So pale grows Reason at Religion's sight;
So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light.
Some few, whose lamp shone brighter, have
been led

From cause to cause, to nature's secret head;
And found that one first principle must be:
But what, or who, that universal He;
Whether some soul encompassing this ball,
Unmade, unmov'd; yet making, moving all;
Or various atoms' interfering dance
Leap'd into form, the noble work of chance;
Or this great all was from eternity;
Not e'en the Stagirite himself could see;
And Epicurus guess'd as well as he :
As blindly grop'd they for a future state;
As rashly judg'd of providence and fate :
But least of all could their endeavours find*
What most concern'd the good of human kind:
For happiness was never to be found;

But vanish'd from 'em like enchanted ground.
One thought Content the good to be enjoy'd:
This every little accident destroy'd:
The wiser madmen did for Virtue toil :
A thorny, or at best a barren soil:

In Pleasure some their glutton souls would steep;
But found their line too short, the well too deep;
And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep.
Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll,
Without a centre where to fix the soul:
In this wild maze their vain endeavours end:
How can the less the greater comprehend?
Or finite reason reach Infinity?

For what could fathom God were more than He.
The Deist thinks he stands on firmer ground;*
Cries cpnxa, the mighty secret's found:
God is that spring of good: supreme and best;
We made to serve, and in that service blest;
If so, some rules of worship must be given,
Distributed alike to all by Heaven:
Else God were partial, and to some denied
The means his justice should for all provide.
This general worship is to praise and pray:
One part to borrow blessings, one to pay :
And when frail nature slides into offence,
The sacrifice for crimes is penitence.
Yet since the effects of providence, we find,
Are variously dispens'd to human kind;
That vice triumphs, and virtue suffers here,
A brand that sovereign justice cannot bear;
Our reason prompts us to a future state:
The last appeal from fortune and from fate:
Where God's all-righteous ways will be de-
clar'd;

The bad meet punishment, the good reward. Thus man by his own strength to heaven would soar:†

• System of Deism. Marginal note, orig. ed. Of revealed religion. Marginal Note, orig. ed.

And would not be obligd to God for more.
Vain, wretched creature, how art thou misled,
To think thy wit these godlike notions bred!
These truths are not the product of thy mind,
But dropp'd from Heaven, and of a nobler kind.
Reveal'd religion first inform'd thy sight,
And Reason saw not, till Faith sprung the light.
Hence all thy natural worship takes the source :
'Tis revelation what thou think'st discourse.
Else how com'st thou to see these truths so clear,
Which so obscure to heathens did appear?
Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found;
Nor he whose wisdom oracles renown'd.‡
Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime,
Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb?
Canst thou by reason more of Godhead know
Than Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero ?
Those giant wits, in happier ages born,
(When arms and arts did Greece and Rome
adorn,)
[raise

Knew no such system: no such piles could
Of natural worship, built on prayer and praise
To one sole God.

Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe;
But slew their fellow-creatures for a bribe :
The guiltless victim groan'd for their offence;
And cruelty and blood was penitence.
If sheep and oxen could atone for men,
Ah! at how cheap a rate the rich might sin!
And great oppressors might Heaven's wrath
beguile,

By offering his own creatures for a spoil!

Dar'st thou, poor worm, offend Infinity? And must the terms of peace be given by thee? Then thou art Justice in the last appeal; Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel: And, like a king remote, and weak, must take What satisfaction thou art pleas'd to make.

But if there be a power too just and strong To wink at crimes, and bear unpunish'd wrong; Look humbly upward, see his will disclose The forfeit first, and then the fine impose: A mulct thy poverty could never pay, Had not eternal wisdom four.d the way; And with celestial wealth supplied thy store: His justice makes the fine, his mercy quits the

score.

See God descending in thy human frame;
The offended suffering in the offender's name
All thy misdeeds to him imputed see,
And all his righteousness devolv'd on thee.

For granting we have sinn'd, and that the
Of man is made against Omnipotence, [offence
Some price that bears proportion must be paid
And infinite with infinite be weigh'd.
See then the Deist lost : remorse for vice,
Not paid; or paid, inadequate in price:

: Socrates. Marginal Note, orig. ed.

