BOOK I. TO all inferior animals 'tis giv'n T' enjoy the state allotted them by Heaven ; No vain researches e'er disturb their rest , No fears of dark futurity molest . Man , only Man solicitous to know The springs whence Nature's operations flow , Plods through a dreary waste with toil and pain , And reasons , hopes , and thinks , and lives in vain ; For sable Death still hov'ring o'er his head , Cuts short his progress , with his vital thread . Wherefore , since Nature errs not , do we find These seeds of Science in the human mind , If no congenial fruits are predesign'd ? For what avails to man this pow'r to roam Thro' ages past , and ages yet to come , T' explore new worlds o'er all th' aetherial way , Chain'd to a spot , and living but a day ? Since all must perish in one common grave , Nor can these long laborious searches save , Were it not wiser far , supinely laid , To sport with Phyllis in the noontide shade ? Or at thy jovial festivals appear , Great Bacchus , who alone the soul can clear From all that it has felt , and all that it can fear ? Come on then , let us feast : let Chloe sing , And soft Neaera touch the trembling string ; Enjoy the present hour , nor seek to know What good or ill to-morrow may bestow . But these delights soon pall upon the taste ; Let's try then if more serious cannot last : Wealth let us heap on wealth , or fame pursue , Let pow'r and glory be our points in view : In courts , in camps , in senates let us live , Our levees crowded like the buzzing hive : Each weak attempt the same sad lesson brings , Alas , what vanity in human things ! What means then shall we try ? where hope to find A friendly harbour for the restless mind ? Who still , you see , impatient to obtain Knowledge immense , ( so Nature's laws ordain ) Ev'n now , tho' fetter'd in corporeal clay , Climbs step by step the prospect to survey , And seeks , unweary'd , Truth's eternal ray . No fleeting joys she asks , which must depend On the frail senses , and with them must end ; But such as suit her own immortal fame , Free from all change , eternally the same . Take courage then , these joys we shall attain ; Almighty Wisdom never acts in vain ; Nor shall the soul , on which it has bestow'd Such pow'rs , e'er perish , like an earthly clod ; But purg'd at length from foul corruption's stain , Freed from her prison , and unbound her chain , She shall her native strength , and native skies regain : To heav'n an old inhabitant return , And draw nectareous streams from truth's perpetual urn . Whilst life remains , ( if life it can be call'd T' exist in fleshly bondage thus enthrall'd ) Tir'd with the dull pursuit of worldly things , The soul scarce wakes , or opes her gladsome wings , Yet still the godlike exile in disgrace Retains some marks of her celestial race ; Else whence from Mem'ry's store can she produce Such various thoughts , or range them so for use ? Can matter these contain , dispose , apply ? Can in her cells such mighty treasures lye ? Or can her native force produce them to the eye ? Whence is this pow'r , this foundress of all arts , Serving , adorning life , thro' all its parts , Which names impos'd , by letters mark'd those names , Adjusted properly by legal claims , From woods , and wilds collected rude mankind , And cities , laws , and governments design'd ? What can this be , but some bright ray from heaven , Some emanation from Omniscience given ? When now the rapid stream of Eloquence Bears all before it , passion , reason , sense , Can its dread thunder , or its lightning's force Derive their essence from a mortal source ? What think you of the bard's enchanting art , Which , whether he attempts to warm the heart With fabled scenes , or charm the ear with rhyme , Breathes all pathetic , lovely , and sublime ? Whilst things on earth roll round from age to age , The same dull farce repeated ; on the stage The poet gives us a creation new , More pleasing , and more perfect than the true ; The mind , who always to perfection hastes , Perfection , such as here she never tastes , With gratitude accepts the kind deceit , And thence foresees a system more compleat . Of those what think you , who the circling race Of suns , and their revolving planets trace , And comets journeying thro' unbounded space ? Say , can you doubt , but that th' all-searching soul , That now can traverse heav'n from pole to pole ; From thence descending visits but this earth , And shall once more regain the regions of her birth ? Could she thus act , unless some Power unknown , From matter quite distinct , and all her own , Supported , and impell'd her ? She approves Self-conscious , and condemns , she hates , and loves , Mourns , and rejoices , hopes , and is afraid , Without the body's unrequested aid : Her own internal strength her reason guides , By this she now compares things , now divides ; Truth's scatter'd fragments piece by piece collects , Rejoins , and thence her edifice erects ; Piles arts on arts , effects to causes ties , And rears th' aspiring fabric to the skies : From whence , as on a distant plain below , She sees from causes consequences flow , And the whole chain distinctly comprehends , Which from th' Almighty's throne to earth descends : And lastly , turning inwardly her eyes , Perceives how all her own ideas rise , Contemplates what she is , and whence she came , And almost comprehends her own amazing frame . Can mere machines be with such pow'rs endued , Or conscious of those pow'rs , suppose they cou'd ? For body is but a machine alone Mov'd by external force , and impulse not its own . Rate not the extension of the human mind By the plebeian standard of mankind , But by the size of those gigantic few , Whom Greece and Rome still offer to our view ; Or Britain well-deserving equal praise , Parent of heroes too in better days . Why should I try her num'rous sons to name By verse , law , eloquence consign'd to fame ? Or who have forc'd fair Science into sight , Long lost in darkness , and afraid of light . O'er all superior , like the solar ray First Bacon usher'd in the dawning day , And drove the mists of sophistry away ; Pervaded nature with amazing force , Following experience still throughout his course , And finishing at length his destin'd way , To Newton he bequeathed the radiant lamp of day . Illustrious souls ! if any tender cares Affect angelic breasts for man's affairs , If in your present happy heav'nly state , You're not regardless quite of Britain's fate , Let this degen'rate land again be blest With that true vigour , which she once possest ; Compel us to unfold our slumb'ring eyes , And to our ancient dignity to rise . Such wond'rous pow'rs as these must sure be given For most important purposes by heav'n ; Who bids these stars as bright examples shine Besprinkled thinly by the hand divine , To form to virtue each degenerate time , And point out to the soul its origin sublime . That there's a self which after death shall live , All are concern'd about , and all believe ; That something's ours , when we from life depart , This all conceive , all feel it at the heart ; The wise of learn'd antiquity proclaim This truth , the public voice declares the same ; No land so rude but looks beyond the tomb For future prospects in a world to come . Hence , without hopes to be in life repaid , We plant slow oaks posterity to shade ; And hence vast pyramids aspiring high Lift their proud heads aloft , and time defy . Hence is our love of fame , a love so strong , We think no dangers great , or labors long , By which we hope our beings to extend , And to remotest times in glory to descend . For fame the wretch beneath the gallows lyes , Disowning every crime for which he dies ; Of life profuse , tenacious of a name , Fearless of death , and yet afraid of shame . Nature has wove into the human mind This anxious care for names we leave behind , T' extend our narrow views beyond the tomb , And give an earnest of a life to come : For , if when dead , we are but dust or clay , Why think of what posterity shall say ? Her praise , or censure cannot us concern , Nor ever penetrate the silent urn . What mean the nodding plumes , the fun'ral train , And marble monument that speaks in vain , With all those cares , which ev'ry nation pays To their unfeeling dead in diff'rent ways ! Some in the flow'r-strewn grave the corpse have lay'd , And annual obsequies around it pay'd , As if to please the poor departed shade ; Others on blazing piles the body burn , And store their ashes in the faithful urn ; But all in one great principle agree To give a fancy'd immortality . Why should I mention those , whose ouzy soil Is render'd fertile by th' o'erflowing Nile , Their dead they bury not , nor burn with fires , No graves they dig , erect no fun'ral pires , But , washing first th' embowel'd body clean , Gums , spice , and melted pitch they pour within ; Then with strong fillets bind it round and round , To make each flaccid part compact , and sound ; And lastly paint the varnish'd surface o'er With the same features , which in life it wore : So strong their presage of a future state , And that our nobler part survives the body's fate . Nations behold remote from reason's beams , Where Indian Ganges rolls his sandy streams , Of life impatient rush into the fire , And willing