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To worth maturing, new Strength, Luftre, Fame
While Nature's Circle, like a Chariot-wheel;
Rolling beneath their elevated Aims,
Makes their fair Prospect fairer ev'ry Hour;
Advancing Virtue, in a Line to Bliss:
Virtue, which Christian Motives best inspire !
And Bliss, which Christian Schemes alone enfure.

And shall we then, for: Virtue's fake, commence-
Apoftates ? and turn Infidels for Joy?
A Truth it is, Few doubt, but Fewer trust,
“ He fins against this Life, who flights the next."
What is this Life!: How Few their Fav'rite know
Fond in the dark, and blind in our Embrace,
By passionately loving Life, we make
Lov'd Life unlovely ; hugging her to Death.
We give to Time Eternity's Regard ;
And dreaming take our Passage for our Port.
Life has no Value.as an End, but Means ;
An End deplorable! a Means divine !
When 'tis our All; 'tis Nothing; worse than Nought;
A Neft of Pains when held as Nothing, Much :
Like fome fair Humourists, Life is moft enjoy'd,
When courted leaft; moft worth, when difefteem'di
Then 'tis the Seat of Comfort, rich in Peace;
In Prospect, richer far ; Important! Awful!
Not to be mention'd but with Shouts of Praise ?
Not to be thought on, but with Tides of Joy!
The mighty Basis of eternal Bliss !

Where now the barren Rock ? the painted Skrety? Where now, Lorenzo ! Life's eternal Round? Have I not made my triple Promise good ? Vain is the World, but only to the Vain. To what compare we then this varying Scene, Whose Wörth ambiguous rises, and declines? Waxes and wanes? (In all propitious, Night

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Affifts me Here) Compare it to the Moon ;
Dark in herself, and Indigent: but Rich
In borrow'd Luftre from a higher Sphere :
When grofs Guilt interposes, labouring Earth
O'ershadow'd mourns a deep Eclipse of foy;
Her Joys at brightest pallid, to that Font
Of full effulgent Glory, whence they flow.

Nor is that Glory diftant : Oh Lorenzo!
A good Man and an Angel! These between
How thin the Barrier? What divides their Fate?
Perhaps a Moment, or perhaps a Year;
Or if an Age, it is a moment ftill ;
A moment, or Eternity's forgot :
Then be, what once they were, who now are Gods ;
Be what Philander was, and claim the Skies.
Starts timid Nature at the gloomy Pass?
The soft Transition call it; and be chear'd;
Such it is often, and why not to Thee ?
To hope the Best is Pious, Brave, and Wise,
And may Itself procure, what It presumes. .
Life is much fatter'd, Death is much traduc'd ;
Compare the Rivals, and the Kinder crown.
“ Strange Competition"-True Lorenzo ! Strange 1
So little Life can caft into the Scale.

Life makes the Soul Dependent on the Duft ;
Death gives her wings to mount above the Spheres :
Thro' Chinks, ftyl'd Organs, dim Life peeps at Light;
Death bursts th’ Involving Cloud, and all is Day:
All Eye, all Ear, the disembody'd Power.
Death has feign'd Evils, Nature shall not feel ;
Life, Ills fubftantial, Wisdom cannot shun:
Is not the mighty Mind, that Son of Heav'n!
By Tyrant Life dethron’d, imprison’d, pain'd?
By Death enlarg’d, ennobled, deify'd?
Death but entombs the Body Life the Soul.

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" Is Death then Guiltless ? How He marks his Way s With dreadful Waste of what deserves to fhine ? “ Art, Genius, Fortune, elevated Pow'r ! « With various Lastres These light up the World, “ Which Death puts out and darkens human Race." I grant, Lorenzo ! this Indictment juft: The Sage, Peer, Potentate, King, Conqueror ! Death humbles These; more barbarous Life, the max: Life is the Triumph of our mould'ring Clay ; Deatb, of the Spirit Infinite! Divine ! Death has no dread but what frail Life imparts ; Nor Life true Joy, but what kind Death improves. No Bliss has Life to boaft, till Death can give Far greater ; Life's a Debtor to the Grave, Dark Lattice ! letting in Eternal Day.

Lorenzo ! blush at Fondnefs for a Life, Which sends celestial Souls on errands vile, To cater for the Sense ; and serve at Boards, Where ev'ry Ranger of the Wilds, perhaps, Each Reptile juftly claims our upper Hand ; Luxurious Feaft! a Soul, à Soui immortal, In all the Dainties of a Brute bemir'd! Lorenzo! blush at Terror for a Death, Which gives thee to repose in feftive Bow'rs, Where Nectars fparkle, Angels minifter, And more than Angels share, and raife, and crown, And eternize, the Birth, Bloom, Bursts of Bliss! O Feast indeed Luxurious! Earth, vile Earth! In all the Glories of a God array'd; And beaming inextinguishable Bliss, What need I more! O Death, the Palm is thine.

Then welcome, Death! thy dreaded Harbingers Age, and Disease ; Disease, tho' long my Guest; That plucks my Nerves, those tender Strings of Life, Which pluck'd a little more, will toll the Bell

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That calls my few Friends to my Funeral ;
Where feeble Nature drops, perhaps, a Tear,
While Reason and Religion, better taught,
Congratulate the Dead, and crown his tomb
With wreath triumphant. Death is Victory
It binds in chains the raging Ills of Life :
Luft and Ambition, Wrath and Avarice,
Dragg'd at his chariot wheel, applaud his Power.
That Ills corrosive, Cares importunate,
Are not Immortal too, O Death! is Thine.
Our Day of Diffolution ?-Name it right;
'Tis our great Pay-day ; 'Tis our Harvest, rich
And ripe ; what tho' the Sickle, sometimes keen,
Juft scars us, as we reap the golden Grain,
More than thy Balm, 0 Gilead! heals the Wound.
Birth's feeble Cry, and Death's deep dismal Groan,
Are slender Tributes low-tax'd Nature

pays,
For mighty Gain : The Gain of each, a Life!
But O, the Last the Former so transcends,
Life dies, Compar'd: Life lives beyond the Grave.

And feel I, Death! no joy from thought of Thee
Death, the great Counsellor, who-Man inspires,
With ev'ry nobler Thought, and fairer Deed !
Death, the Deliverer, who rescues man!
Death, the Rewarder, who the rescued crowns !
Death, that absolves my Birth, a curse without it!
Rich Death, that realizes all my Cares,
Toils, Virtues, Hopes ; without it, a Chimera !
Death, of all Pain the Period, not of Joy ;
Joy's Source, and Subject, still subfift unhurt,
One in my Soul; and One, in her great Sire,
Tho' the four Winds were warring for my

Duft.
Yes, and from Winds, and Waves, and central Night,
Tho' prison'd there, my Duft too I reclaim,
(To Duft when drop proud Nature's proudet Spheres)

And

And live Entire. Death is the Crown of Life ;
Was Death deny'd, poor Man would live in vain
Was Death deny'd, to live would not be Life;
Was Death denyd, ev'n Fools would wish to die.
Death wounds, to cure: We fall ;-we rise; we reign!
Spring from our Fetters; 'faften in the Skies

;
Where blooming Eden withers in our Sight;
Death gives us more than was in Eden loft.-
This : King of Terrors is the Prince of Peacę.
When shall I die to Vanity, Pain, Death?
When shall I die ?-When thall I live for ever:

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