeemer—thought acurst! for what relief
“Can come from that which aggravates my grief?
“He once was mine—his power and comforts known,
“I knew him always, but I wou'd not own:
“Curs'd be the day—for ever curs'd the hour,
“I gave my soul to sin and reason's power:
“Curs'd be the day, ye sons of shame, I heard
“Your cold discussions and each arguing Word:
“Your nicer reasonings, metaphysics boast—
“Curs'd be the day, I listen'd and was lost!
“Oh shame to think, with what profound deceit,
“My head defin'd, my heart conceal'd the cheat:
“Oh vile opprobrious guilt, that while I view'd
“The price and blessings of a bleeding God:
“All this, led on by folly, sin, and shame,
“My soul cou'd forfeit, and my heart disclaim:
“And screen'd beneath dark Reason's banners fight;
“Contemn a Gospel, tho' convinc'd 'twas right;
“And vile Morality's poor garb pretend,
“Virtue's suppos'd, but Vice's real friend!
“My head defin'd, my heart conceal'd the cheat:
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“The price and blessings of a bleeding God:
“All this, led on by folly, sin, and shame,
“My soul cou'd forfeit, and my heart disclaim:
“And screen'd beneath dark Reason's banners fight;
“Contemn a Gospel, tho' convinc'd 'twas right;
“And vile Morality's poor garb pretend,
“Virtue's suppos'd, but Vice's real friend!
“Apostates come,—ye Infidels, draw nigh,
“Come learn from me, and see a Brother die!
“Ye who, Apostates, Grace receiv'd abuse,
“Ye, who Grace offer'd, Infidels, refuse!
“Come see your happy Brother yield his breath;
“And doubt no more of horrors after death:
“For hear and tremble—they precede our fate:
“Here, here, I feel all Hell's impending weight.
“Already 'midst devouring flames I dwell;
“Within, without—And is there then no Hell?
“Devils avaunt—nor whips nor flames provide;
“I scorn your tortures, and your fires deride:
“Worse, worse than all, are here! Oh Hell and Heav'n,
“That to my woes some respite might be given,
“Respite!—can mercy, agonizing thought—
“From an Almighty torturer be bought!
“From him who joys to hear a sufferer groan?
“No here I hurl defiance at his throne;—
“Curs'd be—” But stop, our souls nor let us wrong
With the unheard blasphemings of his tongue:
In vollies, hot, loud, dread, and horrid fir'd,
They thunder'd forth; and he amidst their flames expir'd.
“Come learn from me, and see a Brother die!
“Ye who, Apostates, Grace receiv'd abuse,
“Ye, who Grace offer'd, Infidels, refuse!
“Come see your happy Brother yield his breath;
“And doubt no more of horrors after death:
“For hear and tremble—they precede our fate:
“Here, here, I feel all Hell's impending weight.
“Already 'midst devouring flames I dwell;
“Within, without—And is there then no Hell?
“Devils avaunt—nor whips nor flames provide;
“I scorn your tortures, and your fires deride:
12
“That to my woes some respite might be given,
“Respite!—can mercy, agonizing thought—
“From an Almighty torturer be bought!
“From him who joys to hear a sufferer groan?
“No here I hurl defiance at his throne;—
“Curs'd be—” But stop, our souls nor let us wrong
With the unheard blasphemings of his tongue:
In vollies, hot, loud, dread, and horrid fir'd,
They thunder'd forth; and he amidst their flames expir'd.
So perish those, a Saviour who defy,
His gospel scorn, and all its power deny.
But some may urge,—not all do thus depart,
Hell's kingdom here thus flaming from the heart:
True—and as such, we judge th'examples giv'n
For our instruction from the king of Heav'n:
For us to learn, and fly th'impending load,
That threats the scorner of a Saviour's blood:
Some, robb'd of sense, delirious yield their breath;
Some sullen and impatient plunge to death;
Some fearful of the stroke, rely on art,
And, buoy'd with idle hopes of life, depart.