victims to their Gods expire ! Persuaded the loose soul to regions flies Blest with eternal spring , and cloudless skies . Nor is less fam'd the oriental wife For stedfast virtue , and contempt of life : These heroines mourn not with loud female cries Their husbands lost , or with o'erflowing eyes , But , strange to tell ! their funeral piles ascend , And in the same sad flames their sorrows end ; In hopes with them beneath the shades to rove , And there renew their interrupted love . In climes where Boreas breathes eternal cold , See numerous nations , warlike , fierce , and bold , To battle all unanimously run , Nor fire , nor sword , nor instant death they shun : Whence this disdain of life in ev'ry breast , But from a notion on their minds imprest , That all , who for their country die , are blest . Add too to these the once prevailing dreams , Of sweet Elysian groves , and Stygian streams : All shew with what consent mankind agree In the firm hope of Immortality . Grant these th' inventions of the crafty priest , Yet such inventions never could subsist . Unless some glimmerings of a future state Were with the mind coaeval , and innate : For every fiction , which can long persuade , In truth must have its first foundations laid . Because we are unable to conceive , How unembody'd souls can act , and live , The vulgar give them forms , and limbs , and faces , And habitations in peculiar places ; Hence reasoners more refin'd , but not more wise , Struck with the glare of such absurdities , Their whole existence sabulous suspect , And truth and falshood in a lump reject ; Too indolent to learn what may be known , Or else too proud that ignorance to own . For hard's the task the daubing to pervade Folly and fraud on Truth's fair form have laid ; Yet let that task be ours ; for great the prize ; Nor let us Truth's celestial charms despise , Because that priests , or poets may disguise . That there's a God from Nature's voice is clear , And yet what errors to this truth adhere ? How have the fears and follies of mankind Now multiply'd their Gods , and now subjoin'd To each the frailties of the human mind ? Nay superstition spread at length so wide , Beasts , birds , and onions too were deify'd . Th' Athenian sage revolving in his mind This weakness , blindness , madness of mankind , Foretold , that in maturer days , tho' late , When time should ripen the decrees of Fate , Some God would light us , like the rising day , Thro' error's maze , and chase these clouds away . Long since has Time fulfill'd this great decree , And brought us aid from this divinity . Well worth our search discoveries may be made By Nature , void of the celestial aid : Let's try what her conjectures then can reach , Nor scorn plain Reason , when she deigns to teach . That mind and body often sympathize Is plain ; such is this union Nature ties : But then as often too they disagree , Which proves the soul's superior progeny . Sometimes the body in full strength we find . Whilst various ails debilitate the mind ; At others , whilst the mind its force retains , The body sinks with sickness and with pains : Now did one common fate their beings end , Alike they'd sicken , and alike they'd mend . But sure experience , on the slightest view , Shews us , that the reverse of this is true ; For when the body oft expiring lies , Its limbs quite senseless , and half clos'd its eyes , The mind new force , and eloquence acquires , And with prophetic voice the dying lips inspires . Of like materials were they both compos'd , How comes it , that the mind , when sleep has clos'd Each avenue of sense , expatiates wide Her liberty restor'd , her bonds unty'd ? And like some bird who from its prison flies , Claps her exulting wings , and mounts the skies . Grant that corporeal is the human mind , It must have parts in infinitum join'd ; And each of these must will , perceive , design , And draw confus'dly in a different line ; Which then can claim dominion o'er the rest , Or stamp the ruling passion in the breast ? Perhaps the mind is form'd by various arts Of modelling , and figuring these parts ; Just as if circles wiser were than squares ; But surely common sense aloud declares That site , and figure are as foreign quite From mental pow'rs , as colours black or white . Allow that motion is the cause of thought , With what strange pow'rs must motion then be fraught ? Reason , sense , science , must derive their source From the wheel's rapid whirl , or pully's force ; Tops whip'd by school-boys sages must commence , Their hoops , like them , be cudgel'd into sense , And boiling pots o'erflow with eloquence . Whence can this very motion take