What farther means can Reason now direct,
Or what relief from human wit expect?
That shows us sick; and sadly are we sure
Still to be sick, till Heaven reveal the cure:
If then Heaven's will must needs be understood,
(Which must, if we want cure, and Heaven be
good,)

Let all records of will reveal'd be shown;
With Scripture all in equal balance thrown,
And our one sacred book will be that one.
Proof needs not here, for whether we com-
That impious, idle, superstitious ware [pare
Of rites, lustrations, offerings, (which before,
In various ages, various countries bore,)
With Christian faith and virtues, we shall find
None answering the great ends of human kind,
But this one rule of life, that shows us best
How God may be appeas'd, and mortals blest.
Whether from length of time its worth we draw,
The world is scarce more ancient than the law:
Heaven's early care prescrib'd for every age;
First, in the soul, and after, in the page.
Or, whether more abstractedly we look,
Or on the writers, or the written book,
Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskill'd
In several ages born, in several parts, [in arts,
Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why,
Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie?
Unask'd their pains, ungrateful their advice,
Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.
If on the book itself we cast our view,
Concurrent heathens prove the story true:
The doctrine, miracles; which must convince,
For Heaven in them appeals to human sense :
And though they prove not, they confirm the
cause,

When what is taught agrees with Nature's laws.
Then for the style, majestic and divine,
It speaks no less than God in every line:
Commanding words; whose force is still the
As the first fiat that produc'd our frame. [same
All faiths beside, or did by arms ascend;
Or sense indulg'd has made mankind their friend:
This only doctrine does our lusts oppose:
Unfed by nature's soil, in which it grows;
Cross to our interests, curbing sense, and sin;
Oppress'd without, and undermin'd within,
It thrives through pain; its own tormentors
tires;

And with a stubborn patience still aspires.
To what can Reason such effects assign,
Transcending nature, but to laws divine?
Which in that sacred volume are contain'd;
Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordain'd.

But stay: the Deist here will urge anew,
No supernatural worship can be true:

• Objection of the Deist. M. N. Orig ed.

Because a general law is that alone
Which must to all, and every where, be known:
A style so large as not this book can claim,
Nor aught that bears reveal'd religion's name.
'Tis said the sound of a Messiah's birth

Is
gone through all the habitable earth:
But still that text must be confin'd alone
To what was then inhabited, and known:
And what provision could from thence accrue
To Indian souls, and worlds discover'd new?
In other parts it helps, that ages past, [brac'd,
The Scriptures there were known, and were em-
Till Sin spread once again the shades of night:
What's that to these who never saw the light?

Of all objections this indeed is chief*
To startle reason, stagger frail belief: [senso
We grant, 't is true, that Heaven from human
Has hid the secret paths of Providence:
But boundless wisdom, boundless mercy, may
Find e'en for those bewilder'd souls a way:
If from his nature foes may pity claim, [name.
Much more may strangers who ne'er heard his
And though no name be for salvation known,
But that of his eternal Son's alone;
Who knows how far transcending goodness can
Extend the merits of that Son to man?
Who knows what reasons may his mercy
lead;
Or ignorance invincible may plead?
Not only charity bids hope the best,
But more the great apostle has express'd:
That if the Gentiles, whom no law inspir'd,
By nature did what was by law requir'd;
They, who the written rule had never known,
Were to themselves both rule and law alone:
To Nature's plain indictment they shall plead
And by their conscience be condemn'd or freed.
Most righteous doom! because a rule reveal'd
Is none to those from whom it was conceal'd.
Then those who follow'd Reason's dictates right,
Liv'd up, and lifted high their natural light;
With Socrates may see their Maker's face,
While thousand rubric-martyrs want a place.
Nor does it balk my charity, to find
The Egyptian bishop of another mind
For though his creed eternal truth contains,
'T is hard for man to doom to endless pains
All who believ'd not all his zeal requir'd,
Unless he first could prove he was inspir'd.
Then let us either think he meant to say
This faith, where publish'd, was the only way;
Or else conclude that, Arius to confute,
The good old man too eager in dispute,
Flew high; and, as his Christian fury rose,
Damn'd all for heretics who durst oppose.

