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Of Worlds, that laugh at Earth, immensely Great!
Immensely distant from each other's Spheres !
What, then, the wond'rous Space thro' which they roll?
At once it quite ingulphs all human Thought;
'Tis Comprehenfion's abfolate Defeat.

Nor think thou feeft a wild Disorder here ;
Thro' this illuftrious Chaos, to the Sight,
Arrangement neat, and chafteft Order, reign.
The Path prescribid, inviolably kept,
Upbraids the lawless Sallies of Mankind :
Worlds, ever thwarting, never interfere ;
What Knots are tyd? How foon are they dissolvido
And set the seeming marry'd Planets free?
They rove for ever, without Error rove :
Confusion unconfus'd! Nor less admire
This Tumult untumultuous : All on Wing,
In Motion, All! yet what profound Repose ?
What'fervid Adion, yet no Noise ! as aw’d
To Silence, by the Presence of their LORD;
Or hush'd, by His Command, in Love to Man,
And bid let fall soft Beams on human Reít,
Restless themselves. On yon cærulean Plain,
In Exultation to Their GOD, and Thine,
They dance, they fing eternal Jubilee,
Eternal Celebration of His Praise :
But, since their Song arrives not at our Ear,
Their Dance perplex'd exhibits to the Sight
Fair Hieroglyphic of His peerless Power :
Mark, how the Labyrinthian Turns they take,
The Circles intricate, and mystic Maze,
Weave the grand Cypher of Omnipotence ;
To Gods, how Great ? how Legible to Man?

Leaves so much Wonder greater Wonder still ? Where are the Pillars that support the Skies? What More than Atlantean Shoulder props Th'iacambent Load? What Magick, what strange Art,

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In fluid. Air thefe pond'rous Orbs fuftains ?
Who would not think them hung in golden Chains ?
And so they are; in the high Will of Heav'n,
Which fixes All; makes Adamant of Air,
Or Air of Adamant ; makes All of Nought,
Or Nought of All; if fuch the dread Decree.

IMAGINE from their deep Foundations torn
The most gigantic Sons of Earth, the broad
And tow'ring Alps, all toft into the Sea ;
And, light as Down, or volatile as Air,
Their Bulks enormous dancing on the Waves,
In Time, and Measure, exquisite ; while all
The Winds, in Emulation of the Spheres,
Tune their sonorous Instruments aloft ;
The Concert fwell, and animate the Ball:
Would this appear amazing ? What, then, Worlds ,
In a far thinner Element fustain'd,
And acting the fame Part, with greater Skill,
More rapid Movement, and for noblest Ends ?
More obvious Ends to pass, are not these Stars
The Seats majestic, proud imperial Thrones,
On which angelic Delegates of Heav'n,
At certain Periods, as the SOVEREIGN nods,
Discharge high Trufts of Vengeance, or of Love,
To cloath, in outward Grandeur, Grand Design,
And Acts most Solemn, still more folemnize?

Ye Citizens of Air! what ardent Thanks,
What full Effusion of the grateful Heart,
Is due from Man, indulg'd in such a Sight?
A Sight so Noble ! and a Sight fo Kind!
It drops new Truths at ev'ry new Survey !
Feels not LORENZO Something stir within,
That sweeps away all Period? As These Spheres
Measure Duration, they no less inspire
The Godlike Hope of Ages without End :
The boundless Space, thro' which these Rovers take
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Their restless Roam, suggests the Sister-Thought Of boundless Time. Thus, by kind Nature's Skill, To Man un-labour'd, that important Guest ETERNITY, finds Entrance at the Sight : And an Eternity, for Man -ordaind, Or These his deftin'd Midnight Counsellors, The Stars, had never whisper'd it to Man: NATURE informs, but ne'er insults, her Sons : Could she then kindle the most ardent With To disappoint it?- That is Blasphemy. Thus, of thy Creed a Second Article, Momentous, as th’ Existence of a GOD, Is found (as I conceive) where rarely fought ; And thou may'st read thy Soul immortal, Here.