its birth ? Not sure from matter , from dull clods of earth ; But from a living spirit lodg'd within , Which governs all the bodily machine : Just as th' Almighty Universal Soul Informs , directs , and animates the whole . Cease then to wonder how th' immortal mind Can live , when from the body quite disjoin'd ; But rather wonder , if she e'er cou'd die , So fram'd , so fashion'd for eternity ; Self-mov'd , not form'd of parts together ty'd , Which time can dissipate , and force divide ; For beings of this make can never die , Whose pow'rs within themselves , and their own essence lie . If to conceive how any thing can be From shape abstracted and locality Is hard ; what think you of the Deity ? His Being not the least relation bears , As far as to the human mind appears , To shape , or size , similitude or place , Cloath'd in no form , and bounded by no space . Such then is God , a Spirit pure refin'd From all material dross , and such the human mind . For in what part of essence can we see More certain marks of Immortality ? Ev'n from this dark confinement with delight She looks abroad , and prunes herself for flight ; Like an unwilling inmate longs to roam From this dull earth , and seek her native home . Go then forgetful of its toil and strife , Pursue the joys of this fallacious life ; Like some poor fly , who lives but for a day , Sip the fresh dews , and in the sunshine play , And into nothing then dissolve away . Are these our great pursuits , is this to live ? These all the hopes this much-lov'd world can give ! How much more worthy envy is their fate , Who search for truth in a superior state ? Not groping step by step , as we pursue , And following reason's much entangled clue , But with one great , and instantaneous view . But how can sense remain , perhaps you'll say , Corporeal organs if we take away ! Since it from them proceeds , and with them must decay . Why not ? or why may not the soul receive New organs , since ev'n art can these retrieve ? The silver trumpet aids th' obstructed ear , And optic glasses the dim eye can clear ; These in mankind new faculties create , And lift him far above his native state ; Call down revolving planets from the sky , Earth's secret treasures open to his eye , The whole minute creation make his own , With all the wonders of a world unknown . How cou'd the mind , did she alone depend On sense , the errors of those senses mend ? Yet oft , we see those senses she corrects , And oft their information quite rejects . In distances of things , their shapes and size , Our reason judges better than our eyes . Declares not this the soul's preheminence Superior to , and quite distinct from sense ? For sure 'tis likely , that , since now so high Clogg'd and unfledg'd she dares her wings to try , Loos'd , and mature , she shall her strength display , And soar at length to Truth's refulgent ray . Inquire you how these pow'rs we shall attain , 'Tis not for us to know ; our search is vain : Can any now remember or relate How he existed in the embryo state ? Or one from birth insensible of day Conceive ideas of the solar ray ? That light's deny'd to him , which , others see , He knows , perhaps you'll say , — and so do we . The mind contemplative finds nothing here On earth , that's worthy of a wish or fear : He , whose sublime pursuit is God and truth , Burns , like some absent and impatient youth , To join the object of his warm desires , Thence to sequester'd shades , and streams retires , And there delights his passion to rehearse In wisdom's sacred voice , or in harmonious verse . To me most happy therefore he appears , Who having once , unmov'd by hopes or fears , Survey'd this sun , earth , ocean , clouds , and flame , Well satisfy'd returns from whence he came . Is life a hundred years , or e'er so few , 'Tis repetition all , and nothing new : A fair , where thousands meet , but none can stay , An inn , where travellers bait , then post away ; A sea , where man perpetually is tost , Now plung'd in bus'ness , now in trifles lost : Who leave it first , the peaceful port first gain ; Hold then ! no farther launch into the main : Contract your sails ; life nothing can bestow By long continuance , but continu'd woe : The wretched privilege daily to deplore The funerals of our friends , who go before : Diseases , pains , anxieties , and cares , And age surrounded with a thousand snares . But whither hurry'd by a generous scorn Of this vain world , ah , whither am I borne ? Let's not unbid th' Almighty's standard quit , Howe'er severe our post , we must submit . Cou'd I a firm persuasion once attain That after death no being wou'd remain ; To those dark shades I'd willingly descend , Where all must sleep , this drama at an end : Nor life accept , altho' renew'd by Fate Ev'n from its earliest , and its happiest state . Might I from Fortune's bounteous hand receive Each boon , each blessing in her pow'r to give , Genius , and science , morals , and good-sense , Unenvy'd honors , wit and eloquence , A numerous offspring to the world well known Both for paternal virtues , and their own ; Ev'n at this mighty price I'd not be bound To tread the same dull circle round , and round ; The soul requires enjoyments more sublime , By space unbounded , undestroy'd by time .

