Who scarce can think it poffible, I live?
Alive by Miracle! or, what is next,
Alive by MEAD! If I am still alive,
Who long have bury'd what gives Life to live,
Firmness of Nerve, and Energy of Thought.
Life's Lee is not more shallow, than impure,
And vapid; Sense and Reason fhew the Door,
Call for my Bier, and point me to the Duft.
O thou great Arbiter of Life and Death!
Nature's immortal, immaterial Sun !
Whofe all-prolific Beam late call'd me forth
From Darkness, teeming Darkness, where I lay
The Worm's Inferior, and, in Rank, beneath
The Duft I tread on, high to bear my Brow,
To drink the Spirit of the golden Day,
And triumph in Existence; and could't know
No Motive, but my Blifs; and haft ordain'd
A Rife in Bleffing! with the Patriarch's Joy,
Thy Call I follow to the Land unknown;
I trust in Thee, and know in whom I truft;
Or Life, or Death, is equal; neither weighs :
All Weight in this-O let me live to Thee!
Tho' Nature's Terrors, thus, may be repreft; Still frowns grim Death; Guilt points the Tyrant's Spear And whence all human Guilt? from Death forgot. Ah me! too long I fet at nought the Swarm Of friendly Warnings, which around me flew And fmil'd, unfmitten: Small my Cause to fmile! Death's Admonitions, like Shafts upwards fhot, More dreadful by Delay, the longer ere
They ftrike our Hearts, the deeper is their Wound.
O think how deep, LORENZO! here it ftings:
Who can appease its Anguifh? How it burns!
What Hand the barb'd, invenom'd, Thought can draw!
What healing Hand can pour the Balm of Peace?
And turn my Sight undaunted on the Tomb?
With Joy, with Grief, that healing Hand I fee;
Ah! too confpicuous! It is fix'd on high.
On high!-What means my Phrenfy? I blafpheme;
Alas! how low! how far beneath the Skies?
The Skies it form'd; and now it bleeds for me-
But bleeds the Balm I want-yet still it bleeds ;
Draw the dire Steel-Ah no!-the dreadful Bleffing
What Heart or can fuftain, or dares forego?
There hangs all human Hope: That Nail supports
Our falling Univerfe: That gone, we drop;
Horror receives us, and the dismal Wish
Creation had been fmother'd in her Birth-
Darkness His Curtain, and His Bed the Duft;
When Stars and Sun are Duft beneath his Throne!
In Heav'n itself can fuch Indulgence dwell?
O what a Groan was there? A Groan not His.
He feiz'd our dreadful Right; the Load fuftain'd;
And heav'd the Mountain from a guilty World.
A thoufand Worlds, fo bought, were bought too dear.
Senfations new in Angels Bofoms rise;
Sufpend their Song; and make a Pause in Blifs.
O for their Song to reach my lofty Theme!
Infpire me, Night! with all thy tuneful Spheres inspire ;
Whilst I with Seraphs fhare feraphic Themes,
And fhew to Men the Dignity of Man;
Left I blafpheme my Subject with my Song.
Shall Pagan Pages glow celeftial Flame,
And Chriftian languifh? On our Hearts, not Heads,
Falls the foul Infamy: My Heart! awake.
What can awake thee, unawak'd by this,
Expended Deity on human Weal?”
Feel the great Truths, which burft the tenfold Night
Of Heathen Error, with a golden Flood
Of endless Day: To feel, is to be fir'd;
And to believe, LORENZO! is to feel.
Thou most indulgent, moft tremendous Power! Still more tremendous, for thy wond'rous Love!
That arms, with Awe more awful, thy Commands ;
And foul Tranfgreffion dips in fevenfold Night;
How our Hearts tremble at thy Love immenfe !
In Love immense, inviolably Juft!
Thou, rather than thy Justice fhould be ftain'd,
Didit ftain the Crofs; and, Work of Wonders, far
The greateft, that thy Deareft far might bleed.
Bold Thought! Shall I dare speak it? or repress?
Should Man more execrate, or boast, the Guilt
Which rous'd fuch Vengeance? which fuch Love inflam'd?
O'er Guilt (how mountainous !) with outftretcht Arms,
Stern Justice, and foft-fmiling Love, embrace,
Supporting, in full Majefty, thy Throne,
When feem'd its Majefty to need Support,
Or That, or Man, inevitably loft.
What, but the Fathomlefs of Thought divine,
Could labour fuch Expedient from Despair,
And rescue both? Both refcue! Both exalt !
O how are both exalted by the Deed!
The wond'rous Deed! or fhall I call it more?
A Wonder in Omnipotence itself!
A Mystery, no lefs to Gods than Men!
