[The Complaint: or, Night-Thoughts on Life, Death & Immortality.] Night IV. The Christian Triumph.

[ The Complaint : or , Night-Thoughts on Life , Death & Immortality . ] Night IV . The Christian Triumph . Containing our only cure for the fear of death , and proper sentiments of heart on that inestimable blessing . Humbly inscribed to the honourable Mr. Yorke . Preface .

As the occasion of this poem was real , not fictitious ; so the method pursued in it was rather imposed by what spontaneously arose in the author's mind on that occasion , than meditated or designed : which will appear very probable from the nature of it ; for it differs from the common mode of poetry , which is from long narrations to draw short morals . Here , on the contrary , the narrative is short , and the morality arising from it makes the bulk of the poem . The reason of it is , that the facts mentioned did naturally pour these moral reflections on the thought of the writer .

It is evident from the First Night , where three deaths are mentioned , that the plan is not yet completed ; for two only of those three have yet been sung . But , since this Fourth Night finishes one principal and important theme , naturally arising from all three , namely , the subduing our fear of death , it will be a proper pausing — place for the reader , and the writer too . And it is uncertain whether Providence , or inclination , will permit him to go any farther .

I say " inclination , " for this thing was entered on purely as a refuge under uneasiness , when more proper studies wanted sufficient relish to detain the writer's attention to them . And that reason ( thanks be to Heaven ) ceasing , the writer has no farther occasion — I should rather say " excuse " — for giving-in so much to the amusements , amid the duties , of life .

A much-indebted Muse , O Yorke ! intrudes . Amid the smiles of Fortune , and of youth , Thine ear is patient of a serious song . How deep implanted in the breast of man The Dread of Death ! I sing its sovereign cure . Why start at Death ? Where is he ? Death arrived Is past ; not come , or gone , he's never here . Ere hope , sensation fails ; black-boding man Receives , not suffers , Death's tremendous blow . The knell , the shroud , the mattock , and the grave ; The deep , damp vault , the darkness , and the worm : — These are the bugbears of a winter's eve , The terrors of the living , not the dead . Imagination's fool , and Error's wretch , Man makes a Death which Nature never made ; Then on the point of his own fancy falls , And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one . But were Death frightful , what has Age to fear ? If prudent , Age should meet the friendly foe , And shelter in his hospitable gloom . I scarce can meet a monument but holds My younger : every date cries , " Come away . " And what recalls me ? Look the world around And tell me what : the wisest cannot tell . Should any born of woman give his thought Full range on just dislike's unbounded field ; — Of things , the vanity ; of men , the flaws ; Flaws in the best ; the many , flaw all o'er ; As leopards , spotted ; or as Ethiops , dark ; Vivacious ill ; good dying immature ; ( How immature , Narcissa's marble tells ! ) And at its death bequeathing endless pain ; — His heart , though bold , would sicken at the sight , And spend itself in sighs for future scenes . But grant to Life ( and just it is to grant To lucky life ) some perquisites of joy ; A time there is , when , like a thrice-told tale , Long-rifled Life of sweet can yield no more , But from our comment on the comedy , Pleasing reflections on parts well-sustain'd , Or purposed emendations where we fail'd , Or hopes of plaudits from our candid Judge , When , on their exit , souls are bid unrobe , Toss Fortune back her tinsel , and her plume , And drop this mask of flesh behind the scene . With me , that time is come ! my world is dead ; A new world rises , and new manners reign : Foreign comedians , a spruce band , arrive , To push me from the scene , or hiss me there . What a pert race starts up ! The strangers gaze , And I at them : my neighbour is unknown ; Nor that the worst : ah me ! the dire effect Of loitering here , of Death defrauded long ! Of old so gracious , ( and let that suffice , ) My very master knows me not . — Shall I dare say , peculiar is the fate ? I've been so long remember'd , I'm forgot . An object ever pressing dims the sight , And hides behind its ardour to be seen . When in his courtiers' ears I pour my plaint , They drink it as the nectar of the great ; And squeeze my hand , and beg me come to-morrow ! Refusal ! canst thou wear a smoother form ? Indulge me , nor conceive I drop my theme : Who cheapens life , abates the fear of death . Twice-told the period spent on stubborn Troy , Court-favour , yet untaken , I besiege ; Ambition's ill judged effort to