Others cut short do in a moment fall,
And instantaneous darkness covers all:
Some, wearied with corporeal tortures, find
No respite to relieve their wounded mind:
But none—alas—that heavenly peace attends,
Which Christ bequeath'd to all his dying friends:
Which every Christian on his death-bed proves,
Who firm believes, and still more firmly loves:
None with hopes strong assurance can resign,
But they, whose faith, Urania's strong like thine.
His gospel scorn, and all its power deny.
But some may urge,—not all do thus depart,
Hell's kingdom here thus flaming from the heart:
True—and as such, we judge th'examples giv'n
For our instruction from the king of Heav'n:
For us to learn, and fly th'impending load,
That threats the scorner of a Saviour's blood:
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Some sullen and impatient plunge to death;
Some fearful of the stroke, rely on art,
And, buoy'd with idle hopes of life, depart.
Others cut short do in a moment fall,
And instantaneous darkness covers all:
Some, wearied with corporeal tortures, find
No respite to relieve their wounded mind:
But none—alas—that heavenly peace attends,
Which Christ bequeath'd to all his dying friends:
Which every Christian on his death-bed proves,
Who firm believes, and still more firmly loves:
None with hopes strong assurance can resign,
But they, whose faith, Urania's strong like thine.
How great the joy to see her still maintain
Thro' a long interval of bitterest pain,
Calmness of mind, composure rarely shewn,
And patience, not dishonour'd with a groan!
“For can I groan, can I, my God, complain?
“Thine, thine indeed, was agonizing pain:
“And that, for me thy Mercy only bore!
“Oh then, kind Father, Oh correct me more;
“With resignation thy good-will I meet,
“Confess thy love, and own thy kindness great!”
Such were her words,—and tho' her ills encreas'd
She wou'd not vent a wish to be releas'd:
But all receiving with a thankful soul
To his good pleasure she resign'd the whole:
Convinc'd to him her profit best was known,
Her voice was always—“Lord thy Will be done!”
Thus long she languish'd: and around her bed
Peace constant dwelt, and hope her comforts shed:
Her growing weakness built her Faith more high;
On eagles wings that mounted to the sky!
Her fainting body made her soul more strong;
So that in torture songs of praise she sung:
And scorning misery, fill'd with love divine,
Her peace proclaiming, Saviour, own'd it thine!
“To him, to him, I heard her soul declare,
In Heaven be praise, be all the glory here:
He from this heart has every fear remov'd,
My faith confirm'd, accepted, and approv'd;
In certain Hope, from this poor world I fly,
In full assurance, Oh my friends I die!
Weep not for me,—in yon celestial plain
Grant, we may all, my God, together reign:
Oh grant us there to meet! and know, 'tis given,
Who follow Christ on Earth, foretaste of Heav'n.
Farewel, farewel,—before you I but go
A little space, and soon must all pursue:
Soon from this vale of death must all remove;
Oh think—be blest—and love your Saviour, love.”
Thus, as she spoke, she slept without a sigh,
And hovering angels bore her to the sky.
Thro' a long interval of bitterest pain,
Calmness of mind, composure rarely shewn,
And patience, not dishonour'd with a groan!
“For can I groan, can I, my God, complain?
“Thine, thine indeed, was agonizing pain:
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“Oh then, kind Father, Oh correct me more;
“With resignation thy good-will I meet,
“Confess thy love, and own thy kindness great!”
Such were her words,—and tho' her ills encreas'd
She wou'd not vent a wish to be releas'd:
But all receiving with a thankful soul
To his good pleasure she resign'd the whole:
Convinc'd to him her profit best was known,
Her voice was always—“Lord thy Will be done!”
Thus long she languish'd: and around her bed
Peace constant dwelt, and hope her comforts shed:
Her growing weakness built her Faith more high;
On eagles wings that mounted to the sky!
Her fainting body made her soul more strong;
So that in torture songs of praise she sung:
And scorning misery, fill'd with love divine,
Her peace proclaiming, Saviour, own'd it thine!
