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 fight.
If, fick of folly, I relent; he writes

My name in heav'n, with that inverted spear

(A fpear deep-dipt in blood!) which pierc'd his fide, And open'd there a font for all mankind,

Who ftrive, who combat crimes, to drink, and live : This, only this, fubdues the fear of death.

And what is this?-Survey the wond'rous cure:
And at each step, let higher wonder rife!
"Pardon for infinite offence! and pardon
"Thro' means that speak its value infinite!
"A pardon bought with blood! with blood divine!
"With blood divine of Him, I made my foe!
"Perfifted to provoke! tho' woo'd, and aw'd,
"Bleft, and chaftis'd, a flagrant rebel ftill!
"A rebel, 'midft the thunders of his throne!
"Nor I alone! a rebel univerfe!

"My fpecies up in arms! not one exempt!
"Yet for the fouleft of the foul, he dies,
"Most joy'd, for the redeem'd from deepest guilt!
"As if our race were held of highest rank ;
"And Godhead dearer, as more kind to man!"
Bound, ev'ry heart! and, evry bofom, burn!
O what a fcale of miracles is here!

Its lowest round, high planted on the skies;
Its tow'ring fummit loft beyond the thought
Of man or angel! Oh that I could climb

The

;

The wonderful afcent, with equal praife!
Profe! flow for ever, (if aftonishment
Will give thee leave) my praise! for ever flow
Praife ardent, cordial, conftant, to high heav'n.
More fragrant, than Arabia facrific'd,
And all her spicy mountains in a flame.

So dear, fo due to heav'n, fhall praise defcend,
With her foft plume (from plaufive angels wing
First pluck'd by man) to tickle mortal ears,
Thus diving in the pockets of the great?
Is praise the perquifite of ev'ry paw,

Tho' black as hell, that grapples well for gold?
Oh love of gold! thou meaneft of amours!
Shall praise her odours wafte on VIRTUE's dead,
Embalm the bafe, perfume the ftench of guilt,
Earn dirty bread by washing Ethiops fair,
Removing filth, or finking it from fight,
A scavenger in scenes, where vacant posts,
Like gibbets yet untenanted, expect

Their future ornaments? From courts and thrones,
Return, apoftate praife! thou vagabond!

Thou prostitute! to thy first love return,
Thy first, thy greatest, once unrival'd theme.
There flow redundant; like Meander flow,

Back to thy fountain; to that Parent Pow's,
Who gives the tongue to found, the thought to foar,
The foul to be. Men homage pay to men,
Thoughtless beneath whofe dreadful eye they bow
In mutual awe profound, of clay to clay,
Of guilt to guilt; and turn their backs on thee,

Great Sire! whom thrones celeftial ceaseless fing;
To proftrate angels, an amazing scene!

O the prefumption of man's awe for man!

Man's Author! End! Reftorer! Law! and Judge!
Thine, all; day thine, and thine this gloom of night,
With all her wealth, with all her radiant worlds:
What, night eternal, but a frown from thee?
What, heav'n's meridian glory, but thy fmile?
And shall not praise be thine, not human praife?
While heav'n's high hoft on hallelujahs live?

O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe
My foul in praise to Him, who gave my foul,
And all her infinite of profpect fair,

Cut thro' the shades of hell, great Love! by thee,

Oh most Adorable! moft Unador'd!

Where shall that praise begin which ne'er fhould end?

Where'er I turn, what claim on all applaufe!

How is night's fable mantle labour'd o’er,

How richly wrought with attributes divine!

What wisdom fhines! what love! This midnight pomp,
This gorgeous arch, with golden worlds inlay'd!
Built with divine ambition! nought to thee;
For others this profufion: Thou, apart,
Above! beyond! Oh tell me, mighty Mind!
Where art thou? Shall I dive into the deep?
Call to the fun, or ask the roaring winds,
For their Creator? Shall I queftion loud
The thunder, if in that th'Almighty dwells?
Or holds HE furious forms in ftreighten'd reins,
And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car?

What

What mean these questions ?-Trembling I retra&t; My proftrate foul adores the prefent God:

Praise I a diftant deity? He tunes

My voice (if tun'd); the nerve, that writes, fuftains:
Wrap'd in his being, I refound his praife:

But tho' paft all diffus'd, without a shore,
His effence; local is his throne (as meet),
To gather the difperft (as ftandards call
The lifted from afar): to fix a point,
A central point, collective of his fons,
Since finite ev'ry nature but his own.

The nameless He, whofe nod is nature's birth;
And nature's fhield, the fhadow of his hand;
Her diffolution, his fufpended fmile!
The great First-Laft! pavilion'd high he fits
In darkness from exceffive fplendor born,
By gods unfeen, unless thro' luftre loft.
His glory, to created glory, bright,

As that to central horrors; he looks down
On all that foars; and fpans immensity.

Tho' night unnumber'd worlds unfolds to view,
Boundless creation! what art thou? A beam,
A mere effluvium of his majesty :

And fhall an atom of this atom-world

Mutter in duft and fin, the theme of heav'n?
Down to the centre fhould I fend my thought
Thro' beds of glitt'ring ore, and glowing gems,
Their beggar'd blaze wants luftre for my lay;
Goes out in darknefs: if, on tow'ring wing,
I fend it thro' the boundlefs vault of ftars!

The ftars, tho' rich, what drofs their go'd to thee,
Great! good! wife! wonderful! eternal King!
If to thole confcious fiars thy throne around,
Praise ever pouring, and imbibing bliss;

And ask their ftrain; they want it, more they want,
Poor their abundance, humble their fublime,
Languid their energy, their ardor cold,
Irdebted fill, their higheft rapture burns;

Short of its mark, defective, tho' divine.

Still more-This theme is man', and man's alone; Their vaft appointments reach it not: They fee On earth a bounty not indulg'd on high; And downward look for heav'n's fuperior praife! First born of Ether! high in fields of light! View man, to fee the glory of your God!Could angels envy, they had envy'd here ; And fome did envy; and the reft, tho' gods, Yet ftill gods unredeem'd (there triumphs man, Tempted to weigh the duft against the skies) They lefs would feel, tho' more adorn, my theme. They fung Creation (for in that they fhard); How rofe in melody, that child of love! Creation's great fuperior, man! is thine; Thine is redemption; they just gave the key: 'Tis thine to raife, and eternize, the fong; Tho' human, yet divine; for fhould not this Raife man o'er man, and kindle feraphs here? Redemption! 'twas creation more fublime; Redemption! 'twas the labour of the fkies; Par more than labour-It was death in heav'n.

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