be rich . Alas ! Ambition makes my little less ; Embittering the possess'd . Why wish for more ? Wishing of all employments is the worst ; Philosophy's reverse , and health's decay : Were I as plump as stall'd Theology , Wishing would waste me to this shade again . Were I as wealthy as a South-Sea dream , Wishing is an expedient to be poor . Wishing , that constant hectic of a fool , Caught at a court ; purged off by purer air , And simpler diet ; gifts of rural life ! Bless'd be the Hand Divine , which gently kid My heart at rest , beneath this humble shed . The world's a stately bark , on dangerous seas , With pleasure seen , but boarded at our peril . Here , on a single plank , thrown safe ashore , I hear the tumult of the distant throng , As that of seas remote , or dying storms ; And meditate on scenes more silent still ; Pursue my theme , and fight the fear of Death . Here , like a shepherd gazing from his hut , Touching his reed , or leaning on his staff , Eager Ambition's fiery chase I see ; I see the circling hunt , of noisy men , Burst Law's enclosure , leap the mounds of Right , Pursuing , and pursued , each other's prey ; As wolves , for rapine ; as the fox , for wiles ; Till Death , that mighty hunter , earths them all . Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? What , though we wade in wealth , or soar in fame ? Earth's highest station ends in , " Here he lies : " And " Dust to dust " concludes her noblest song . If this song lives , posterity shall know One , though in Britain born , with courtiers bred , Who thought e'en gold might come a day too late ; Nor on his subtle death-bed plann'd his scheme For future vacancies in Church or State ; Some avocation deeming it — to die ; Unbit by rage canine of dying rich ; Guilt's blunder , and the loudest laugh of hell ! O my coëvals ! remnants of yourselves ! Poor human ruins , tottering o'er the grave ! Shall we , shall aged men , like aged trees , Strike deeper their vile root , and closer cling , Still more enamour'd of this wretched soil ? Shall our pale , wither'd hands be still stretch'd out , Trembling at once with eagerness and age , With avarice and convulsions grasping hard ? Grasping at air ! for what has earth beside ? Man wants but little ; nor that little long : How soon must he resign his very dust , Which frugal Nature lent him for an hour ! Years unexperienced rush on numerous ills ; And soon as man , expert from time , has found The key of life , it opes the gates of Death . When in this vale of years I backward look , And miss such numbers , numbers too of such , Firmer in health , and greener in their age , And stricter on their guard , and fitter far To play life's subtle game , I scarce believe I still survive . And am I fond of life , Who scarce can think it possible I live ? Alive by miracle ; or , what is next , Alive by Mead ! if I am still alive , Who long have buried 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 show the door , Call for my bier , and point me to the dust . O Thou great Arbiter of Life and Death ! Nature's immortal , immaterial Sun ! Whose all-prolific beam late call'd me forth From darkness , teeming darkness , where I lay The worm's inferior , and , in rank , beneath The dust I tread on ; high to bear my brow , To drink the spirit of the golden day , And triumph in existence ; and couldst know No motive but my bliss ; and hast ordain'd A rise in blessing ! — with the patriarch's joy , Thy call I follow to the land unknown ; I trust in Thee , and know in whom I trust : Or life , or death , is equal ; neither weighs ; All weight in this — O let me live to Thee ! Though Nature's terrors thus may be repress'd , Still frowns grim Death ; guilt points the tyrant's spear . And whence all human guilt ? From Death forgot . Ah me ! too long I set at nought the swarm Of friendly warnings which around me flew ; And smiled unsmitten . Small my cause to smile ! Death's admonitions , like shafts upwards shot , More dreadful by delay , — the longer ere They strike our hearts , the deeper is their wound . O think how deep , Lorenzo ! here it stings : Who can appease its anguish ? How it burns ! What hand the barb'd , envenom'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 see ; Ah ! too conspicuous ! it is fix'd on high . On high ? — What means my frenzy ? I blaspheme ! 