Not, thus, our Infidels th'Eternal draw,
A God all o'er, confummate, abfolute,
Full-orb'd, in his whole Round of Rays complete :
They fet at odds Heav'n's jarring Attributes;
And, with one Excellence, another wound;
Maim Heav n's Perfection, break its equal Beams,
Bid Mercy triumph over-God himself,
Undeify'd by their opprobrious Praise :
A God All Mercy, is a God unjust.
Ye brainless Wits! ye baptiz'd Infidels !
Ye worfe for mending! wash'd to fouler Stains!
The Ranfom was paid down; the Fund of Heaven,
Heav'n's inexhauftible, exhaufted Fund,
Amazing, and amaz'd, pour'd forth the Price,
All Price beyond: Tho' curious to compute,
Archangels fail'd to caft the mighty Sum:
Its Value vaft ungrafpt by Minds Create,
For ever hides, and glows in, the Supreme.
And was the Ranfom paid? It was: And paid
(What can exalt the Bounty more?) for You.
The Sun beheld it-No, the fhocking Scene
Drove back his Chariot: Midnight veil'd his Face;
Not fuch as This; not fuch as Nature makes ;
A Midnight, Nature fhudder'd to behold;
A Midnight new! a dread Eclipfe (without
Oppofing Spheres) from her Creator's Frown!
Sun! didft thou fly thy Maker's Pain? or start
At that enormous Load of human Guilt,
Which bow'd his bleffed Head; o'erwhelm'd his Crofs;
Made groan the Centre; burft Earth's marble Womb,
With Pangs, ftrange Pangs! deliver'd of her Dead?
Hell howl'd; and Heav'n that Hour let fall à Tear;
Heav'n wept, that Men might fmile! Heav'n bled, that
Might never die !-
And is Devotion Virtue? 'Tis compell'd:
What Heart of Stone, but glows at Thoughts like These?
Such Contemplations mount us; and should mount
The Mind fill higher; nor ever glance on Man,
Unraptur'd, uninflam'd.-Where roll my Thoughts
To reft from Wonders? Other Wonders rife ;
And strike where-e'er they roll: My Soul is caught:
Heav'n's fov'reign Bleffings, cluft'ring from the Cross,
Rush on her, in a Throng, and close her round,
The Pris'ner of Amaze!-In His bleft Life,
I fee the Path, and in His Death, the Price,
And in His great Afcent, the Proof Supreme
Of Immortality. And did He rife?
Hear, O ye Nations! hear it, O ye Dead!
He rofe! He rofe! He burst the Bars of Death.
Lift up your Heads, ye everlafting Gates!
And give the King of Glory to come in:
Who is the King of Glory? He who left
His Throne of Glory, for the Pang of Death :
Lift up your Heads, ye everlasting Gates!
And give the King of Glory to come in.
Who is the King of Glory? He who flew
The rav'nous Foe, that gorg'd all human Race!
The King of Glory, He, whofe Glory fill'd
Heav'n with Amazement at his Love to Man;
And with Divine Complacency beheld
Pow'rs moft illumin'd, wilder'd in the Theme.
The Theme, the Joy, how then shall Man fuftain ? Oh the burft Gates! crufh'd Sting! demolish'd Throne! Laft Gafp! of vanquish'd Death. Shout Earth and Heaven! This Sum of Good, to Man: Whofe Nature, then, Took Wing, and mounted with Him from the Tomb! Then, then, I rofe; then first Humanity Triumphant paft the Crystal Ports of Light, (Stupendous Gueft!) and feiz'd eternal Youth, Seiz'd in our Name. E'er fince, 'tis blafphemous To call Man mortal. Man's Mortality
Was, then, transferr'd to Death; and Heav'n's Duration
Unalienably feal'd to this frail Frame,
This Child of Duft.-Man, all-immortal! Hail;
Hail, Heav'n! all-lavish of ftrange Gifts to Man!
Thine all the Glory; Man's the boundless Bliss.
Where am I rapt by this triumphant Theme,
On Chriftian Joy's exulting Wing, above
Th' Aonian Mount?-Alas, fmall Cause for Joy!
What if to Pain, immortal? If Extent
Of Being, to preclude a Clofe of Woe?
Where, then, my Boaft of Immortality?
I boaft it ftill, tho' cover'd o'er with Guilt:
For Guilt, not Innocence, His Life He pour'd;
'Tis Guilt alone can juftify His Death;
Nor that, unless His Death can justify
Relenting Guilt in Heav'n's indulgent Sight.
If, fick of Folly, I relent; He writes
My Name in Heav'n, with that inverted Spear
(A Spear deep-dipt in Blood!) which pierc'd his Side, And open'd there a Font for all Mankind
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