“To him, to him, I heard her soul declare,
In Heaven be praise, be all the glory here:
He from this heart has every fear remov'd,
My faith confirm'd, accepted, and approv'd;
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In full assurance, Oh my friends I die!
Weep not for me,—in yon celestial plain
Grant, we may all, my God, together reign:
Oh grant us there to meet! and know, 'tis given,
Who follow Christ on Earth, foretaste of Heav'n.
Farewel, farewel,—before you I but go
A little space, and soon must all pursue:
Soon from this vale of death must all remove;
Oh think—be blest—and love your Saviour, love.”
Thus, as she spoke, she slept without a sigh,
And hovering angels bore her to the sky.
Thrice happy change, what soul but longs to find
Such sweet, such blest serenity of mind?
Oh grant, Redeemer, in that gloomy hour
My soul may thus perceive thy healing power;
Thus feel the joys, thy blood procures for all;
Die in full hope, in firm assurance fall;
Meet death with peace disarm'd of every sting,
In love rejoice, and big with glory sing,
Anticipating Heaven!—And thus 'twill be
Saviour, with all, who trust alone in thee!
Such peace, such joy, each death-bed shall surround,
Where Christ is honour'd, and true Faith is found!
Such sweet, such blest serenity of mind?
Oh grant, Redeemer, in that gloomy hour
My soul may thus perceive thy healing power;
Thus feel the joys, thy blood procures for all;
Die in full hope, in firm assurance fall;
Meet death with peace disarm'd of every sting,
In love rejoice, and big with glory sing,
Anticipating Heaven!—And thus 'twill be
Saviour, with all, who trust alone in thee!
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Where Christ is honour'd, and true Faith is found!
I know thy heart; Oh speak, and be at rest,
Like her's, Nicanor, wou'd thy end be blest;
Like hers thy soul wou'd land on life's firm shore!
Oh then, like her, above vain morals soar!
To that grand moralist exulting fly,
Who died for thee and lives no more to die.
To him, whose sufferings for his saints prepar'd,
A crown of glory, and a sure reward.
Like her's, Nicanor, wou'd thy end be blest;
Like hers thy soul wou'd land on life's firm shore!
Oh then, like her, above vain morals soar!
To that grand moralist exulting fly,
Who died for thee and lives no more to die.
To him, whose sufferings for his saints prepar'd,
A crown of glory, and a sure reward.
“Mere methodistical delusion all!
Cleora cries, the votary of Vaux-Hall;
Who deep in pleasure, and quite mad in dress,
Hates all that tends to make her love them less:
Whose presence at the Play-house never fails,
And who can tell such sweet diverting tales
Of Garrick, Pritchard, Bellamy, and Clive,
As surely must amuse each soul alive?
Who knows each fashion and each taste to hit,
And who besides all this, is called a Wit.
“Mere madness, quoth the Lady, at such stuff,
No mortal surely e'er can laugh enough!
Last Sunday, by mere chance or fancy driven,
I went to Church—as meaning, Ma'am, for Heaven!
But there I heard a story so divine—
(Lord, I coud gladly criticise each line!)
Of Grace and goodness fitting us for God:
Making our hearts the Spirits pure abode:
Of driving out each wicked thought and vain,
And suffering nought but Holiness to reign:
And then—behold—our smooth-fac'd parson spoke,
As if forsooth all Pleasure were a joke!
All public places, dangerous base and wrong,
Dress very shocking both in old and young
(In old I'll grant—) and that we all, in fine,
Shou'd study, sirs, to be throughout divine:
That so the Saviour might possess the soul,
And pure religion, mortals, have you whole!
Now who from smiles, this hearing, could refrain?
For who a state like this can e'er attain?
Saints may be good, but sinners we shall be
In some low sort, till death shall set us free:
And then, no doubt, be borne to that abode
Where pleasures reign—for God's immensely good!”
