How is Night's fable Mantle labour'd o'er,
How richly wrought, with Attributes divine!
What Wisdom fhines! what Love! This Midnight Pompy
This gorgeous Arch, with golden Worlds inlay'd!
Built with divine Ambition! nought to Thee;
For Others this Profufion: Thou, apart,
Above, Beyond! Oh tell me, mighty Mind!
Where art thou? Shall I dive into the Deep?
Call to the Sun, or afk the roaring Winds,
For their Creator? Shall I question loud
The Thunder, if in that th' Almighty dwells?
Or holds He furious Storms in ftreighten'd Reins,
And bids fierce Whirlwinds wheel his rapid Carr ?
What mean these Questions?-Trembling I retract;
My proftrate Soul adores the present God:
Praise I a diftant Deity? He tunes
My Voice (if tun'd); the Nerve, that writes, fuftains :
Wrap'd in his Being, I refound his Praise :
But tho' paft All diffus'd, without a Shore,
His Effence; local is His Throne (as meet),
To gather the Difperft (as Standards call
The Lifted from afar); to fix a Point,
A central Point, collective of his Sons,
Since finite ev'ry Nature, but his own.
The nameless He, whofe Nod is Nature's Birth And Nature's Shield, the Shadow of his Hand; Her Diffolution, his fufpended Smile!
The great First-Laft! pavilion'd high he fits
In Darkness, from exceffive Splendor, borne,
By Gods unseen, unless thro' Lustre lost.
His Glory, to created Glory, bright,
As that to central Horrors; He looks down
On All that foars; and fpans Immensity.
Tho' Night unnumber'd Worlds unfolds to view, Boundless Creation! what art thou? A Beam, A mere Effluvium of his Majesty :
And fhall an Atom of this Atom-World
Mutter, in Duft and Sin, the Theme of Heaven?
Down to the Centre fhould I fend my Thought
Thro' Beds of glitt'ring Ore, and glowing Gems,
Their beggar'd Blaze wants Luftre for my Lay;
Goes out in Darkness: If, on tow'ring Wing,
I fend it thro' the boundless Vault of Stars;
The Stars, tho' rich, what Dross their Gold to Thee,
Great! Good! Wife! Wonderful! Eternal King!
If to those conscious Stars thy Throne around,
Praise ever-pouring, and imbibing Blifs;
And ask their Strain; They want it, more they want,
Poor their Abundance, humble their Sublime,
Languid their Energy, their Ardor cold,
Indebted still, their highest Rapture burns
Short of its Mark, defective, tho' divine.
Still more-This Theme is Man's, and Man's alone; Their vaft Appointments reach it not; They fee
On Earth a Bounty not indulg'd on high;
And downward look for Heav'n's fuperior Praife!
First-born of Ether! high in Fields of Light!
View Man, to fee the Glory of your God!
Could Angels envy, they had envy'd here;
And fome did envy; and the reft, tho' Gods,
Yet ftill Gods unredeem'd (there triumphs Man,
Tempted to weigh the Duft against the Skies)
They lefs would feel, tho' more adorn, my Theme,
They fung Creation (for in that they fhar'd)
How rofe in Melody, the Child of Love:
Creation's great Superior, Man! is Thine;
Thine is Redemption; They juft gave the Key:
'Tis Thine to raise, and eternize, the Song;
Tho' human, yet,divine; for fhould not this
Raife Man o'er Man, and kindle Seraphs here?
Redemption! 'twas Creation more fublime;
Redemption! 'twas the Labour of the Skies;
Far more than Labour-It was Death in Heaven.
A Truth fo ftrange! 'twere bold to think it true;
If not far bolder ftill, to difbelieve.
Here paufe, and ponder: Was there Death in Heav'n? What then on Earth? On Earth, which struck the Blow? Who ftruck it? Who!-O how is Man inlarg'd, Seen thro' this Medium! how the Pygmy tow'rs! How counterpois'd his Origin from Duft!
How counterpois'd, to Duft his fad Return! licw voided his vaft Distance from the Skies!
How near he preffes on the Seraph's Wing!
Which is the Seraph? Which the Born of Clay?
How This demonftrates thro' the thickest Cloud
Of Guilt, and Clay condenft, the Son of Heaven!
The double Son; the Made, and the Re-made!
And fhall Heav'n's double Property be loft?
Man's double Madness only can destroy.
To Man the bleeding Crofs has promis'd all;
The bleeding Crofs has fworn eternal Grace;
Who his Life, what Grace fhall He deny?
Oye! who from this Rock of Ages, leap,
Difdainful, plunging headlong in the Deep!
What cordial Joy, what Confolation strong,
Whatever Winds arife, or Billows roll,
Our Int'reft in the Master of the Storm!
Cling there, and in wreck'd Nature's Ruins fmile;
While vile Apoftates tremble in a Calm.
Man! Know thyself. All Wisdom centres there:
To none Man feems ignoble, but to Man;
Angels that Grandeur, Men o'erlook, admire:
How long fhall Human Nature be Their Book,
Degen'rate Mortal! and unread by Thee?
The Beam dim Reason fheds fhews Wonders There;
What high Contents! Illuftrious Faculties!
But the grand Comment, which difplays at Full
Our human Height, fcarce fever'd from Divine,
By Heav'n compos'd, was publish'd on the Cross,
Who looks on That, and fees not in himself
An awful Stranger, a Terreftrial God?
A glorious Partner with the Deity
In that high Attribute, immortal Life?
If a God bleeds, he bleeds not for a Wcr.n:
I gaze, and as I gaze, my mounting Soul
Catches ftrange Fire, Eternity! at Thee;
And drops the World-or rather, more enjoys:
How chang'd the Face of Nature! how improv'd!
What feem'd a Chaos, fhines a glorious World,
Cr, what a World, an Eden; heighten'd all!
It is another Scene! another Self!
And still another, as Time rolls along;
And that a Self far more illuftrious still.
Beyond long Ages, yet roll'd up in Shades
Unpierc'd by bold Conjecture's keenest Ray,
What Evolutions of fuprifing Fate!
How Nature opens, and receives my Soul
In boundless Walks of raptur'd Thought! Where Gods
Encounter, and embrace me! What new Births
Of strange Adventure, foreign to the Sun,
Where what now charms, perhaps, whate'er exists,
Old Time, and fair Creation, are forgot!
Is this extravagant? Of Man we form
Extravagant Conception, to be just :
Conception unconfin'd wants Wing to reach him:
Beyond its Reach, the Godhead only, more.
He, the great Father! kindled at one Flame
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