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 blessing What heart or can sustain , or dares forego ? There hangs all human hope ; that nail supports The falling universe : that gone , we drop ; Horror receives us , and the dismal wish Creation had been smother'd in her birth — Darkness his curtain , and his bed the dust ; When stars and sun are dust beneath his throne ! In heaven itself can such indulgence dwell ? O what a groan was there ! a groan not His . He seized our dreadful right ; the load sustain'd ; And heaved the mountain from a guilty world . A thousand worlds , so bought , were bought too dear : Sensations new in angels' bosoms rise , Suspend their song , and make a pause in bliss . O for their song , to reach my lofty theme ! Inspire me , Night ! with all thy tuneful spheres ; Whilst I with seraphs share seraphic themes , And show to men the dignity of man ; Lest I blaspheme my subject with my song . Shall Pagan pages glow celestial flame , And Christian languish ? On our hearts , not heads , Falls the foul infamy . My heart , awake ! What can awake thee , unawaked by this , " Expended Deity on human weal ? " Feel the great truths , which burst the tenfold night Of Heathen error , with a golden flood Of endless day . To feel , is to be fired ; And to believe , Lorenzo , is to feel . Thou most indulgent , most tremendous Power ! Still more tremendous , for Thy wondrous love , That arms , with awe more awful , Thy commands ; And foul transgression dips in sevenfold guilt : How our hearts tremble at Thy love immense ! In love immense , inviolably just ! Thou , rather than Thy justice should be stain'd , Didst stain the cross ; and work of wonders far The greatest , that Thy Dearest far might bleed . Bold thought ! shall I dare speak it , or repress ? Should man more execrate or boast the guilt Which roused such vengeance , which such love inflamed ? O'er guilt ( how mountainous ! ) with outstretch'd arms , Stern Justice , and soft-smiling Love , embrace , Supporting , in full majesty , thy throne , When seem'd its majesty to need support , Or that , or man , inevitably lost : What but the fathomless of thought divine Could labour such expedient from despair , And rescue both ? Both rescue ! both exalt ! O how are both exalted by the deed ! The wondrous deed ! or shall I call it more ? A wonder in Omnipotence itself ! A mystery no less to gods than men ! Not thus our infidels the' Eternal draw , — A God all o'er , consummate , absolute , Full-orb'd , in his whole round of rays complete : They set at odds Heaven's jarring attributes , And with one excellence another wound ; Maim Heaven's perfection , break its equal beams , Bid Mercy triumph over — God himself , Undeified by their opprobrious praise : A God all mercy , is a God unjust . Ye brainless wits , ye baptized infidels ! Ye worse for mending , wash'd to fouler stains ! The ransom was paid down ; the fund of Heaven , Heaven's inexhaustible , exhausted fund , Amazing and amazed , pour'd forth the price , All price beyond : though , curious to compute , Archangels fail'd to cast the mighty sum : Its value vast , ungrasp'd 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 Sun beheld it — No , the shocking scene Drove back his chariot : midnight veil'd his face ; Not such as this , not such as Nature makes ; A midnight Nature shudder'd to behold ; A midnight new ! a dread eclipse , ( without Opposing spheres , ) from her Creator's frown ! Sun ! didst thou fly thy Maker's pain ? or start At that enormous load of human guilt Which bow'd His blessed head , o'erwhelm'd His cross , Made groan the centre , burst earth's marble womb With pangs , strange pangs ! deliver'd of her dead ? Hell howl'd ; and Heaven that hour let fall a tear ; Heaven wept , that men might smile ! Heaven bled , that man Might never die ! — And is devotion virtue ? 'T is compell'd : What heart of stone but glows at thoughts like these ? Such contemplations mount us , and should mount The mind still higher ; nor ever glance on man Unraptured , uninflamed . — Where roll my thoughts To rest from wonders ? Other wonders rise ; And strike where'er they roll : my soul is caught ; Heaven's sovereign blessings , clustering from the cross , Rush on her in a throng , and close her round , The prisoner of amaze ! In His bless'd life I see the path , and in His death the price , And in His great ascent the proof supreme , Of immortality . — And did He rise ? Hear , O ye nations ! Hear it , O ye dead ! He rose ! He rose ! He burst the bars 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 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 slew The ravenous foe that gorged all human race ! The King of Glory , He whose glory fill'd Heaven with amazement at His love to man ; And with Divine complacency beheld Powers most illumined wilder'd in the theme ! The theme , the joy , how then shall man sustain ? O the burst gates , crush'd sting , demolish'd throne , Last gasp , of vanquish'd Death ! Shout , Earth and Heaven , This sum of good to man ! whose nature then Took wing , and mounted with Him from the tomb . Then , then I rose ; then first humanity Triumphant pass'd the crystal ports of light , ( Stupendous guest ! ) and seized eternal youth , Seized in our name . E'er since , 't is blasphemous To call man mortal . Man's mortality Was then transferr'd to Death ; and Heaven's duration Unalienably seal'd