Thus far my charity this path has tried; (A much unskilful, but well-meaning guide ;)

↑ The objection answered. M. N. Orig. ed.

Which exposition flows from genuine sense;
And which is forc'd by wit and eloquence.
Not that tradition's parts are useless here;
When general, old, disinteress'd, and clear:
That ancient Fathers thus expound the page,
Gives truth the reverend majesty of age;
Confirms its force, by biding every test;
For best authority's next rules are best.
And still the nearer to the spring we go,
More limpid, more unsoil'd the waters flow.
Thus, first traditions were a proof alone;
Could we be certain such they were, so known:
But since some flaws in long descent may be,
They make not truth but probability.
E'en Arius and Pelagius durst provoke
To what the centuries preceding spoke.
Such difference is there in an oft told tale:
But truth by its own sinews will prevail.
Tradition written therefore more commends
Authority, than what from voice descends:
And this, as perfect as its kind can be,
Rolls down to us the sacred history:
Which, from the Universal Church receiv'd,
Is tried, and after, for itself believ'd.

The partial Papists would infer from hence* Their church, in last resort, should judge the

sense.

But first they would assume,with wondrous art, Themselves to be the whole, who are but part Of that vast frame, the Church; yet grant they

were

The handers down, can they from thence infer
A right to interpret? or would they alone
Who brought the present, claim it for their own?
The book's a common largess to mankind,
Not more for them than every man design'd;
The welcome news is in the letter found;
The carrier's not commission'd to expound.
It speaks itself, and what it does contain,
In all things needful to be known, is plain.
In times o'ergrown with rust and ignorance,
A gainful trade their clergy did advance :
When want of learning kept the laymen low,
And none but priests were authoriz'd to know:
When what small knowledge was, in them did
dwell;

And he a god who could but read or spell :
Then mother church did mightily prevail :
She parcell'd out the Bible by retail:
But still expounded what she sold or gave;
To keep it in her power to damn and save:
Scripture was scarce, and, as the market went,
Poor laymen took salvation on content;
As needy men take money good or bad:
God's word they had not, but the priest's they
had.

The second objection. M. N. Orig. ed.
✦ Answer to the objection. M. N. Orig. ed.

Yet, whate'er false conveyances they made,
The lawyer still was certain to be paid.
In those dark times they learn'd their knack so
That by long use they grew infallible: [well,
At last, a knowing age began to inquir
If they the book, or that did them inspire:
And, making narrower search, they found, tho'
late,
[estate;
That what they thought the priest's was their
Taught by the will produc'd, (the written word,)
How long they had been cheated on record.
Then every man, who saw the title fair,
Claim'd a child's part, and put in for a share:
Consulted soberly his private good,
And sav'd himself as cheap as e'er he could.
'Tis true, my friend, (and far be flattery

hence,)

This good had full as bad a consequence:
The book thus put in every vulgar hand,
Which each presum'd he best could understand,
The common rule was made the common prey,
And at the mercy of the rabble lay.
The tender page with horny fists was gall'd;
And he was gifted most that loudest bawl'd:
The spirit gave the doctoral degree;
And every member of a company
Was of his trade and of the Bible free.
Plain truths enough for needful use they found:
But men would still be itching to expound :
Each was ambitious of the obscurest place,
No measure ta'en from knowledge,all from grace.
Study and pains were now no more their care;
Texts were explain'd by fasting and by prayer:
This was the fruit the private spirit brought;
Occasion'd by great zeal and little thought.
While crowds unlearn'd, with rude devotion
warm,

About the sacred viands buzz and swarm:
The fly-blown text creates a crawling brood;
And turns to maggots what was meant for food.
A thousand daily sects rise up and die;
A thousand more the perish'd race supply
So all we make of Heaven's discover'd will
Is, not to have it, or to use it ill.
The danger 's much the same; on several
If others wreck us, or we wreck ourselves.

