For though e'er yet the shaft is on the wing,
Or when it first forfakes th' elastic string,
It err but little from th' intended line,
It falls at laft, far wide of his defign.
So he that feeks a mansion in the sky,
Muft watch his purpose with a ftedfaft eye,
That prize belongs to none but the fincere,
The leaft obliquity is fatal here.
With caution tafte the fweet Circæan cup,
He that lips often, at last drinks it up.
Habits are foon affum'd, but when we strive
To ftrip them off, 'tis being flay'd alive.
Call'd to the temple of impure delight,
He that abftains, and he alone does right.
If a wifh wander that way, call it home,
He cannot long be fafe, whose wishes roam.
But if you pass the threshold, you are caught,
Die then, if pow'r Almighty fave you not.
There hard'ning by degrees, 'till double steel'd,
Take leave of nature's God, and God reveal'd,
Then laugh at all you trembl'd at before,
And joining the free-thinkers brutal roar,
Swallow the two grand noftrums they difpenfe,
That scripture lies, and blafphemy is fense:
If clemency revolted by abuse
Be damnable, then, damn'd without excufe.
Some dream that they can filence when they will The form of paffion, and say, Peace, be ftill; But "Thus far and no farther," when address'd To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, Implies authority that never can,
That never ought to be the lot of man.
But mufe forbear, long flights forebode a fall,
Strike on the deep-toned chord the sum of all.
Hear the just law, the judgment of the skies!
He that hates truth fhall be the dupe of lies.
And he that will be cheated to the last,
Delusions, strong as hell, fhall bind him fast.
But if the wand'rer his mistake difcern,
Judge his own ways, and figh for a return,
Bewilder'd once, must he bewail his lofs
For ever and for ever? No-the cross.
There and there only (though the deift rave,
And atheist, if earth bear fo base a slave)
There and there only, is the pow'r to save.
There no delufive hope invites defpair,
No mock'ry meets you, no deception there.
The spells and charms that blinded
you before,
All vanish there, and fascinate no more.
I am no preacher, let this hint fuffice,
The cross once feen, is death to ev'ry vice:
Elfe he that hung there, fuffer'd all his pain,
Bled, groan'd and agoniz'd, and died in vain.
N on the dubious waves of error tofs'd,
His ship half founder'd and his compass lost,
Sees far as human optics may command,
A fleeping fog, and fancies it dry land:
Spreads all his canvass, ev'ry finew plies,
Pants for it, aims at it, enters it, and dies.
Then farewell all felf-fatisfying schemes,
His well-built fyftems, philofophic dreams,
Deceitful views of future blifs, farewell!
He reads his fentence at the flames of hell.
Hard lot of man! to toil for the reward
Of virtue, and yet lose it-wherefore hard?
He that would win the race, muft guide his horfe
Obedient to the customs of the course,
Elfe, though unequall'd to the goal he flies,
A meaner than himself shall gain the prize.
Grace leads the right way, if you chufe the wrong,
Take it and perish, but restrain your tongue;
Charge not, with light fufficient and left free,
Your willful fuicide on God's decree.
Oh how unlike the complex works of man,
Heav'ns easy, artlefs, unincumber'd plan!
No meretricious graces to beguile,
No cluft'ring ornaments to clog the pile,
From oftentation as from weakness free,
It stands like the cærulean arch we see,
Majestic in its own fimplicity.
Infcrib'd above the portal, from afar
Confpicuous as the brightness of a ftar,
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