Here, then, LORENZO! on these Glories dwell, Nor want the gilt, illuminated, Roof, That calls the wretched Gay to dark Delights: Asemblées ? _This is one divinely bright; Here, un endanger'd in Health, Wealth, or Fame; Range thro' the faireft, and the SULTAN scorn : He, wise as Thou, no Crescent holds so fair, As That, which on his Turbant awes a World : And thinks the Moon is proud to copy

Him': Look on her, and gain more than Worlds can give, A Mind superior to the Charms of Power. Thou muffled in Delufions of this Life! Can yonder Moon turn Ocean in his Bed, From Side to Side, in conftant Ebb, and Flow, And purify from Stench his wátry Realms ? And fails her moral Influence? Wants The Power To turn Lorenzo's stubborn Tide of Thought From ftagnating on Earth's infected Shore, And purge from Nuisance his corrupted Heart? Fails her Attraction wher, it draws to Heaven? Nay, and to what thou valuest more, Earth's Joy? Minds elevate, and, panting for Unseen,


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And defecate from Sense, alone obtain
Full Relish of Existence un-deflower'd,
The Life of Life, the Zef of worldly Bliss.
All elfe on Earth amounts—to what? To This,
“ BAD to be Suffer'd; BLE:SINGS to be Left;"
Earth’s richest Inventory boasts no more.

Of higher Scenes be, then, the Call obey'd :
O let me gaze !-Of Gazing there's no End :
O let me think ! - Thought too is wilder'd here ;
In Mid-way Flight Imagination tires :
Yet foon re-prunes her Wing to soar anew,
Her Point unable to forbear, or gain ;
So great the Pleasure, so profound the Plan!
A Banquet, This, where Men, and Angels, meet,
Eat the same Manna, mingle Earth, and Heaven :
How distant some of these nocturnal Suns?
So distant (says the Sage) 'twere not absurd
To doubt, if Beams, set out at Nature's Birth,
Are yet arriv'd at this fo foreign World ;
Tho' nothing half so rapid as their Flight :
An Eye of Awe and Wonder let me roll,
And roll for ever : Who can satiate Sight
In fuch a Scene! in such an Ocean wide
Of deep Astonishment! Where Depth, Height, Breadih,
Are lost in their Extremes ; and where to count
The thick-fown Glories in this field of Fire,
Perhaps a Seraph's Computation fails.
Now, go, Ambition ! boast thy boundless Might
In Conqueft, o'er the Tenth Part of a Grain.

And yet Lorenzo calls for Miracles,
To give his tott'ring Faith a solid Base :
Why call for Less than is already thine ?
Thou art no Novice in Theology :
What is a Miracle ?--'Tis a Reproach,
'Tis an implicit Satire, on Mankind;
And while it satisfies, it censures too :


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To Common-Sepse, Great Nature's Course proclaims
A DEITY: When Mankind falls asleep,
A Miracle is fent, as an Alarm,
To wake the World, and prove Him o'er again,
By recent Argument, but not more frong.
Say, Which imports more Plenitude of Power,
Or Nature's Laws to fix, or to repeal?
To make a Sun, or stop his Mid-Career ?
To countermand his Orders, and send back
The flaming Courier to the frighted East,
Warmd, and aftonish'd, at his Evening Ray;
Or bid the Moon, as with her Journey tir'd,
In Ajalon's soft, flow'ry, Vale repose ?
Great Things are These; ftill Greater, to create.
From Adam's Bow'r look down thro' the whole Train
OF Miracles ;-Refiftless is their Power
They do not, can not, more amaze the Mind,
Than This, call d un miraculous Survey,
If duly weigh'd, if rationally seen,
If seen with human Eyes : The Brute, indeed,
Sees nought but Spangles here; the Fool, no more.
Sayit thou, “ The Course of Nature governs AH;"
The Course of Nature is the Art of GOD:
The Miracles thou call'it for, This atteft ;
For, say, Could Nature Nature's Course controul ?

But, Miracles apart, who fees HIM not, Nature's CONTROULER, AUTHOR, GULDE, and End! Who turns his Eye on Nature's Midnight-Face, But muft inquire_" What Hand behind the Scene, " What Arm Almighty, put these wheeling Globes “ In Motion, and wound up the vast Machine ? " Who rounded in his Palm these spacious Orbs ? “ Who bowl'd them flaming thro' the dark Profound, " Num'rous as glittering Gems of Morning Dew, " Or Sparks from populous Cities in a Blaze,

“ And

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