Cleora cries, the votary of Vaux-Hall;
Who deep in pleasure, and quite mad in dress,
Hates all that tends to make her love them less:
Whose presence at the Play-house never fails,
And who can tell such sweet diverting tales
Of Garrick, Pritchard, Bellamy, and Clive,
As surely must amuse each soul alive?
Who knows each fashion and each taste to hit,
And who besides all this, is called a Wit.
17
No mortal surely e'er can laugh enough!
Last Sunday, by mere chance or fancy driven,
I went to Church—as meaning, Ma'am, for Heaven!
But there I heard a story so divine—
(Lord, I coud gladly criticise each line!)
Of Grace and goodness fitting us for God:
Making our hearts the Spirits pure abode:
Of driving out each wicked thought and vain,
And suffering nought but Holiness to reign:
And then—behold—our smooth-fac'd parson spoke,
As if forsooth all Pleasure were a joke!
All public places, dangerous base and wrong,
Dress very shocking both in old and young
(In old I'll grant—) and that we all, in fine,
Shou'd study, sirs, to be throughout divine:
That so the Saviour might possess the soul,
And pure religion, mortals, have you whole!
Now who from smiles, this hearing, could refrain?
For who a state like this can e'er attain?
Saints may be good, but sinners we shall be
In some low sort, till death shall set us free:
18
Where pleasures reign—for God's immensely good!”
But oh remember, undeserving dust
Poor Worm, remember, he's immensely just:
So strictly just, that for thy sinful sake
His son alone a ransom he wou'd take:
His only Son—his best-belov'd alone
For thee cou'd merit, or for thee atone!
Look up to him—Oh look and then conceive,
If thou can'st ask, or if he can forgive,
When all thy life and all thy deeds have shewn
Despight contemptuous to this suffering Son?
When far from labouring to purge thy soul,
Thy Will to rule, thy Passions to controul,
When far from struggling, sinner, to be freed,
From death, deserv'd, depending, and decreed:—
Not one, one thought to God thou e'er hast giv'n,
Nor look, fond longing, to thy native Heav'n!
But plung'd, but headlong plung'd thro' every scene
Where vice and folly hold their lawless reign:
And on the waves of death triumphant rode,
To Hell's dark empire—mad—from hope and God:
See—from beneath the gulf its flames display,
Stop,—think—; thy soul oh sinner bids thee stay!
Poor Worm, remember, he's immensely just:
So strictly just, that for thy sinful sake
His son alone a ransom he wou'd take:
His only Son—his best-belov'd alone
For thee cou'd merit, or for thee atone!
Look up to him—Oh look and then conceive,
If thou can'st ask, or if he can forgive,
When all thy life and all thy deeds have shewn
Despight contemptuous to this suffering Son?
When far from labouring to purge thy soul,
Thy Will to rule, thy Passions to controul,
When far from struggling, sinner, to be freed,
From death, deserv'd, depending, and decreed:—
Not one, one thought to God thou e'er hast giv'n,
Nor look, fond longing, to thy native Heav'n!
But plung'd, but headlong plung'd thro' every scene
Where vice and folly hold their lawless reign:
And on the waves of death triumphant rode,
19
See—from beneath the gulf its flames display,
Stop,—think—; thy soul oh sinner bids thee stay!
Who but must tremble at so dread a view,
Who but must ask, “What shall I, shall I do?
What shall I do, all-gracious Saviour tell,
Thy favour to regain and fly from Hell;
What shall I do—thou God of life, declare?
Oh spare me, spare me, mercy's sovereign spare.”
Who but must ask, “What shall I, shall I do?
What shall I do, all-gracious Saviour tell,
Thy favour to regain and fly from Hell;
What shall I do—thou God of life, declare?
Oh spare me, spare me, mercy's sovereign spare.”
Hail holy dread, hail agonizing fears,
Hail bitter sighs, and heart-affecting tears!
