We fink by no Judicial Stroke of Heaven,
But Nature's Course; as fure as Plumbets fall.
Since GOD, or Man, muft alter, ere they meet,
(For Light and Darkness blend not in one Sphere)
'Tis manifeft, LORENZO! we must change.
If, then, that Double Death fhould prove thy Lot,
Blame not the Bowels of the DEITY;
Man fhall be bleft, as far as Man permits.
Not Man alone, all Rationals, Heav'n arms
With an Illuftrious, but Tremendous, Power
To counter-act Its own moft gracious Ends;
And this, of ftrict Neceffity, not Choice;
That Pow'r deny'd, Men, Angels, were no more,
But paffive Engines, void of Praise, or Blame.
A Nature Rational implies the Power
Of being bleft, or wretched, as we please ;
Elfe idle Reason would have nought to do;
And he that would be barr'd Capacity
Of Pain, courts Incapacity of Blifs.
Heav'n wills our Happiness, allows our Doom;
Invites us ardently, but not compels ;
Heav'n but perfuades, almighty Man decrees;
Man is the Maker of Immortal Fates.
Man falls by Man, if finally He falls;
And fall He muft, who learns from Death alone,
The dreadful Secret,-That he lives for Ever.
Why This to thee? Thee yet, perhaps, in Doubt
Of Second Life? But wherefore doubtful still ?
Eternal Life is Nature's ardent Wish;
What ardently we wish, we foon believe :
Thy tardy Faith declares that Wish destroy'd :
What has destroy'd it ?—Shall I tell thee, What?
When fear'd the Future, 'tis no longer wifht;
And, when Unwifht, we frive to Disbelieve.
"Thus Infidelity our Guilt betrays."
Nor that the fole Detection! Blush, LORENZO!
Blush for Hypocrify, if not for Guilt.
The Future fear'd? An Infidel, and fear!
Fear what? a Dream? a Fable?-How thy Dread,
Unwilling Evidence, and therefore Strong,
Affords my Cause an undefign'd Support!
How Disbelief affirms, what It denies !
"It, unawares, afferts Immortal Life."-
Surprifing! Infidelity turns out
A Creed, and a Confeffion of our Sins:
Apoftates, thus, are Orthodox Divines.
LORENZO! with LORENZO clash no more;
Nor longer a Transparent Vizor wear.
Think'ft Thou, RELIGION only has her Mask?
Our Infidels are Satan's Hypocrites,
Pretend the Worft, and, at the Bottom, fail.
When vifited by Thought (Thought will intrude),
Like Him they ferve, They tremble, and believe.
Is there Hypocrify fo foul as This?
So fatal to the Welfare of the World?
What Deteftation, what Contempt, their Due?
And, if unpaid, be thank'd for their Escape
That Chriftian Candor they ftrive hard to fcorn.
If not for that Afylum, they might find
A Hell on Earth; nor 'scape a worse Below.
With Infolence, and Impotence of Thought,
Inftead of racking Fancy, to refute,
Reform thy Manners, and the Truth enjoy.
But fhall I dare confefs the dire Result ?
Can thy proud Reafon brook fo black a Brand?
From purer Manners, to fublimer Faith,
Is Nature's unavoidable Ascent;
An honeft Deift, where the Gospel shines,
Matur'd to nobler, in the Chriftian ends.
When that bleft Change arrives, e'en caft afide
This Song fuperfluous; Life immortal strikes
Conviction, in a Flood of Light Divine.
A Chriftian dwells, like + URIEL, in the Sun;
Meridian Evidence puts Doubt to Flight;
And ardent Hope anticipates the Skies.
Of that bright Sun, LORENZO! fcale the Sphere;
'Tis eafy; It invites thee; It defcends
From Heav'n to wooe, and waft thee whence It came :
Read and revere the Sacred Page; a Page
Where triumphs Immortality; a Page
Which not the whole Creation could produce;
Which not the Conflagration fhall destroy;
In Nature's Ruins not one Letter loft:
'Tis printed in the Mind of Gods for ever.
In proud Disdain of what e'en Gods adore,
Doft fmile?-Poor Wretch! thy Guardian Angel weeps.
Angels, and Men, affent to what I fing;
Wits fmile, and thank me for my Midnight Dream.
How vicious Hearts fume Phrenfy to the Brain?
Parts push us on to Pride, and Pride to Shame;
Pert Infidelity is Wit's Cockade,
grace the brazen Brow that braves the Skies, By Lofs of Being, dreadfully fecure.