[shelves

What then remains but, waiving each extreme, The tides of ignorance and pride to stem? Neither so rich a treasure to forego; Nor proudly seek beyond our power to know: Faith is not built on disquisitions vain; The things we must believe are few and plain : But since men will believe more than they need, And every man will make himself a creed, In doubtful questions 't is the safest way To learn what unsuspected ancients say; For 't is not likely we should higher soar [fore In search of Heaven, than all the Church be

Nor can we be deceiv'd, unless we see
The Scripture and the Fathers disagree.
If after all they stand suspected still,
(For no inan's faith depends upon his will,)
'T is some relief, that points not clearly known,
Without much hazard may be let alone :
And after hearing what our Church can say,
If still our reason runs another way,
That private reason 't is more just to curb,
Than by disputes the public peace disturb.
For points obscure are of small use to learn ;
But common quiet is mankind's concern.

Thus have I made my own opinions clear:
Yet neither praise expect, nor censure fear :
And this unpolish'd rugged verse I chose,
As fittest for discourse, and nearest prose:
For while from sacred truth I do not swerve,
Tom Sternhold's or Tom Shadwell's rhymes
will serve.

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS:

A FUNERAL PINDARIC POEM.

SACRED TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF KING CHARLES IL

I.

THUS long my grief* has kept me dumb :
Sure there's a lethargy in mighty wo,
Tears stand congeal'd, and cannot flow;
And the sad soul retires into her inmost room :
Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief;
But, unprovided for a suden blow,
Like Niobe we marble grow;
And petrify with grief.

Our British heaven was all serene,
No threat'ning cloud was nigh,

Not the least wrinkle to deform the sky;
We liv'd as unconcern'd and happily
As the first age in nature's golden scene;
Supine amidst our flowing store,
We slept securely, and we dreamt of more :
When suddenly the thunder-clap was heard,
It took us unprepar'd and out of guard,
Already lost before we fear'd.

• Thus long my grief] The following just, though severe sentence, has been passed on this Threnodia, by one who was always willing, if possible, to extenuate the blemishes of our poet. 'Its first and obvious defect is the irregularity of its metre, to which the ears of that age, however, were accus. tomed. What is worse, it has neither tenderness nor dignity; it is neither magnificent nor pathetic. He seems to look round him for images which he cannot find, and what he has he distorts by endeavouring to enlarge them. He is, he says, petrified with grief, but the marble relents, and trickles in a joke. There is throughout the composition a desire of splendour without wealth. In the conclusion, he seems too much pleased with the prospect of the new reign, to have lamented his old master with much sincerity.' Dr. Johnson. Dr. J. W.

The amazing news of Charles at once were spread,

At once the general voice declar'd,

'Our gracious prince was dead.'
No sickness known before, no slow disease
To soften grief by just degrees :
But like a hurricane on Indian seas
The tempest rose;

An unexpected burst of woes :
With scarce a breathing space betwixt,
This now becalm'd, and perishing the next.
As if great Atlas from his height
Should sink beneath his heavenly weight,
And with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall
(As once it shall)

Should gape immense, and rushing down, o'er whelm this nether ball;

So swift and so surprising was our fear :
Our Atlas fell indeed; but Hercules was near.

II.

His pious brother, sure the best

Who ever bore that name, Was newly risen from his rest,

And, with a fervent flame,

His usual morning vows had just address'd
For his dear sovereign's health;

And hop'd to have them heard,
In long increase of years,

In honour, fame, and wealth:

Guiltless of greatness thus he always pray'd, Nor knew nor wish'd those vows he made On his own head should be repaid. Soon as the ill-omen'd rumour reach'd his ear,

(Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace,)
Who can describe the amazement of his face!
Horror in all his pomp was there,
Mute and magnificent without a tear:
And then the hero first was seen to fear.
Half unarray'd he ran to his relief,
So hasty and so artless was his grief:
Approaching greatness met him with her charms
Of power and future state;

But look'd so ghastly in a brother's fate,
He shook her from his arms.
Arriv'd within the mournful room, he saw
A wild distraction, void of awe,
And arbitrary grief unbounded by a law.
God's image, God's anointed lay

Without motion, pulse, or breath,
A senseless lump of sacred clay,
An image now of death.

Amidst his sad attendants' groans and cries,
The lines of that ador'd, forgiving face,
Distorted from their native grace;
An iron slumber sat on his majestic eyes.
The pious duke-Forbear, audacious muse,
No terms thy feeble art can use