BOOK II . GOD then thro' all creation gives , we find , Sufficient marks of an indulgent mind , Excepting in ourselves ; ourselves of all His works the chief on this terrestrial ball , His own bright image , who alone unblest Feel ills perpetual , happy all the rest . But hold , presumptuous ? charge not heav'n's decree With such injustice , such partiality . Yet true it is , survey we life around , Whole hosts of ills on ev'ry side are found ; Who wound not here and there by chance a foe , But at the species meditate the blow . What millions perish by each others hands In war's fierce rage ? or by the dread commands Of tyrants languish out their lives in chains , Or lose them in variety of pains ? What numbers pinch'd by want and hunger die , In spite of Nature's liberality ? ( Those , still more numerous , I to name disdain , By lewdness , and intemperance justly slain ; ) What numbers , guiltless of their own disease , Are snatch'd by sudden death , or waste by slow degrees ? Where then is Virtue's well deserv'd reward ! — Let's pay to Virtue ev'ry due regard : That she enables man , let us confess , To bear those evils , which she can't redress ; Gives hope , and conscious peace , and can assuage Th' impetuous tempests both of lust , and rage ; Yet she's a guard so far from being sure , That oft her friends peculiar ills endure : Where Vice prevails severest is their fate , Tyrants pursue them with a three-fold hate . How many struggling in their country's cause , And from their country meriting applause , Have fall'n by wretches fond to be inslav'd , And perish'd by the hands themselves had sav'd ? Soon as superior worth appears in view , See knaves , and fools united to pursue ! The man so form'd they all conspire to blame , And Envy's pois'nous tooth attacks his fame ; Shou'd he at length , so truly good and great , Prevail , and rule with honest views the state , Then must he toil for an ungrateful race , Submit to clamor , libels , and disgrace ; Threaten'd , oppos'd , defeated in his ends , By foes seditious , and aspiring friends . Hear this and tremble ! all who wou'd be great , Yet know not what attends that dang'rous wretched state . Is private life from all these evils free ? Vice of all kinds , rage , envy there we see , Deceit , that Friendship's mask insidious wears , Quarrels , and feuds , and law's intangling snares . But there are pleasures still in human life , Domestic ease , a tender loving wife , Children , whose dawning smiles your heart engage , The grace , and comfort of soft-stealing age . If happiness exists , 'tis surely here — But are these joys exempt from care and fear ? Need I the miseries of that state declare , When diff'rent passions draw the wedded pair ? Or say how hard those passions to discern , Ere the die's cast , and 'tis too late to learn ? Who can insure , that what is right , and good , These children shall pursue ? or if they shou'd , Death comes , when least you fear so black a day , And all your blooming hopes are snatch'd away . We say not , that these ills from Virtue flow : Did her wise precepts rule the world , we know The golden ages wou'd again begin , But 'tis our lot in this to suffer , and to sin . Observing this , some sages have decreed That all things from two causes must proceed ; Two principles with equal pow'r endu'd , This wholly evil , that supremely good . From this arise the miseries we endure , Whilst that administers a friendly cure ; Hence life is chequer'd still with bliss , and woe , Hence tares with golden crops promiscuous grow , And poisonous serpents make their dread repose Beneath the covert of the fragrant rose . Can such a system satisfy the mind , Are both these Gods in equal pow'r conjoin'd , Or one superior ? Equal if you say , Chaos returns , since neither will obey . Is one superior ? good , or ill must reign , Eternal joy , or everlasting pain . Whiche'er is conquer'd must entirely yield , And the victorious God enjoy the field . Hence with these fictions of the Magi's brain ! Hence ouzy Nile , with all her monstrous train ! Or comes the Stoic nearer to the right ? He holds , that whatsoever yields delight , Wealth , fame , externals all , are useless things ; Himself half starving happier far than kings . 