to this frail frame , This child of dust . — Man , all immortal , hail ! Hail , Heaven , all lavish of strange gifts to man ! Thine all the glory ; man's the boundless bliss . Where am I rapt by this triumphant theme , On Christian joy's exulting wing , above The' Aonian mount ? — Alas , small cause for joy ! What , if to pain immortal ? if extent Of being , to preclude a close of woe ? Where , then , my boast of immortality ? I boast it still , though cover'd o'er with guilt : For guilt , not innocence , His life He pour'd ; Tis guilt alone can justify His death ; Nor that , unless His death can justify Relenting guilt in Heaven's indulgent sight . If , sick of folly , I relent , He writes My name in heaven with that inverted spear ( A spear deep dipp'd in blood ! ) which pierced His side , And open'd there a font for all mankind Who strive , who combat crimes , to drink and live This , only this , subdues the fear of death . And what is this ? — Survey the wondrous cure : And at each step let higher wonder rise ! " Pardon for infinite offence ; and pardon Through means that speak its value infinite ! A pardon bought with blood ; with blood Divine ! With blood Divine of Him I made my foe ! Persisted to provoke ! though woo'd and awed , Bless'd and chastised , a flagrant rebel still ! A rebel , 'midst the thunders of His throne ! Nor I alone ; a rebel universe ! My species up in arms ; not one exempt ! Yet for the foulest 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 , every heart ! and every bosom , burn ! O what a scale of miracles is here ! Its lowest round high-planted on the skies : Its towering summit lost beyond the thought Of man or angel ! O that I could climb The wonderful ascent , with equal praise ! Praise ! flow for ever , ( if astonishment Will give thee leave , ) my praise ! for ever flow ; Praise ardent , cordial , constant , to high Heaven More fragrant than Arabia sacrificed , And all her spicy mountains in a flame . So dear , so due to Heaven , shall Praise descend , With her soft plume ( from plausive angel's wing First pluck'd by man ) to tickle mortal ears , Thus diving in the pockets of the great ? Is Praise the perquisite of every paw , Though black as hell , that grapples well for gold ? O love of gold ! thou meanest of amours ! Shall Praise her odours waste on Virtue's dead , Embalm the base , perfume the stench of guilt , Earn dirty bread by washing Ethiops fair , Removing filth , or sinking it from sight , A scavenger in scenes where vacant posts , Like gibbets yet untenanted , expect Their future ornaments ? From courts and thrones Return , apostate Praise ! thou vagabond ! Thou prostitute ! to thy flast love return ; Thy first , thy greatest , once unrivall'd theme . There flow redundant ; like Meander , flow Back to thy fountain ; to that parent Power Who gives the tongue to sound , the thought to soar , The soul to be . Men homage pay to men ; Thoughtless beneath whose 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 celestial ceaseless sing ; To prostrate angels an amazing scene ! O the presumption of man's awe for man ! — Man's Author , End , Restorer , 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 heaven's meridian glory , but Thy smile ? And shall not praise be Thine ? not human praise , While Heaven's high host on hallelujahs live ? O may I breathe no longer than I breathe My soul in praise to Him who gave my soul , And all her infinite of prospect fair , Cut through the shades of hell , great Love , by thee , O most adorable , most unadored ! Where shall that praise begin which ne'er should end ? Where'er I turn , what claim on all applause ! How is Night's sable mantle labour'd o'er ! How richly wrought with attributes divine ! What wisdom shines , what love ! This midnight pomp , This gorgeous arch with golden worlds inlaid ! Built with divine ambition ! nought to Thee ; For others this profusion . Thou , apart , Above , beyond ! O tell me , mighty Mind , Where art thou ? Shall I dive into the deep ? Call to the sun , or ask the roaring winds , For their Creator ? Shall I question loud The thunder , if in that the' Almighty dwells ? Or holds HE furious storms in straighten'd reins , And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car ? What mean these questions ? — Trembling I retract ; My prostrate soul adores the present God . Praise I a distant Deity ? He tunes My voice ( if tuned ) ; the nerve that writes , sustains : Wrapt in His being , I resound His praise : But though past all diffused , without a shore , His essence ; local is His throne ( as meet ) To gather the dispersed ( as standards call The listed from afar ) ; to fix a point , A central point , collective of his sons , Since finite every nature but his own . The nameless He , whose nod is Nature's birth ; And Nature's shield , the shadow of His hand ; Her dissolution , His