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 appeafe 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 fight undaunted on the tomb ?

With joy, with grief, that healing hand I see;
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 fkies it form'd; and now it bleeds for me→→→
But bleeds the balm I want-yet fill 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 fupports
The 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 fun 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 thousand worlds, fo bought, were bought too dear;
Senfations new in angels bofoms rife ;

Sufpend their fong; and make a paufe in blifs.

O for their fong; to reach my lofty theme! Infpire me, Night! with all thy tuneful spheres ;

Whilft I with feraphs fhare feraphic themes,
And fhew to men the dignity of man;
Left I blafpheme my fubject with my fong.
Shall pagan pages glow celeftial flame,

And chriftian languish? On our hearts, not heads,
Falls the foul infamy: My heart! awake.

What can awake thee, unawak'd by this,

66

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 Pow'r!
Still more tremendous, for thy wond'rous love!
That arms, with awe more aweful, thy commands;
And foul tranfgreffion dips in fev'nfold night;
How our hearts tremble at thy love immenfe!
In love immenfe, inviolably juft!

Thou, rather than thy juftice should be ftain'd,
Didft ftain the Cross; and, work of wonders far
The greateft, that thy deareft far might bleed.

Bold thought! fhall I dare fpeak 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 out-stretcht arms,
Stern juflice, and foft-fmiling love, embrace,

Supporting, in full majefty, thy throne,
When feem'd its majefty to need fupport,
Or that, or man, inevitably lost :
What, but the fathomlefs of thought divine,

Could

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 himfelf,
Undeify'd by their opprobrious praise :
A God all mercy, is a God unjuft.

Ye brainless wits! ye baptiz'd infidels !

Ye worfe for mending! wash'd to fouler ftains!
The ranfom was paid down; the fund of heav'n,
Heav'n's inexhaustible, 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 fum:
Its value vaft ungrafpt by minds create,
For ever hides, and glows, in the Supreme.

And was the ransom paid? It was: And paid
(What can exalt the bounty more?) for you.
The fun beheld it-No, the fhocking fcene
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 fpheres) from her Creator's frown!
Sun! didst thou fly thy Maker's pain? Or ftart
At that enormous load of human guilt,

Which bow'd his bleffed head; o'erwhelm'd his cross;
Made groan the centre; burft earth's marble womb,
With pargs, ftrange pangs! deliver'd of her dead?
Hell howl'd; and heav'n that hour let fall a tear;
Heav'n wept, that men might fmile! Heav'n bled, that man
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 ftill higher; nor ever glance on man,
Unraptur'd, uninflam'd.-Where roll my thoughts
To rest from wonders? Other wonders rife;

And ftrike where-e'er they roll: my foul is caught:
Heav'n's fovereign bleffings, cluft'ring from the Cross,
Rufh 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 fupreme
Of immortality.-And did he rife?
Hear, O ye nations! hear it, O ye dead!
He rofe! He rofe! He burft 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 everlafting 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 fhall man fuftain ? Oh the burft gates! crush'd fting! demolish'd throne! Laft gafp! of vanquish'd death. Shout earth and heav'n! This fum of good to man. Whofe nature, then, Took wing, and mounted with him from the tomb? Then, then, I rofe; then firft humanity Triumphant paft the cryftal parts of light, (Stupendous gueft!) and feiz'd eternal youth, Seiz'd in our name. E'er fince, 'tis blafphemous Man's mortality

To call man mortal.

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 caufe for joy!
What if to pain immortal? If extent
Of being, to preclude a clofe of woe?
Where, then, my boast of immortality ?
I boaft it ftill, tho' cover'd o'er with guilt;