LORENZO! if thy Doctrine wins the Day,
And drives my Dreams, defeated, from the Field;
If This is All, if Earth a final Scene,
Take heed; ftand faft; be fure to be à Knave ;
A Knave in Grain! ne'er deviate to the Right :
Shouldft Thou be Good-How infinite thy Lofs!
Guilt only makes Annihilation Gain.
Bleft Scheme! which Life deprives of Comfort, Death
Of Hope; and which VICE only recommends.
If fo; where, Infidels! your Bait thrown out
To catch weak Converts? Where your lofty Boast
Of Zeal for Virtue, and of Love to Man?
ANNIHILATION! I confefs, in Thefe.
What can Reclaim you? Dare I hope profound
Philofophers the Converts of a Song?
Yet know, ItsTitle flatters you, not me;
Yours be the Praise to make my Title good;
Mine, to Bless Heav'n, and triumph in your Praife.
But fince fo Peftilential your Disease,
Though fov'reign is the Med'cine I prescribe,
As yet, I'll neither Triumph, nor Despair:
But hope, ere-long my Midnight Dream will wake
Your Hearts, and teach your Wisdom-to be wife :
For why fhould Souls Immortal, made for Blifs,
E'er with (and wish in vain !) that Souls could die?
What ne'er can die, Oh! grant to live; and crown
The Wish, and Aim, and Labour of the Skies;
Increase, and enter on the Joys of Heaven:
Thus fhall my Title pass a facred Seal,
Receive an Imprimatur from Above,
While Angels shout-An Infidel Reclaim'd!
To clofe, LORENZO! Spite of all my Pains,
Still feems it ftrange, that Thou shouldft live for ever?
Is it lefs ftrange, that Thou fhouldft live at all?
This is a Miracle; and That no more.
Who gave Beginning, can exclude an End.
Deny Thou art: Then, doubt if Thou shalt be.
A Miracle with Miracles inclos'd,
Is Man And ftarts his Faith at what is Strange?
What less than Wonders, from the Wonderful;
What less than Miracles, from God, can flow?
Admit a GO Dthat Mystery Supreme!
That Cause uncaus'd! All other Wonders cease;
Nothing is Marvellous for Him to do:
Deny Him-all is Mystery befides;
Millions of Myfteries! Each Darker far,
Than That thy Wifdom would, unwifely, fhun.
If weak thy Faith, why chufe the Harder Side?
We nothing know, but what is Marvellous ;
Yet what is Marvellous, we can't believe.
So Weak our Reafon, and fo Great our God,
What most surprifes in the Sacred Page,
Or full as Strange, or Stranger, must be True.
Faith is not Reafon's Labour, but Repose.
To Faith, and Virtue, why fo backward Man?
From Hence :-The Prefent ftrongly ftrikes us All;
The Future, faintly: Can we, then, be Men?
If Men, LORENZO! the Reverse is Right.
Reafon is Man's Peculiar; Sense, the Brute's.
The Prefent is the Scanty Realm of Sense;
The Future, Reafon's Empire unconfin'd;
On That expending all her Godlike Power,
She Plans, Provides, Expatiates, Triumphs, there;
There, builds her Bleffings; There, expects her Praife;
And nothing afks of Fortune, or of Men.
And what is Reason? Be fhe, thus, defin'd;
Reafon is Uprright Stature in the Soul.
Oh! be a Man ;-and ftrive to be a God.
"For what? (Thou fayft): To damp the Joys of
No; to give Heart and Subftance to thy Joys.
That Tyrant, Hope; mark, how the domineers ;
She bids us quit Realities, for Dreams;
Safety, and Peace, for Hazard, and Alarm;
That Tyrant o'er the Tyrants of the Soul,
She bids Ambition quit its taken Prize,
Spurn the luxuriant Branch on which It fits,
Tho' bearing Crowns, to fpring at diftant Game;
And plunge in Toils, and Dangers-for Repofe.
If Hope precarious, and of Things, when gain'd,
Of Little Moment, and as Little Stay,
Can fweeten Toils and Dangers into Joys;
What then, That Hope, which nothing can defeat,
Our Leave unafk'd? Rich Hope of boundless Bliss !
Blifs, paft Man's Pow'r to paint it; Time's, to close !
This Hope is Earth's most estimable Prize :
This is Man's Portion, while no more than Man:
Hope, of all Paffions, most befriends us Here;
Paffions of Prouder Name befriend us lefs.
Joy has her Tears and Transport has her Death;
Hope, like a Cordial, innocent, tho' ftrong,
Man's Heart, at once, infpirits, and ferenes;
Nor makes him pay his Wisdom for his Joys;
Tis All, our prefent State can safely bear,
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