suspended smile ! The great First-Last ! pavilion'd high He sits In darkness , from excessive splendour born , By gods unseen , unless through lustre lost . His glory , to created glory , bright As that to central horrors ; He looks down On all that soars , and spans immensity . Though Night unnumber'd worlds unfolds to view , Boundless Creation ! what art thou ? A beam , A mere effluvium of His majesty . And shall an atom of this atom-world Mutter , in dust and sin , the theme of Heaven ? Down to the centre should I send my thought Through beds of glittering ore , and glowing gems , Their beggar'd blaze wants lustre for my lay ; Goes out in darkness . If , on towering wing , I send it through the boundless vault of stars ; The stars , though rich , what dross their gold to Thee , Great , good , wise , wonderful , eternal King ! If to those conscious stars thy throne around , Praise ever pouring , and imbibing bliss , And ask their strain ; they want it , more they want , Poor their abundance , humble their sublime , Languid their energy , their ardour cold : Indebted still , their highest rapture burns , Short of its mark , defective , though Divine . Still more , — this theme is man's , and man's alone ; Their vast appointments reach it not : they see On earth a bounty not indulged on high , And downward look for Heaven's superior praise ! First-born of ether , high in fields of light , View man , to see the glory of your God ! Could angels envy , they had envied here ; And some did envy : and the rest , though gods , Yet still gods unredeem'd , ( there triumphs man , Tempted to weigh the dust against the skies , ) They less would feel , though more adorn , my theme . They sung Creation ( for in that they shared ) ; How rose in melody that child of love ! Creation's great superior , man ! is thine ; Thine is Redemption . They just gave the key ; 'T is thine to raise and eternize the song , Though human , yet Divine ; for should not this Raise man o'er man , and kindle seraphs here ? Redemption ! 'twas creation more sublime ; Redemption ! 'twas the labour of the skies ; Far more than labour , — it was Death in heaven . A truth so strange , 'twere bold to think it true , If not far bolder still to disbelieve . Here pause , and ponder . Was there death in heaven ? What then on earth ? on earth , which struck the blow ? Who struck it ? Who ? — O how is man enlarged , Seen through this medium ! How the pigmy towers ! How counterpoised his origin from dust ! How counterpoised to dust his sad return ! How voided his vast distance from the skies ! How near he presses on the seraph's wing ! Which is the seraph ? which the born of clay ? How this demonstrates , through the thickest cloud Of guilt and clay condensed , the son of Heaven ; The double son ; the made , and the re-made ! And shall Heaven's double property be lost ? Man's double madness only can destroy . To man the bleeding Cross has promised all ; The bleeding Cross has sworn eternal grace ; Who gave his life , what grace shall He deny ? O ye , who from this Rock of Ages leap , Disdainful , plunging headlong in the deep ! What cordial joy , what consolation strong , Whatever winds arise , or billows roll , Our interest in the Master of the storm ! Cling there , and in wreck'd Nature's ruins smile , While vile apostates tremble in a calm . " Man , know thyself ! " All wisdom centres there ; To none man seems ignoble but to man . Angels that grandeur men o'erlook admire ; How long shall human nature be their book , Degenerate mortal , and unread by thee ? The beam dim Reason sheds shows wonders there ; What high contents , illustrious faculties ! But the grand comment , which displays at full Our human height , scarce sever'd from Divine , By Heaven composed , was publish'd on the cross . Who looks on that , and sees not in himself An awful stranger , a terrestrial god ? A glorious partner with the Deity In that high attribute , immortal life ? If a God bleeds , he bleeds not for a worm : I gaze , and , as I gaze , my mounting soul Catches strange fire , Eternity ! at thee ; And drops the world , — or rather , more enjoys . How changed the face of Nature ! how improved ! What seem'd a chaos , shines a glorious world ; Or what a world , an Eden ; heighten'd all ! It is another scene , another self ; And still another , as time rolls along ; And that a self far more illustrious still . Beyond long ages , yet roll'd up in shades Unpierced by bold Conjecture's keenest ray , What evolutions of surprising fate ! How Nature opens , and receives my soul In boundless walks of raptured thought ! where gods Encounter and embrace me ! What new births Of strange adventure , foreign to the sun ; Where what now charms , perhaps whate'er exists , Old Time and fair Creation , are forgot ! Is this extravagant ? Of man we form Extravagant conception , to be just : Conception