"What Things Impoffible muft Man think True,
"On any other Syftem! And how strange
"To Difbelieve, through meer Credulity !"
If, in this Chain, LORENZO finds no Flaw,
Let it for ever bind him to Belief.
And where the Link, in which a Flaw he finds?
And, if a GOD there is, that GOD how Great!
How Great that Pow'R, whofe providential Care
Thro' these bright Orbs dark Centres darts a Ray!
Of Nature univerfal threads the Whole!
And hangs Creation, like a precious Gem,
Tho' Little, on the Footstool of His Throne !
That Little Gem, how Large! A Weight let fall
From a fixt Star, in Ages can it reach
This diftant Earth? Say, then, LORENZO! where,
Where, ends this mighty Building? Where, begin
The Suburbs of Creation? Where, the Wall
Whofe Battlements look o'er into the Vale
Of Non-Existence? NOTHING's strange Abode!
Say, at what Point of Space JEHOVAH dropp'd
His flacken'd Line, and laid His Balance by ;
Weigh'd Worlds, and meafur'd Infinite, no more?
Where, rears His terminating Pillar high
Its extra-mundane Head? and fays, to Gods,
In Characters illuftrious as the Sun,
Iftand, the Plan's proud Period; I pronounce
The Work accomplish'd; the Creation clos'd:
Shout, all
ye Gods! nor fhout, ye Gods alone; Of all that lives, or, if devoid of Life. That refts, or rolls, ye Heights, and Depths, refound! Refound! refound! ye Depths, and Heights, refound!
'Hard are thofe Questions ?-Anfwer harder ftill. Is This the fole Exploit, the Single Birth, The Solitary Son, of Pow'r Divine?
Or has th' Almighty FATHER, with a Breath,
Impregnated the Womb of diftant Space?
Has He not bid, in various Provinces,
Brother Creations the dark Bowels burft
Of Night primæval; barren, now, no more?
And He the central Sun, tranfpiercing all
Thofe Giant-Generations, which difport,
And dance, as Motes, in His Meridian Ray;
That Ray withdrawn, Benighted, or Absorb'd,
In that Abyss of Horror, whence they sprung;
While Chaos triumphs, repoffeft of All
Rival Creation ravish'd from his Throne?
CHAOS! of Nature both the Womb, and Grave!
Think'ft thou, my Scheme, LORENZo,fpreads too wide?
Is This extravagant ?—No; This is just;
Juft, in Conjecture, tho' 'twere falfe in Fact.
If 'tis an Error, 'tis an Error fprung
From noble Root, High Thought of the MOST-HIGH. But wherefore Error, who can prove it Such?
He that can fet OMNIPOTENCE a Bound.
Can Man conceive beyond what God can do?
Nothing, but Quite-Impoffible, is Hard.
He fummons into Being with like Ease,
A Whole Creation, and a fingle Grain.
Speaks He the Word? a Thousand Worlds are born!--
A Thousand Worlds? There's Space for Millions more;
And in what Space can his great Fiat fail?
Condemn me not, cold Critic! but indulge
The warm Imagination: Why condemn?
Why not indulge Such Thoughts, as fwell our Hearts
With fuller Admiration of That Power,
Who gives our Hearts with fuch high Thoughts to fwell?
Why not indulge in His augmented Praife?
Darts not His Glory a ftill brighter Ray,
The lefs is left to Chaos, and the Realms
Of hideous Night, where Fancy ftrays aghast;
And, tho' most talkative, makes no Report?
Still seems my Thought enormous ?-Think again—
Experience 'Self fhall aid thy lame Belief.
Glaffes (that Revelation to the Sight!)
Have they not led us deep in the Disclose
Of fine-fpun Nature, exquifitely Small;
And, tho' demonftrated, ftill ill-conceiv'd?
If, then, on the Reverse, the Mind would mount
In Magnitude, what Mind can mount too far,
To keep the Balance, and Creation poise?
Defect alone can err on fuch a Theme;
What is too Great, if we the Caufe furvey?
Stupendous ARCHITECT! THOU, THOU art All!
My Soul flies up and down in Thoughts of THEE,
And finds herfelf but at the Centre ftill!
I AM, Thy Name! Existence, all Thine own?
Creation's Nothing; flatter'd much, if ftyl'd
"The thin, the fleeting Atmosphere of GOD."
O for the Voice-of What? of Whom?-What Voice
Can answer to my Wants, in fuch Afcent,
As dares to deem One Universe too small?
Tell me, LORENZO! (for now Fancy glows,
Fir'd in the Vortex of Almighty Power)
Is not this Home-Creation, in the Map
Of univerfal Nature, as a Speck,
Like fair BRITANNIA in our little Ball;
Exceeding fair, and glorious, for its Size,
But, elsewhere, far out-meafur'd, far outfhone?
In Fancy (for the Fact beyond us lies)
Canft thou not figure it, an Ile, almost
Too fmall for Notice, in the Vaft of Being;
Sever'd by mighty Seas of un-built Space,
From other Realms; from ample Continents
Of higher Life, where nobler Natives dwell;
Lefs Northern, lefs remote from DEITY,
Glowing beneath the Line of the SUPREME;
Where Souls in Excellence make Hafte, put forth
Luxuriant Growths; nor the late Autumn wait
Of Human Worth, but ripen foon to Gods.
Yet why drown Fancy in fuch Depths as these?
Return, prefumptuous Rover! and confefs
The Bounds of Man; nor blame them, as too fmall.
Enjoy we not full Scope in what is feen?
Full ample the Dominions of the Sun!
Full glorious to behold! How far, how wide,
The matchlefs Monarch, from his flaming Throne,
Lavish of Luftre, throws his Beams about him,
Farther, and fafter, than a Thought can fly,
And feeds his Planets with eternal Fires!
This Heliopolis, by Greater far,
Than the proud Tyrant of the Nile, was built;
And He alone, who built it, can destroy.
Beyond this City, why ftrays human Thought?
One Wonderful, enough for Man to know?
One Infinite, enough for Man to range!
One Firmament, enough for Man to read!
O what voluminous Inftruction Here!
What Fage of Wisdom is deny'd him? None;
If learning his chief Leffon makes him Wise.
Nor is Inftruction, Here, our only Gain;
There dwells a noble Pathos in the Skies,
Which warms our Paffions, profelytes our Hearts.
How eloquently fhines the glowing Pole!
With what Authority it gives its Charge,
Remonstrating great Truths in Style fublime,
Tho' Silent, Loud! heard Earth around; above
The Planets heard; and not unheard in Hell;
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