Soon, soon to other sounds your grief shall turn,
Soon, soon with other fears your heart shall burn:
Soon shall such sorrow, such delight attend,
As ne'er shall alter, and as ne'er shall end:
Soon shall such tears be wip'd from every eye,
That bright shall sparkle with immortal joy:
With holy hope, firm faith, and love divine,
And peace, that Peace, he call'd so justly Mine,
Who dying, left it Christian, to be thine!
Hail bitter sighs, and heart-affecting tears!
Soon, soon to other sounds your grief shall turn,
Soon, soon with other fears your heart shall burn:
Soon shall such sorrow, such delight attend,
As ne'er shall alter, and as ne'er shall end:
Soon shall such tears be wip'd from every eye,
That bright shall sparkle with immortal joy:
20
And peace, that Peace, he call'd so justly Mine,
Who dying, left it Christian, to be thine!
And great the force of virtue needs must prove
That all, who once have known her, ever love:
But vice disgusts her votaries, and they fly
Her nauseate pleasures and destructive joy:
Own in her cup, the bitter potion found,
And one continu'd sorrow in the round:
But tasting virtue and the peace she brings,
Scorn vice and folly and all meaner things:
And from her courts wou'd never never fly:
With her they wish to live, with her they wish to die!
That all, who once have known her, ever love:
But vice disgusts her votaries, and they fly
Her nauseate pleasures and destructive joy:
Own in her cup, the bitter potion found,
And one continu'd sorrow in the round:
But tasting virtue and the peace she brings,
Scorn vice and folly and all meaner things:
And from her courts wou'd never never fly:
With her they wish to live, with her they wish to die!
But still Cleora, serious grown and grave,
Prick'd to the heart, unable to conceive
A joy she never felt, she never knew,
Doubts of the fact, and questions, if't be true:
Fancy's this holy hope, this boasted peace,
“This sober certainty of waking bliss,”
A dream, a vapour, issuing from the brain,
Rare known in fact, and but in fancy seen:
And how the truth more strongly shall we shew?
How fuller prove it than, my friend, by you?
Than by referring to your works and ways,
The living teachers of the truths we praise?
Prick'd to the heart, unable to conceive
21
Doubts of the fact, and questions, if't be true:
Fancy's this holy hope, this boasted peace,
“This sober certainty of waking bliss,”
A dream, a vapour, issuing from the brain,
Rare known in fact, and but in fancy seen:
And how the truth more strongly shall we shew?
How fuller prove it than, my friend, by you?
Than by referring to your works and ways,
The living teachers of the truths we praise?
Come then, Cleora, satiate votary come,
From the vile riot of the rout and drum;
From plays, and balls, and noisy non-sense fly,
And turn to yonder scene your calmer eye!
View there in modest meekness, virtue drest:
View there religion in a female breast:
See piety without all shew sincere,
See holiness exact, but not austere!
See pure devotion in a flame ascend,
Zeal its support and knowledge still its friend:
From the cold worldlings base lukewarmness far,
As from the mad Enthusiasts frantic stare!
But view and wonder, to compleat the whole,
How love divine possesses all her soul;
Love founded only, whence it ne'er can fall
On thy first Love, Redeemer, for us all!
From the vile riot of the rout and drum;
From plays, and balls, and noisy non-sense fly,
And turn to yonder scene your calmer eye!
View there in modest meekness, virtue drest:
View there religion in a female breast:
See piety without all shew sincere,
See holiness exact, but not austere!
See pure devotion in a flame ascend,
Zeal its support and knowledge still its friend:
22
As from the mad Enthusiasts frantic stare!
But view and wonder, to compleat the whole,
How love divine possesses all her soul;
Love founded only, whence it ne'er can fall
On thy first Love, Redeemer, for us all!