unconfined wants wings to reach him : Beyond its reach the Godhead only more . He , the great Father , kindled at one flame The world of rationals ; one spirit pour'd From Spirit's awful fountain ; pour'd Himself Through all their souls ; but not in equal stream ; Profuse or frugal of the' inspiring God , As His wise plan demanded ; and , when past Their various trials in their various spheres , If they continue rational , as made , Resorbs them all into Himself again ; His throne their centre , and His smile their crown . Why doubt we , then , the glorious truth to sing , Though yet unsung , as deem'd , perhaps , too bold ? Angels are men of a superior kind ; Angels are men in lighter habit clad , High o'er celestial mountains wing'd in flight ; And men are angels loaded for an hour , Who wade this miry vale , and climb , with pain And slippery step , the bottom of the steep . Angels their failings , mortals have their praise ; While here , of corps ethereal , such enroll'd , And summon'd to the glorious standard soon , Which flames eternal crimson through the skies . Nor are our brothers thoughtless of their kin , Yet absent ; but not absent from their love . Michael has fought our battles ; Raphael sung Our triumphs ; Gabriel on our errands flown , Sent by the SOVEREIGN : and are these , O man , Thy friends , thy warm allies ? and thou ( shame burn The cheek to cinder ! ) rival to the brute ? Religion's all . Descending from the skies To wretched man , the goddess in her left Holds out this world , and in her right the next . Religion ! the sole voucher man is man ; Supporter sole of man above himself ; E'en in this night of frailty , change , and death , She gives the soul a soul that acts a god . Religion ! Providence ! an after-state ! Here is firm footing ; here is solid rock ; This can support us : all is sea besides ; Sinks under us ; bestorms , and then devours . His hand the good man fastens on the skies , And bids earth roll , nor feels her idle whirl . As when a wretch , from thick , polluted air , Darkness , and stench , and suffocating damps , And dungeon-horrors , by kind Fate discharged , Climbs some fair eminence , where ether pure Surrounds him , and Elysian prospects rise , His heart exults , his spirits cast their load ; As if new-born , he triumphs in the change ; So joys the soul , when , from inglorious aims , And sordid sweets , from feculence and froth Of ties terrestrial , set at large , she mounts To Reason's region , her own element , Breathes hopes immortal , and affects the skies . Religion ! thou the soul of happiness , And , groaning Calvary , of thee ! There shine The noblest truths ; there strongest motives sting ; There sacred violence assaults the soul ; There nothing but compulsion is forborne . Can love allure us , or can terror awe ? He weeps ! — the falling drop puts out the sun ; He sighs ! — the sigh earth's deep foundation shakes . If in His love so terrible , what then His wrath inflamed , His tenderness on fire ? Like soft , smooth oil , outblazing other fires ! Can prayer , can praise avert it ? — Thou , my all ! My theme , my inspiration , and my crown ! My strength in age , my rise in low estate ! My soul's ambition , pleasure , wealth , my world ! My light in darkness , and my life in death ! My boast through time , bliss through eternity ! Eternity , too short to speak Thy praise , Or fathom Thy profound of love to man ! To man of men the meanest , e'en to me ; My Sacrifice , my God ! — what things are these ? What then art THOU ? By what name shall I call Thee ? Knew I the name devout archangels use , Devout archangels should the name enjoy , By me unrivall'd : thousands more sublime , None half so dear as that which , though unspoke , Still glows at heart . O how Omnipotence Is lost in Love ! Thou great PHILANTHROPIST ! Father of angels , but the friend of man ! Like Jacob , fondest of the younger born ! Thou , who didst save him , snatch the smoking brand From out the flames , and quench it in Thy blood ! How art Thou pleased , by bounty to distress , To make us groan beneath our gratitude , Too big for birth ! to favour , and confound ! To challenge and to distance all return ! Of lavish love stupendous heights to soar , And leave Praise panting in the distant vale ! Thy right too great defrauds Thee of Thy due ; And sacrilegious our sublimest song . But since the naked will obtains Thy smile , Beneath this monument of praise unpaid , And future life symphonious to my strain , ( That noblest hymn to Heaven , ) for ever lie Entomb'd my Fear of Death ! and every fear , The dread of every evil , but Thy frown . Whom see I yonder so demurely smile ? Laughter a labour , and might break their rest . Ye Quietists , in homage to the skies ! Serene , of soft address ! who mildly make An unobtrusive tender of your hearts , Abhorring violence ! who halt indeed ; But for