Compare the Rivals, and the Kinder crown.

Strange Competition"--True Lorenzo ! Strange! So Little Life can caft into the Scale.

Life makes the Soul Dependant on the Duft; Death gives her wings to mount above the Spheres: Thro' Chinks, ftyl'd Organs, dim Life peeps at light; · Death burfts th' Involving Cloud, and all is Day: All Eye, all Ear, the difembody'd Power. Death has feign'd Evils, Nature shall not feel; Life, Ills fubftantial, Wisdom cannot shun : Is not the mighty Mind, that Son of Heaven! By Tyrant Life dethron'd, imprison'd, pain'd? By Death enlarg'd, ennobled, Deify'd? Death but entombs the Body; Life the Soul.

"Is Death then Guiltless? How He marks his Way "With dreadful Waste of what deserves to shine? "Art, Genius, Fortune, elevated Pow'r !

"With various Luftres Thefe light up the World,

"Which Death puts out and darkens human Race."
I grant, Lorenzo! this Indictment just :
The Sage, Peer, Potentate, King, Conqueror !
Death humbles Thefe; more barbarous Life, the

Life is the Triumph of our mouldering Clay ;
Death, of the Spirit Infinite! Divine?

man :

Death has no dread but what frail Life imparts;
Nor Life true Joy, but what kind Death improves.
No Blifs has Life to boaft, till Death can give
Far greater; Life's a Debtor to the Grave,
Dark Lattice! letting in Eternal Day.

Lorenzo! blush at Fondness for a Life, Which fends celeftial Souls on errands vile, To cater for the Sense; and serve at Boards, Where every Ranger of the Wilds, perhaps, Each Reptile juftly claims our upper Hand; Luxurious Feaft! a Soul, a Soul immortal,

In all the Dainties of a Brute bemir'd!

Lorenzo! blush at Terror for a Death,

Which gives thee to repose in feftive Bowers,
Where Nectars fparkle, Angels minister,

And more than Angels share, and raise, and crown,
And enternize, the Birth, Bloom, Burfts of Blifs.
O Feaft indeed Luxurious! Earth, vile Earth!
In all the Glories of a God array'd;

And beaming inextinguishable Bliss.

What need I more? O Death, the Palm is thine.

Then welcome, Death! thy dreaded Harbingers Age, and Difeafe; Disease, tho' long my Guest; That plucks my Nerves, those tender Strings of Life, Which pluckt a little more, will toll the Bell That calls my few Friends to my Funeral; Where feeble Nature drops, perhaps, a Tear, While Reason and Religion, better taught, Congratulate the Dead, and crown his tomb

With wreath triumphant. Death is Victory;

It binds in chains the raging Ills of Life:
Luft and Ambition, Wrath and Avarice,
Dragg'd at his chariot wheel, applaud his Power.
That Ills corrofive, Cares importunate,

Are not Immortal too, O Death! is Thine.
Our Day of Diffolution ?---Name it right;
'Tis our great Pay-day; 'Tis our Harvest, rich
And ripe; what tho' the Sickle, sometimes keen,
Juft fcars us, as we reap the the golden Grain,
More than thy Balm, O Gilead! heals the Wound.
Birth's feeble Cry, and Death's deep dismal Groan,
Are flender Tributes low-taxt Nature pays,
For mighty Gain: The Gain of each, a Life !
But O, the Laft the Former fo tranfcends,
Life dies, Compar'd: Life lives beyond the Grave.

And feel I, Death! no joy from thought of Thee? Death, the great Counsellor, who Man inspires,

With every nobler Thought, and fairer Deed!
Death, the Deliverer, who refcues man!

Death, the Rewarder, who the rescued crowns!

Death, that abfolves my Birth, a curse without it! Rich Death, that realizes all my Cares,

One in

Toils, Virtues, Hopes; without it, a Chimera!
Death, of all Pain the Period, not of Joy;
Joy's Source, and Subject, ftill fubfift unhurt,
my Soul; and One, in her great Sire,
Tho' the four Winds were warring for my Duft.
Yes, and from Winds, and Waves, and central Night,
Tho' prifon'd there, my Dust too I reclaim,
(To Duft when drop proud Nature's proudest

Spheres) And live Entire. Death is the Crown of Life;

Was Death deny'd, poor Man would live in vain ;
Was Death deny'd, to live would not be life;
Was Death deny'd, even Fools would wish to die.
Death wounds, to cure: We fall; we rise; we reign!
Spring from our Fetters; faften in the Skies

H 2

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Where