Oh! how it chears my soul, such love to find,
A heart so nobly warm to all mankind,
Slave to no sect, and to no party tied,
By zeal mis-term'd, and mean unholy pride;
Nor damning all because they disagree,
In some punctilios, with my Faith and me,
But as considering, Christ for all has bled,
Esteeming all, as members of that head:
As hoping all may from his grace receive,
So praying all may on his name believe,
As nothing doubting in each sect to find,
Some firm in hope and of an upright mind,
So holding all in love and pure esteem,
What e'er their title, or whate'er their name!
A heart so nobly warm to all mankind,
Slave to no sect, and to no party tied,
By zeal mis-term'd, and mean unholy pride;
Nor damning all because they disagree,
In some punctilios, with my Faith and me,
But as considering, Christ for all has bled,
Esteeming all, as members of that head:
As hoping all may from his grace receive,
So praying all may on his name believe,
As nothing doubting in each sect to find,
Some firm in hope and of an upright mind,
23
What e'er their title, or whate'er their name!
And know, Cleora, that her heart and tongue
Disdain alike to do a neighbour wrong:
No peevish satire on her lips is found,
No envy blackens, and no censures wound:
Soft words of kindness issue when she speaks,
And love alone her silence sweetly breaks,
Swift to excuse and ready to commend,
Vice all her foe, and all beside her friend!
Disdain alike to do a neighbour wrong:
No peevish satire on her lips is found,
No envy blackens, and no censures wound:
Soft words of kindness issue when she speaks,
And love alone her silence sweetly breaks,
Swift to excuse and ready to commend,
Vice all her foe, and all beside her friend!
Nor ends her kindness and compassion here,
Her love's more active and her zeal sincere:
By real works her living faith she proves,
Nor says alone, but shews you that she loves.
No wretch un-aided from her sight departs,
No sufferer in her reach unpitied smarts!
Woe in each shape, has but itself to plead,
And wants no other title to her aid:
To God she gives, and with a single eye,
Sows rich in love, and rich shall reap in Joy.
Her love's more active and her zeal sincere:
By real works her living faith she proves,
Nor says alone, but shews you that she loves.
No wretch un-aided from her sight departs,
No sufferer in her reach unpitied smarts!
Woe in each shape, has but itself to plead,
And wants no other title to her aid:
24
Sows rich in love, and rich shall reap in Joy.
Here then, Cleora, here direct thy eyes,
Thy doubts here vanish, and thy wonder dies:
This living proof beyond all power perswades,
Condemns thy follies, and thy life upbraids:
Thy fears and scruples, must at once confound,
Prostrate thy Dagon, reason on the ground,
And prove at once, how far the heavenly wise,
Guided by grace, in excellence may rise:
How far from sin, their new-born sons are free;
And what believers in a Christ may be.
Thy doubts here vanish, and thy wonder dies:
This living proof beyond all power perswades,
Condemns thy follies, and thy life upbraids:
Thy fears and scruples, must at once confound,
Prostrate thy Dagon, reason on the ground,
And prove at once, how far the heavenly wise,
Guided by grace, in excellence may rise:
How far from sin, their new-born sons are free;
And what believers in a Christ may be.
Nor think that here alone the wonder ends
Numbers there are, I joy to call my friends:
Numbers there are in my small circuit known,
Like her in virtue and in goodness grown:
Whose names wou'd give a lustre to each line,
As on their faith, their bright examples shine.
Numbers there are, I joy to call my friends:
Numbers there are in my small circuit known,
Like her in virtue and in goodness grown:
Whose names wou'd give a lustre to each line,
As on their faith, their bright examples shine.
Oh! then their steps with eager zeal pursue,
Pant for their prize, and bid the world adieu:
Place Heaven's high bliss before thy ravish'd sight,
And for that crown with manly ardor fight;
Ride on, ride on, and Jesus by your side,
Still conquering and to conquer shalt thou ride
Ride on, ride on, and by a Saviour's blood
Sin shall be slain, and death shall be subdu'd.
Pant for their prize, and bid the world adieu:
25
And for that crown with manly ardor fight;
Ride on, ride on, and Jesus by your side,
Still conquering and to conquer shalt thou ride
Ride on, ride on, and by a Saviour's blood
Sin shall be slain, and death shall be subdu'd.