the blessing wrestle not with Heaven ! Think you my song too turbulent , too warm ? Are passions , then , the Pagans of the soul ? Reason alone baptized ? alone ordain'd To touch things sacred ? O for warmer still ! Guilt chills my zeal , and age benumbs my powers : O for an humbler heart , and prouder song ! THOU , my much-injured theme ! with that soft eye Which melted o'er doom'd Salem , deign to look Compassion to the coldness of my breast , And pardon to the winter in my strain . O ye cold-hearted , frozen formalists ! On such a theme , 't is impious to be calm ; Passion is reason , transport temper , here . Shall Heaven , which gave us ardour , and has shown Her own for man so strongly , not disdain What smooth emollients in theology Recumbent Virtue's downy doctors preach , That prose of piety , a lukewarm praise ? Rise odours sweet from incense uninflamed ? Devotion , when lukewarm , is undevout ; But when it glows , its heat is struck to heaven ; To human hearts her golden harps are strung ; High heaven's orchestra chants Amen to man . Hear I , or dream I hear , their distant strain , Sweet to the soul , and tasting strong of heaven , Soft-wafted on celestial Pity's plume , Through the vast spaces of the universe , To cheer me in this melancholy gloom ? O when will Death , ( now stingless , ) like a friend , Admit me of their choir ? O when will Death This mouldering , old partition-wall throw down ? Give beings , one in nature , one abode ? O Death Divine ! that giv'st us to the skies ! Great Future ! glorious Patron of the Past And Present ! when shall I thy shrine adore ? From Nature's continent , immensely wide , Immensely bless'd , this little isle of life , This dark , incarcerating colony , Divides us . Happy day that breaks our chain ! That manumits ; that calls from exile home ; That leads to Nature's great metropolis , And re-admits us , through the guardian hand Of elder brothers , to our Father's throne , Who hears our Advocate , and , through his wounds Beholding man , allows that tender name . 'T is this makes Christian triumph a command ; 'T is this makes joy a duty to the wise : 'T is impious in a good man to be sad . Seest thou , Lorenzo , where hangs all our hope ? Touch'd by the Cross , we live , or more than die ; That touch which touch'd not angels ; more Divine Than that which touch'd confusion into form , And darkness into glory : partial touch ! Ineffably pre-eminent regard ! Sacred to man , and sovereign through the whole Long golden chain of miracles , which hangs From heaven through all duration , and supports , In one illustrious and amazing plan , Thy welfare , Nature , and thy God's renown ; That touch , with charm celestial , heals the soul Diseased , drives pain from guilt , lights life in death , Turns earth to heaven , to heavenly thrones transforms The ghastly ruins of the mouldering tomb . Dost ask me when ? When HE who died returns ! Returns , how changed ! Where then the Man of Woe ? In glory's terrors all the Godhead burns ; And all His courts , exhausted by the tide Of deities triumphant in His train , Leave a stupendous solitude in heaven ; Replenish'd soon , replenish'd with increase Of pomp and multitude ; a radiant band Of angels new , of angels from the tomb . Is this by Fancy thrown remote ? and rise Dark doubts between the promise and event ? I send thee not to volumes for thy cure ; Read Nature ; Nature is a friend to truth ; Nature is Christian ; preaches to mankind , And bids dead matter aid us in our creed . Hast thou ne'er seen the comet's flaming flight ? The' illustrious stranger , passing , terror sheds On gazing nations , from his fiery train Of length enormous ; takes his ample round Through depths of ether ; coasts unnumber'd worlds Of more than solar glory ; doubles wide Heaven's mighty cape ; and then revisits earth , From the long travel of a thousand years . Thus , at the destined period , shall return HE , once on earth , who bids the comet blaze ; And , with Him , all our triumph o'er the tomb . Nature is dumb on this important point , Or Hope precarious in low whisper breathes : Faith speaks aloud , distinct ; e'en adders hear , But turn , and dart into the dark again . Faith builds a bridge across the gulf of Death , To break the shock blind Nature cannot shun , And lands Thought smoothly on the farther shore . Death's terror is the mountain Faith removes , That mountain-barrier between man and peace . 