And Truths Divine converting Pain to Peace,
My Song the Midnight Raven has outwing'd,
And shot, ambitious of unbounded Scenes,
Beyond the flaming Limits of the World,

Her gloomy Flight. But what avails the Flight
Of Fancy, when our Hearts remain below?
Virtue abounds in Flatterers, and Foes;

"Tis Pride, to praife her; Penance, to perform.
To more than Words, to more than Worth of Tongue,
LORENZO! rife, at this aufpicious Hour:

An Hour, when Heaven's most intimate with Man;
When, like a falling Star, the Ray Divine
Glides fwift into the Bofom of the Just;
And Juft are All, determin'd to reclaim;
Which fets that Title high, within thy Reach.
Awake, then: Thy PHILANDER calls: Awake!
Thou, who fhalt wake, when the Creation fleeps;
When, like a Taper, all thefe Suns expire;
When TIME, like him of Gaza in his Wrath,
Plucking the Pillars that fupport the World,
In NATURE's ample Ruins lies intomb'd;
And MIDNIGHT, Univerfal Midnight! reigns.

END of the Night-Thoughts.

A

PARAPHRASE

T

ON

Part of the Book of JOB.

HRICE Happy Job long liv'd in Regal State, Nor faw the Sumptuous Eaft a Prince so Great; Whofe Worldly Stores in fuch Abundance flow'd, Whofe Heart with fuch exalted Virtue glow'd. At length Misfortunes take their Turn to reign, 3D gold And Ills on Ills' fucceed; A dreadful Train! What now but Deaths, and Poverty, and Wrong, The Sword wide-wafting, the reproachful Tongue," And spotted Plagues, that mark'd his Limbs all o'er So thick with Pains, they wanted Room for more A Change fo fad what mortal Heart could bear? Exhaufted Woe had left Him nought to fear; But gave Him All to Grief. Low Earth he preft, Wept in the Duft, and forely fmote his Breaft. His Friends around the deep Affliction mourn'd, Felt all his Pangs, and Groan for Groan return'd; In Anguish of their Hearts their Mantles rent, And Sev'n long Days in folemn Silence spent ; A Debt of Rev'rence to Distress so great! Then Job contain'd no more: but curft his Fate.

His Day of Birth, its inaufpicious Light,
He wishes funk in Shades of endless Night.
And blotted from the Year; nor fears to crave

Death, inftant Death; impatient for the Grave, pots SnA
That Seat of Peace, that Manfion of Repose,
Where Reft and Mortals are no longer Foes;
Where Counsellors are hush'd, and Mighty Kings
(O happy Turn!) no more are Wretched Things.
His Words were daring, and difpleas'd his Friends;
His Conduct They reprove, and he defends;
And now they kindled into warm Debate,
And Sentiments oppos'd with equal Heat;
Fix'd in Opinion, Both refufe to yield,
And fummon all their Reafon to the Field:

So high at length their Arguments were wrought, randk They reach'd the laft Extent of Human Thought br A Paufe enfu'd. When, lo! Heav'n interpos'd, all And awfully the long Contention clos'd.

Full o'er their Heads, with terrible Surprize,

A fudden Whirlwind blacken'd all the Skies:
(They Saw and Trembled !) From the Darkness broken.
A dreadful Voice, and thus th' Almighty fpoke..

Who gives his Tongue a Loose so bold and vaing
Cenfures my Conduct, and reproves my Reign ?e'd
Lifts up his Thoughts againft me from the Duft,
And tells the World's Creator what is Juft?
Of late fo brave, now lift a dauntless Eye,
Face my Demand, and give it a Reply:

Where didit Thou dwell at Nature's early Birth

Who laid Foundations for the fpacious Earth? cody 503 Who on the Surface did extend the Line,

Its Form determine, and its Bulk confine ?

Who fix'd the Corner Stone? What Hand, declareɔ2018 Hung it on Nought, and faften'd it in Air';

05

When

When the bright Morning Stars in Concert fung, When Heav'n's high Arch with loud Hofanna's rung; When fhouting Sons of God the Triumph crown'd, And the wide Concave thunder'd with the Sound? Earth's num'rous Kingdoms, haft thou view'd them all And can thy Span of Knowledge grafp the Ball? Who heav'd the Mountain, which fublimely ftands, And cafts its Shadow into distant Lands?

Who, ftretching forth his Sceptre o'er the Deep, Can that wide World in due Subjection keep? I broke the Globe, I fcoop'd its hollow Side, And did a Bason for the Floods provide; I chain them with my Word; the boiling Sea, Work'd up in Tempefts, hears my great Decree ; "Thus far, thy floating Tide fhall be convey'd ; "And Here, O Main, be thy proud Billows ftay'd.". Haft thou explor'd the Secrets of the Deep,

Where, fhut from Ufe, unnumber'd Treasures fleep;
Where, down a Thoufand Fathoms from the Day,
Springs the great Fountain, Mother of the Sea?
Thofe gloomy Paths did thy bold Foot e'er tread,
Whole Worlds of Waters rolling o'er thy Head?

Hath the cleft Centre open'd wide to thee?
Death's inmoft Chambers didft thou ever fee?
E'er knock at his tremendous Gate, and wade
To the black Portal thro' th' incumbent Shade?
Deep are thofe Shades; but Shades still deeper hide
My Counfels from the Ken of human Pride.

Where dwells the Light? In what refulgent Dome?
And where has Darknefs made her dismal Home?
Thou know'ft, no doubt, fince thy large Heart is fraught
With ripen'd Wifdom thro' long Ages brought,
Since Nature was call'd forth when thou waft by,
And into Being role beneath thine Eye!

Are

Are Mifs begotten? Who their Father knew?
From whom defcend the pearly Drops of Dew?

To bind the Stream by Night, what Hand can boast,
Or whiten Morning, with the hoary Froft?

Whose pow'rful Breath, from Northern Regions blown,
Touches the Sea, and turns it into Stone ?
A fudden Defart spreads o'er Realms defac'd,
And lays one Half of the Creation waste?

Thou know'ft me not; thy Blindness cannot fee
How vast a Distance parts thy God from thee.
Canft thou in Whirlwinds mount aloft ? Canft thou
In Clouds and Darkness wrap thy awful Brow?
And, when Day triumphs in meridian Light,

Put forth thy Hand, and fhade the World with Night?
Who launch'd the Clouds in Air, and bid them roll
Sufpended Seas aloft, from Pole to Pole?
Who can refresh the burning fandy Plain,
And quench the Summer with a Waste of Rain?
Who in rough Defarts, far from Human Toil,
Made Rocks bring forth, and Defolation fmile?
There blooms the Rofe, where human Face ne'er fhone,
And spreads its Beauties to the Sun alone.

To check the Show'r, who lifts his Hand on high,
And fhuts the Sluices of th' exhaufted Sky,
When Earth no longer mourns her gaping Veins,
Her naked Mountains, and her ruffet Plains ;
But, new in Life, a chearful Profpect yields
Of fhining Rivers, and of verdant Fields;
When Groves and Forefts lavish all their Bloom,
And Earth and Heaven are fill'd with rich Perfume ?
Haft thou ere fcal'd my wintry Skies, and feen
Of Hail and Snows my Northern Magazine?
These the dread Treasures of mine Anger are,
My Fund of Vengeance for the Day of War,
Q 6

When