And thou, oh man, who big with fancied worth,
Dost not consider that thy name is earth;
Vain sinful dust by impotence and pride,
Still led astray, and wand'ring still aside:
Look to thy heart—search well—examine—try,
See there what guilt!—and wherefore wilt thou dye?
Wherefore alas, my brother wilt thou go,
From peace thus offer'd, to determin'd woe?
Wherefore from God, from heaven from glory run,
And take such mighty pains to be undone!
Oh think and tremble, tremble, and be wise,
Nor such long sufferance and such love despise;
Remember what thy saviour bore for thee
What fearful tortures on th'accursed tree,
Remember, sinner, this was all, to save
Thee from dominion of the death and grave:—
Then ask thy heart, if such, such love can find,
No feeling entrance to thy stony mind?
If with indifference, or with proud disdain;
Thou can'st behold his grief, or view his pain?
His pain for thee—oh horrid to relate;
And by despising make those pains more great?
Dost not consider that thy name is earth;
Vain sinful dust by impotence and pride,
Still led astray, and wand'ring still aside:
Look to thy heart—search well—examine—try,
See there what guilt!—and wherefore wilt thou dye?
Wherefore alas, my brother wilt thou go,
From peace thus offer'd, to determin'd woe?
Wherefore from God, from heaven from glory run,
And take such mighty pains to be undone!
Oh think and tremble, tremble, and be wise,
Nor such long sufferance and such love despise;
26
What fearful tortures on th'accursed tree,
Remember, sinner, this was all, to save
Thee from dominion of the death and grave:—
Then ask thy heart, if such, such love can find,
No feeling entrance to thy stony mind?
If with indifference, or with proud disdain;
Thou can'st behold his grief, or view his pain?
His pain for thee—oh horrid to relate;
And by despising make those pains more great?
Fain wou'd I rouse thy soul and bring the home;
—But whence that hope?—Oh Jesu, Jesu come!
(Thy power alone can work that work divine;
Man here is fruitless; all the glory's thine!)
Thro' every breast thy genial heat distil,
And grant each sinner every sin to feel:
Grant every prodigal his wants to know,
And pant beneath the burden of his woe!
Grant him a firm resolve and power to fly
Homeward to thee, and for thy Mercy cry
Oh grant him to confess, lament, bemoan—
And will not, Saviour—will not this atone?
Vain thought, thy goodness every hope precedes,
And ere the Son entreats, the Father bleeds,—
Bleeds and forgives—Oh mercy all divine—
Tell it, ye angels, “Man that mercy's thine.”
—But whence that hope?—Oh Jesu, Jesu come!
(Thy power alone can work that work divine;
Man here is fruitless; all the glory's thine!)
Thro' every breast thy genial heat distil,
And grant each sinner every sin to feel:
Grant every prodigal his wants to know,
And pant beneath the burden of his woe!
Grant him a firm resolve and power to fly
Homeward to thee, and for thy Mercy cry
27
And will not, Saviour—will not this atone?
Vain thought, thy goodness every hope precedes,
And ere the Son entreats, the Father bleeds,—
Bleeds and forgives—Oh mercy all divine—
Tell it, ye angels, “Man that mercy's thine.”
For us, my friend, may still our faith be found
Firm as the rock, whereon that faith we ground:
Oh may we still from Grace to grace go on,
For ever running till we cease to run,
Till death shall wrap these Limbs in useless shrouds,
And our souls meet our master in the clouds:
May all our prayers, and all our actions join,
May every labour every wish combine;
Ourselves reflected, every nearer friend
To God's sure grace in Jesus to commend:
To teach, direct, and point the happy road,
To never failing bliss and certain good:
That so united in yon starry sky,
Together we may join our songs of joy:
Our glory heighten'd there those friends to view,
Their's, that from us the happiness they drew!