'T is Faith disarms Destruction , and absolves From every clamorous charge the guiltless tomb . Why disbelieve , Lorenzo ? — " Reason bids , All-sacred Reason . " — Hold her sacred still ; Nor shalt thou want a rival in thy flame . All-sacred Reason ! source and soul of all Demanding praise , on earth , or earth above ! My heart is thine : deep in its inmost folds Live thou with life ; live dearer of the two . Wear I the blessed Cross , by Fortune stamp'd On passive Nature before Thought was born ? My birth's blind bigot ! fired with local zeal ! No ; Reason re-baptized me when adult , Weigh'd true and false in her impartial scale ; My heart became the convert of my head , And made that choice which once was but my fate . " On argument alone my faith is built : " Reason pursued is Faith ; and , unpursued , Where proof invites , 't is Reason then no more ; And such our proof , that or our Faith is right , Or Reason lies , and Heaven design'd it wrong . Absolve we this ? what then is blasphemy ? Fond as we are , and justly fond , of Faith , Reason , we grant , demands our first regard ; The mother honour'd , as the daughter dear . Reason the root , fair Faith is but the flower : The fading flower shall die , but Reason lives Immortal as her Father in the skies . When Faith is virtue , Reason makes it so . Wrong not the Christian : think not Reason yours ; 'T is Reason our great Master holds so dear ; 'T is Reason's injured rights His wrath resents ; 'T is Reason's voice obey'd His glories crown : To give lost Reason life , He pour'd His own . Believe , and show the reason of a man ; Believe , and taste the pleasure of a God ; Believe , and look with triumph on the tomb . Through Reason's wounds alone thy Faith can die ; Which , dying , tenfold terror gives to Death , And dips in venom his twice-mortal sting . Learn hence what honours , what loud paeans , due To those who push our antidote aside ; Those boasted friends to Reason and to man , Whose fatal love stabs every joy , and leaves Death's terror heighten'd , gnawing on his heart . These pompous sons of Reason idolized , And vilified at once ; of Reason dead , Then deified , as monarchs were of old ; What conduct plants proud laurels on their brow ? While love of truth through all their camp resounds , They draw Pride's curtain o'er the noon-tide ray , Spike up their inch of reason on the point Of philosophic wit , call'd Argument , And then , exulting in their taper , cry , " Behold the sun ! " and , Indian-like , adore . Talk they of morals ? O Thou bleeding Love ! Thou Maker of new morals to mankind ! The grand morality is love of Thee . As wise as Socrates , if such they were , ( Nor will they 'bate of that sublime renown , ) " As wise as Socrates , " might justly stand The definition of a modern fool . A CHRISTIAN is the highest style of man . And is there who the blessed cross wipes off , As a foul blot , from his dishonour'd brow ? If angels tremble , 't is at such a sight ; The wretch they quit , desponding of their charge , — More struck with grief or wonder who can tell ? Ye sold to sense ! ye citizens of earth ! ( For such alone the Christian banner fly , ) Know ye how wise your choice , how great your gain ? Behold the picture of earth's happiest man : " He calls his wish , it comes ; he sends it back , And says he call'd another ; that arrives , Meets the same welcome ; yet he still calls on ; Till One calls him , who varies not his call , But holds him fast in chains of darkness bound , Till Nature dies , and Judgment sets him free ; A freedom far less welcome than his chain . " But grant man happy ; grant him happy long ; Add to life's highest prize her latest hour ; That hour , so late , is nimble in approach , That , like a post , comes on in full career . How swift the shuttle flies that weaves thy shroud ! Where is the fable of thy former years ? Thrown down the gulf of time ; as far from thee As they had ne'er been thine ; the day in hand , Like a bird struggling to get loose , is going ; Scarce now possess'd , so suddenly 't is gone ; And each swift moment , fled , is death advanced By strides as swift . Eternity is all ; And whose eternity ? who triumphs there ? Bathing for ever in the font of bliss ! For ever basking in the Deity ! Lorenzo , who ? — Thy conscience shall reply . O give it leave to speak ; 'twill speak ere long , Thy leave unask'd : Lorenzo , hear it now , While useful its advice , its accent mild . By the great edict , the divine decree , Truth is deposited with man's last hour ; An honest hour , and faithful to her trust . Truth , eldest daughter of the Deity ! Truth , of his council when he made the worlds ; Nor less , when he shall judge the worlds he made ! Though silent long , and sleeping ne'er so sound , Smother'd with errors , and oppress'd with toys , That heaven-commission'd hour no sooner calls But from her cavern in the soul's abyss , Like him they fable under Aetna whelm'd , The goddess bursts in thunder and in flame , Loudly convinces , and severely pains . Dark demons I discharge , and hydra-stings : The keen vibration of bright Truth — is hell : Just definition ! though by schools untaught . Ye deaf to Truth , peruse this parson'd page , And trust , for once , a prophet and a priest : " Men may live fools , but fools they cannot die . "