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That Pow'r deny'd, Men, Angels, were no more,
But passive Engines, void of Praise, or Blame.
A Nature Rational implies the Pow'r
Of being bleft, or wretched, as we please ;
Else idle Reason would have nought to do ;
And he that would be barr'd Capacity
Of Pain, courts Incapacity of Bliss.
Heav'n wills our Happiness, allows our Doom ;
Invites us ardently, but not compells:
Heav'n but persuades, almighty Man decrees;
Man is the Maker of Immortal Fates.
Man falls by Man, if finally He falls ;
And fall He muft, who learns from Death alone,
The dreadful Secret,—That he lives for Ever.

Why This to thee? Thee yet, perhaps, in Doubt
Of Second Life: But wherefore doubtful ftilla.
Eternal Life is Nature's ardent Wilh ;.
What ardently we wish, we foon believe:
Thy tardy Faith declares that Wilh destroy'd :
What has destroy'd it?-Shall I tell thee, What
When feard the Future, 'tis no longer wisht,
And when Unwifht, we strive to Disbelieve.
Thus Infidelity our Guilt betrays."
Nor that the fole Detection ; Blush, LORENZO!
Blah for Hypocrisy, if not for Guilt.
The Future fear'd? An Infidel, and fear?
Fear what? a Dream? a Fable!-How thy Dreadly
Unwilling Evidence, and, therefore, Strong,
Affords my Cause an undefign'd Support? !
How Disbelief affirms, what It denies ?
" It, unawares, asserts Immortal Life.".
Surprizing! Infidelity turns out
A Creed, and a Confeffion of our Sins:
Apoftates, thus, are Orthodox Divines.

LORINZO! with Lorenzo clash no more ; Nor longer & Transparent Vizor wear.

Think'it

Think 'ft Thou, RELIGION only has her Mak?
Our Infidels are Satan's Hypocrites,
Pretend the Worst, and, at the Bottom, fail.
When visited by Thought, (Thought will intrude)
Like Him they ferve, They tremble, and believe.
Is there Hypocrisy so foul as This?
So Fatal to the Welfare of the World?
What Deteftation, what Contempt, their Due?
And if Unpaid, be thank'd for their Escape
That Christian Candor they Arive hard to scorn.
If not for that Asylum, they might find
A Hell on Earth ; nor 'scape å worse Below.

With Infolence, and Impotence of Thought,
Instead of racking Fancy, to refute,
Reform thy Manners, and the Truth enjoy.---
But shall I dare confess the dire Result ?
Can thy proud Reafon brook so black a Brand
From purer Manners, to sublimer Faith,
Is Nature's unavoidable Ascent ;
An honeft Deist, where the Gospel shines,
Matur'd to nobler, in the Chriftian ends.
When that bleft Change arrives, e'en cast aside
This Song superfluous; Life immortal strikes
Conviction, in a Flood of Light Divine.
A Christian dwells, like * URIEL, in the Sun;
Meridian Evidence puts Doubt to Flight ;
And ardent Hope anticipates the Skies.
Of that bright Sun, Lorenzo! scale the Sphere:
'Tis easy ; It invites thee; It descends
From Heav'n to woo, 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 Confiagration shall destroy ;

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In Nature's Ruins not one Letter lost :
Tis printed in the Mind of Gods for ever.

In proud Disdain of what e'en Gods adore,
Doft smile ? --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 Frenzy to the Brain?
Parts push us on to Pride, and Pride to Shame ;
Pert Infidelity is Wit's Cockcade,
To
grace

the brazen Brow that braves the Skics, By Loss of Being, dreadfully Secure. LORENZO I '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 fast; be sure to be a Knave; A Knave in Grain ; ne'er deviate to the Right : Shouldft Thou be Good-How infinite thy Lofs ? Guilt only makes Annihilation Gain. Bleft Scheme! which Life deprives of Comfort, Death Of Hope ; and which Vice only recommends. If so; where, Infidels ! your Bait thrown out To catch weak Converts ? Where your lofty Boast Of Zeal for Virtue, and of Love to Man? ANNIHILATION, I confess, in Tbefe.

What can Reclaim you? Dare 1 hope profound Philosophers the Converts of a Song ? Yet know, Its Title flatters you, not me ; Yours be the Praise to make

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Title' good; Mine, to Bless Heav'n, and Triumph in your Praise. But since so Pestilential your Disease, Though sov'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 wise : For why should Souls Immortal, made for Bliss, Ere Wish, (and with in vain !) that Souls could die?

What

What ne'er can die, Oh! grant to live; and crown
The With, and Aim, and Labour of the Skies;
Encrease, and enter on the Joys of Heav'n:
Thus shall my Title pass a sacred Seal,
Receive an Imprimatur from Above,
While Angels shout--- An In fidel Reclaim'd!

To close, LORENZO! Spite of all my Pains,
Still seems it ftrange, that Thou shouldst live for ever?
Is it less strange, that Thou shouldst live at all?
This is a Miracle; and That no more.
Who gave Beginning, can exclude an End;
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 less than Miracles, from Gon, can flow?
Admit a GOD,- that Myitery Supreme !
That Cause uncaus'd! All other Wonders cease;
Nothing is Marvellous for Him to do:
Deny Him, -all is Mystery besides;
Millions of Mysteries ! Each Darker far,
Than That thy Wisdom would, untvisely, shun.
If weak thy Faith, why chuse the Harder Side ?
We nothing know, but what is Marvellous ;
Yet what is Marvellous, we can't believe.
So Weak our Reafon, and so Great our God,
What most surprizes in the Sacred Page,
Or full as Strange, or Stranger, must be True.
Faith is not Reason's Labour, but Repose.

To Faith, and Virtue, why so backward Man? From Hence; --The Present strongly strikes us Alls The Future, faintly : Can we, then, be Men? If Men, Lorenzo! the Reverse is Right. Reason is Man's Peculiar ; Sense, the Brute's. The Prefent is the scanty Realm of Sense;. The Future, Reason's Empire unconfin'd;

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On That expanding all her Godlike Pow'r,
She Plans, Provides, Expatiates, Triumphs, there ;
There, builds her Bleffings; There, expects her Praise
And nothing asks of Fortune, or of Men.
And what is Reafon ? Be fhe, thus, defin'd.;
Reason is Upright Stature in the Soul.
Oh! be a Man ;-and strive to be a Gop.
« For what? (Thou sayft) : To damp the Joys of

Life ?”
No; to give Heart and Substance to thy Joys.
That Tyrant, Hope! mark, how the domineers;
She bids us quit Realities, for Dreams;
Safety, and Peace, for Hazard, and Alarm

m;
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 spring 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 sweeten Toils, and Dangers into Joys;
What then, That Hope, which nothing can defeat,
Our Leave unakk'd? Rich Hope of boundless Bliss!
Bliss, past Man's Pow'r to paint it ; Time's, to close!

This Hope is Earth's most estimable Prize;
This is Man's Portion, while no more than Man:
Hope, of all Passions, most befriends us Here;
Pallions of prouder Name befriend us less :
Foy has her Tears; and Transport has her Death;
Hope, like a Cordial, innocent, tho strong,
Man's Heart, at once, inspirits, and serenes ;
Nor makes him pay his Wisdom for his Joys;
"Tis All, our Present State can safely bear,
Health to the Frame! and Vigour to the Mind !
And to the modeft Eye chastis'd Delight!

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