Then all together in one song divine,
We'll own, Redeemer, that the work was thine!
Thy praise alone shall every power employ,
Thy Love alone shall swallow up in joy:
All peace, all glory, all delight shall reign,
No doubts shall terrify, no Ills shall pain:
No time shall end the triumph of our days,
No night shall silence our immortal Lays!
“Hosannah holy, holy, holy, three!”
Our hearts, and harps, and tongues one voice shall be;
Ten thousand thousands, and of thousands ten,
Shall join the choir, and heaven pronounce Amen.
Firm as the rock, whereon that faith we ground:
Oh may we still from Grace to grace go on,
For ever running till we cease to run,
Till death shall wrap these Limbs in useless shrouds,
And our souls meet our master in the clouds:
May all our prayers, and all our actions join,
May every labour every wish combine;
Ourselves reflected, every nearer friend
To God's sure grace in Jesus to commend:
To teach, direct, and point the happy road,
To never failing bliss and certain good:
That so united in yon starry sky,
Together we may join our songs of joy:
28
Their's, that from us the happiness they drew!
Then all together in one song divine,
We'll own, Redeemer, that the work was thine!
Thy praise alone shall every power employ,
Thy Love alone shall swallow up in joy:
All peace, all glory, all delight shall reign,
No doubts shall terrify, no Ills shall pain:
No time shall end the triumph of our days,
No night shall silence our immortal Lays!
“Hosannah holy, holy, holy, three!”
Our hearts, and harps, and tongues one voice shall be;
Ten thousand thousands, and of thousands ten,
Shall join the choir, and heaven pronounce Amen.
The END.
Our Saviour says, “I thank thee, O Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth, because thou hast hid these Things from the Wise and Prudent, and hast revealed them unto Babes.” Matt. xi. 25. St. Paul, “As unto Babes in Christ.” 1 Cor. iii. 1. St. Peter, “As new-born Babes desire the sincere Milk of the Word, &c.” 1 Pet. ii. 2.
Nec furtum feci, neque fugi, si mihi dicit
Servus, habes pretium; Loris non uteris, alo.
Non hominem occidi; Non pasces in cruce Corvos, &c.
Servus, habes pretium; Loris non uteris, alo.
Non hominem occidi; Non pasces in cruce Corvos, &c.
See Hor. Epist. 16. Lib. 1. Ver. 45.
Suppose a slave should say I never steal:
I never ran away; “nor do you feel
The flagrant Lash:” No human blood I shed,—
“Nor on the Cross, the rav'ning Crows have fed,”—&c.
I never ran away; “nor do you feel
The flagrant Lash:” No human blood I shed,—
“Nor on the Cross, the rav'ning Crows have fed,”—&c.
Francis.
The reader is desir'd particularly to observe and remember, that as this whole Poem is founded upon the exactest truth, so there is no part or character in it, which is not real: this of Clodio is strictly true, and therefore I hope it will make the greater impression on the considerate Reader: the following account of Urania is equally real; her death and long illness I was myself a witness of, and am bound to declare, that any description comes short of her heroic patience and meek resignation.
Peace I leave with you, said our Saviour, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. St. John xiv. 27.
This reflection was made long ago by Simplicius in his comment upon Epictetus. His words begin thus: Οτι ηδυτσρα δοχθι ν σωφροσυνη, &c. “That the ways of virtue are more pleasant to the good man, than the ways of sin and licentiousness are to an evil and vicious man (and therefore more amiable and better in themselves) appears, by this, that several men who have tasted the pleasures of sin forsake it, and come over to Virtue: but there is scarce an instance to be found of the man, that had well experienced the delights of Virtue, that ever cou'd be drawn off from it, or find in his heart to fall back to his former Courses.”
Herein is love: not that we loved God: but that He loved us: and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love one another. 1 St. John iv. 10. Here is the true foundation of all religious, moral, and social Duties. Let us not look for them any where else: but leave the moralists to their cold and vain morality!
| An Epistle to a Lady | |