'Tis fine indeed to be so wond'rous wise ! By the same reas'ning too he pain denies ; Roast him , or flea him , break him on the wheel , Retract he will not , tho' he can't but feel : Pain's not an ill , he utters with a groan ; What then ? an inconvenience 'tis , he'll own . What ? vigour , health , and beauty ? are these good ? No : they may be accepted , not pursued : Absurd to squabble thus about a name , Quibbling with diff'rent words , that mean the same . Stoic , were you not fram'd of flesh and blood , You might be blest without external good ; But know , be self-sufficient as you can , You are not spirit quite , but frail , and mortal man . But since these sages , so absurdly wise , Vainly pretend enjoyments to despise , Because externals , and in Fortune's pow'r , Now mine , now thine , the blessings of an hour ; Why value then , that strength of mind , they boast , As often varying , and as quickly lost ? A head-ach hurts it , or a rainy day , And a slow fever wipes it quite away . See Lord Somers . one whose councils , one Duke of Marlborough . whose conqu'ring hand Once sav'd Britannia's almost sinking land : Examples of the mind's extensive pow'r , Examples too how quickly fades that flow'r . Dean Swift . Him let me add , whom late we saw excel In each politer kind of writing well ; Whether he strove our follies to expose In easy verse , or droll and hum'rous prose ; Few years , alas ! compel his throne to quit This mighty monarch o'er the realms of wit , See self-surviving he's an ideot grown ! A melancholy proof our parts are not our own . Thy tenets , Stoic , yet we may forgive , If in a future state we cease to live . For here the virtuous suffer much , 'tis plain ; If pain is evil , this must God arraign ; And on this principle confess we must , Pain can no evil be , or God must be unjust . Blind man ! whose reason such strait bounds confine , That ere it touches truth's extremest line , It stops amaz'd , and quits the great design . Own you not , Stoic , God is just and true ? Dare to proceed ; secure this path pursue : Twill soon conduct you far beyond the tomb , To future justice , and a life to come . This path you say is hid in endless night , Tis self-conceit alone obstructs your sight , You stop , ere half your destin'd course is run , And triumph , when the conquest is not won ; By this the Sophists were of old misled : See what a monstrous race from one mistake is bred ! Hear then my argument : — confess we must , A God there is , supremely wise and just : If so , however things affect our sight , As sings our bard , whatever is , is right . But is it right , what here so oft appears , That vice shou'd triumph , virtue sink in tears ? The inference then , that closes this debate , Is , that there must exist a future state . The wise extending their enquiries wide See how both states are by connection ty'd ; Fools view but part , and not the whole survey , So crowd existence all into a day . Hence are they led to hope , but hope in vain , That Justice never will resume her reign ; On this vain hope adulterers , thieves rely , And to this altar vile assassins fly . " But rules not God by general laws divine ? " Man's vice , or virtues change not the design . " What laws are these ? instruct us if you can : — There's one design'd for brutes , and one for man : Another guides inactive matter's course , Attracting , and attracted by its force : Hence mutual gravity subsists between Far distant worlds , and ties the vast machine . The laws of life why need I call to mind , Obey'd by birds , and beasts of ev'ry kind ; By all the sandy desart's savage brood , And all the num'rous offspring of the flood ; Of these none uncontroul'd , and lawless rove , But to some destin'd end spontaneous move . Led by that instinct , heav'n itself inspires , Or so much reason , as their state requires ; See all with skill acquire their daily food , All use those arms , which Nature has bestow'd ; Produce their tender progeny , and feed With care parental , whilst that care they need ; In these lov'd offices compleatly blest , No hopes beyond them , nor vain fears molest . Man o'er a wider field extends his views ; God thro' the wonders of his works pursues , Exploring thence his attributes , and laws , Adores , loves , imitates th' Eternal Cause ; For sure in nothing we approach so nigh The great example of divinity , As in benevolence : the patriot's soul Knows not