Of that bright Sun, LORENZO! scale the Sphere;
'Tis eafy; It invites thee; It defcends

From Heav'n to wooe, and waft thee whence It came:
Read and revere the Sacred Page; a Page
Where triumphs Immortality; a Page
Which not the whole Creation could produce;
Which not the Conflagration fhall destroy;
In Nature's Ruins not one Letter loft:
'Tis printed in the Mind of Gods for ever.

In proud Disdain of what e'en Gods adore, Doft fmile?-Poor Wretch! thy Guardian Angel weeps. Angels, and Men, affent to what I fing;

Wits smile, and thank me for my Midnight Dream.
How vicious Hearts fume Phrenfy to the Brain?
Parts pufh us on to Pride, and Pride to Shame,
Pert Infidelity is Wit's Cockade,

To grace the brazen Brow that braves the Skies,
By Lofs of Being, dreadfully fecure.
LORENZO! if thy Doctrine wins the Day,

And drives my Dreams, defeated, from the Field
If This is All, if Earth a final Scene,

Take heed; ftand faft; be fure to be a Knave;
A Knave in Grain! ne'er deviate to the Right:
Shouldft Thou be GoodHow infinite thy Lofs!
Guilt only makes Annihilation Gain.
Bleft Scheme! which Life deprives of Comfort, Death
Of Hope; and which VICE only recommends.
If fo; where, Infidels! your Bait thrown out

Το

To catch weak Converts! Where your lofty Boast
Of Zeal for Virtue, and of Love to Man?
ANNIHILATION! I confefs, in Thefe.

What can Reclaim you? Dare I hope profound
Philofophers the Converts of a Song?

Yet know, Its + Title flatters you, not me;
Yours be the Praife to make my Title good;
Mine, to Bless Heav'n, and triumph in your Praise,
But fince fo Peftilential your Disease,

Though fov'reign is the Med'cine I prescribe,
As yet, I'll neither Triumph, nor Despair :
But hope, ere-long my Midnight Dream will wake
Your Hearts, and teach your Wisdom-to be wife:
For why fhould Souls Immortal, made for Blifs,
E'er wish (and wish in vain!) that Souls could die?
What ne'er can die, Oh! grant to live; and crown
The Wish, and Aim, and Labour of the Skies;
Increase, and enter on the Joys of Heaven;
Thus fhall my Title pafs a facred Seal,
Receive an Imprimatur from Above,
While Angels fhout-An Infidel Reclaim'd.

To clofe, LORENZO! Spite of all my Pains, Still feems it ftrange, that Thou shouldst live for ever? Is it lefs ftrange, that Thou shouldft live at all? This is a Miracle; and That no more. Who gave Beginning, can exclude an End.

The Infidel Reclaimed.

Deny

Deny Thou art: Then, doubt if Thou shalt be.
A Miracle with Miracles inclos'd,

Is Man: And starts his Faith at what is Strange?
What less than Wonders, from the Wonderful;
What lefs than Miracles, from GoD, can flow?
Admit a GOD-that Myftery Supreme!
That Cause uncaus'd! All other Wonders ceafe;
Nothing is Marvellous for Him to do:
Deny Him-all is Mystery besides
Millions of Mysteries! Each Darker far,
Than That thy Wisdom would, unwifely, fhun.
If weak thy Faith, why chufe the Harder Side?
We nothing know, but what is Marvellous;
Yet what is Marvellous, we can't believe.
So Weak our Reason, and fo Great our God,
What most furprifes in the Sacred Page,
Or full as Strange, or Stranger, must be True.
Faith is not Reafon's Labour, but Repose.

To Faith, and Virtue, why so backward Man? From Hence :-The Prefent ftrongly ftrikes us All; The Future, faintly: Can we, then, be Men? If Men, LORENZO! the Reverfe is Right. Reafon is Man's Peculiar; Senfe, the Brute's. The Prefent is the Scanty Realm of Sense; The Future, Reafon's Empire unconfin'd; On That expending all her Godlike Power, She Plans, Provides, Expatiates, Triumphs, there ; There, builds her Blessings; There, expects her Praise;

And

And nothing asks of Fortune, or of Men.

And what is Reason? Be fhe, thus, defin'd;
Reafon is Upright Stature in the Scul.

Oh! be a Man;—and strive to be a God.

"For what? (Thou fayft): Todamp the Joys of Life?" No; to give Heart and Subftance to thy Joys. That Tyrant, Hope; mark, how fhe domineers; She bids us quit Realities, for Dreams; Safety, and Peace, for Hazard, and Alarm; That Tyrant o'er the Tyrants of the Soul, She bids Ambition quit its taken Prize, Spurn the luxuriant Branch on which It fits, Tho' bearing Crowns, to fpring at diftant Game; And plunge in Toils, and Dangers-for Repose. If Hope precarious, and of Things, when gain'd, Of Little Moment, and as Little Stay, Can fweeten Toils and Dangers into Joys; What then, That Hope, which nothing can defeat, Our Leave unafk'd? Rich Hope of boundless Blifs! Blifs, paft Man's Pow'r to paint it; Time's to clofe!

This Hope is Earth's most eftimable Prize:
This is Man's Portion, while no more than Man:
Hope, of all Paffions, moft befriends us Here;
Paffions of Prouder Name befriend us lefs.
Joy has her Tears; and Transport has her Death;
Hope like a Cordial, innocent, tho' strong,
Man's Heart, at once, infpirits, and ferenes;

Nor

Nor makes him pay his Wifdom for his Joys;
'Tis All, our prefent State can safely bear;
Health to the Frame! and Vigour to the Mind!
And to the modeft Eye chaftis'd Delight!
Like the fair Summer-Ev'ning, mild, and fweet!
'Tis Man's full Cup; his Paradife Below!

A bleft Hereafter, then, or Hop'd, or Gain'd, Is All;-our Whole of Happiness: Full Proof, I chose no trivial or inglorious Theme.

And know, ye Foes to Song! (well-meaning Men, Tho' quite forgotten + Half your Bible's Praise!) Important Truths, in fpite of Verfe, may please: Grave Minds you praife; nor can you praife too much; If there is Weight in an ETERNITY,

Let the Grave liften ;-and be graver ftill.

†The Poetical Parts of it.

THE