self-center'd for itself to roll , But warms , enlightens , animates the whole : Its mighty orb embraces first his friends , His country next , then man ; nor here it ends , But to the meanest animal descends . Wise Nature has this social law confirm'd , By forming man so helpless , and unarm'd ; His want of others' aid , and pow'r of speech T' implore that aid , this lesson daily teach . Mankind with other animals compare , Single how weak , and impotent they are ! But view them in their complicated state , Their pow'rs how wond'rous , and their strength how great , When social virtue individuals joins , And in one solid mass , like gravity combines ! This then's the first great law by Nature giv'n , Stamp'd on our souls , and ratify'd by Heav'n ; All from utility this law approve , As ev'ry private bliss must spring from social love . Why deviate then so many from this law ? See passions , custom , vice , and folly draw ! Survey the rolling globe from East to West , How few , alas ! how very few are blest ? Beneath the frozen poles , and burning line , What poverty , and indolence combine , To cloud with Error's mists the human mind ? No trace of man , but in the form we find . And are we free from error , and distress , Whom Heav'n with clearer light has pleas'd to bless ? Whom true Religion leads ? ( for she but leads By soft persuasion , not by force proceeds ; ) Behold how we avoid this radiant sun ! This proffer'd guide how obstinately shun , And after Sophistry's vain systems run ! For these as for essentials we engage In wars , and massacres , with holy rage ; Brothers by brothers' impious hands are slain , Mistaken Zeal , how savage is thy reign ! Unpunish'd vices here so much abound , All right , and wrong , all order they confound ; These are the giants , who the gods defy , And mountains heap on mountains to the sky . Sees this th' Almighty Judge , or seeing spares , And deems the crimes of man beneath his cares ? He sees ; and will at last rewards bestow , And punishments , not less assur'd for being slow . Nor doubt I , tho' this state confus'd appears , That ev'n in this God sometimes interferes : Sometimes , lest man should quite his pow'r disown , He makes that pow'r to trembling nations known : But rarely this ; not for each vulgar end , As Superstition's idle tales pretend , Who thinks all foes to God , who are her own , Directs his thunder , and usurps his throne . Nor know I not , how much a conscious mind Avails to punish , or reward mankind ; Ev'n in this life thou , impious wretch , must feel The Fury's scourges , and th' infernal wheel ; Fom man's tribunal , tho' thou hop'st to run , Thyself thou can'st not , nor thy conscience shun : What must thou suffer , when each dire disease , The progeny of Vice , thy fabric seize ? Consumption , fever , and the racking pain Of spasms , and gout , and stone , a frightful train ! When life new tortures can alone supply , Life thy sole hope thou'lt hate , yet dread to die . Shou'd such a wretch to num'rous years arrive , It can be little worth his while to live ; No honors , no regards his age attend , Companions fly : he ne'er cou'd have a friend : His flatterers leave him , and with wild affright He looks within , and shudders at the sight : When threatning Death uplifts his pointed dart , With what impatience he applies to art , Life to prolong amidst disease and pains ! Why this , if after it no sense remains ? Why shou'd he chuse these miseries to endure , If Death cou'd grant an everlasting cure ? 'Tis plain there's something whispers in his ear , ( Tho' fain he'd hide it ) he has much to fear . See the reverse ! how happy those we find , Who know by merit to engage mankind ? Prais'd by each tongue , by ev'ry heart belov'd , For Virtues practis'd , and for Arts improv'd : Their easy aspects shine with smiles serene , And all is peace , and happiness within : Their sleep is ne'er disturb'd by fears , or strife , Nor lust , nor wine , impair the springs of life . Him Fortune can not sink , nor much elate , Whose views extend beyond this mortal state ; By age when summon'd to resign his breath , Calm , and serene , he sees approaching death , As the safe port , the peaceful silent shore , Where he may rest , life's tedious voyage o'er : He , and he only , is of death afraid , Whom his own conscience has a coward made ; Whilst he , who Virtue's radiant course has run , Descends like a serenely-setting sun : His thoughts triumphant Heav'n alone employs , And hope anticipates his future joys . So good , so blest th' illustrious Bishop of Worcester . Hough we find , Whose image dwells with pleasure on my mind ; The Mitre's glory , Freedom's constant friend , In times which ask'd a champion to defend ; Who after near a hundred virtuous years , His senses perfect , free from pains and fears , Replete with life , with honors , and with age , Like an applauded actor left the stage ; Or like some victor in th' Olympic games , Who having run his course , the crown of Glory claims . From this just contrast plainly it appears , How Conscience can inspire both hopes and fears ; But whence proceed these hopes , or whence this dread , If nothing really can affect the dead ? See all things join to promise , and presage The sure arrival of a future age ! Whate'er their lot is here , the good and wise , Nor doat on life , nor peevishly despise . An honest man , when Fortune's storms begin , Has Consolation always sure within , And , if she sends a more propitious gale , He's pleas'd , but not forgetful it may fail . Nor fear that he , who sits so loose to life , Shou'd too much shun its labors , and its strife ; And scorning wealth , contented to be mean , Shrink from the duties of this bustling scene ; Or , when his country's safety claims his aid , Avoid the fight inglorious , and afraid : Who scorns life most must surely be most brave , And he , who pow'r contemns , be least a slave : Virtue will lead him to Ambition's ends , And prompt him to defend his country , and his friends . But still his merit you can not regard , Who thus pursues a posthumous reward ; His soul , you cry , is uncorrupt and great , Who quite uninfluenc'd by a future state , Embraces Virtue from a nobler sense Of her abstracted , native excellence , From the self-conscious joy her essence brings , The beauty , fitness , harmony of things . It may be so : yet he deserves applause , Who follows where instructive Nature draws ; Aims at rewards by her indulgence giv'n , And soars triumphant on her wings to heav'n . Say what this venal virtuous man pursues , No mean rewards , no mercenary views ; Not wealth usurious , or a num'rous train , Not fame by fraud acquir'd , or title vain ! He follows but where Nature points the road , Rising in Virtue's school , till he ascends to God . But we th' inglorious common herd of man , Sail without compass , toil without a plan ; In Fortune's varying storms for ever tost , Shadows pursue , that in pursuit are lost ; Mere infants all , till life's extremest day , Scrambling for toys , then tossing them away . Who rests of Immortality assur'd Is safe , whatever ills are here endur'd : He hopes not vainly in a world like this , To meet with pure uninterrupted bliss ; For good and ill , in this imperfect state , Are ever mix'd by the decrees of Fate . With Wisdom's richest harvest Folly grows , And baleful hemlock mingles with the rose ; All things are blended , changeable , and vain , No hope , no wish we perfectly obtain ; God may perhaps ( might human Reason's line Pretend to fathom infinite design ) Have thus ordain'd things , that the restless mind No happiness compleat on earth may find ; And , by this friendly chastisement made wise , To heav'n her safest , best retreat may rise . Come then , since now in safety we have past Thro' Error's rocks , and see the port at last , Let us review , and recollect the whole . — Thus stands my argument . — The thinking soul Cannot terrestrial , or material be , But claims by Nature Immortality : God , who created it , can make it end , We question not , but cannot apprehend He will ; because it is by him endued With strong ideas of all perfect Good : With wond'rous pow'rs to know , and calculate Things too remote from this our earthly state ; With sure presages of a life to come , All false and useless ; if beyond the tomb Our beings cease : we therefore can't believe God either acts in vain , or can deceive . If ev'ry rule of equity demands , That Vice and Virtue from the Almighty's hands , Shou'd due rewards , and punishments receive , And this by no means happens whilst we live , It follows , that a time must surely come , When each shall meet their well-adjusted doom : Then shall this scene , which now to human sight Seems so unworthy Wisdom infinite , A system of consummate skill appear , And ev'ry cloud dispers'd , be beautiful and clear . Doubt we of this ! what solid proof remains , That o'er the world a wise Disposer reigns ? Whilst all Creation speaks a pow'r divine , Is it deficient in the main design ? Not so : the day shall come , ( pretend not now Presumptuous to enquire or when , or how ) But after death shall come th' important day , When God to all his justice shall display ; Each action with impartial eyes regard , And in a just proportion punish and reward .