And Prefent! when shall I thy Shrine adore ?
From Nature's Continent immensely wide,
Immenfely bleft, this little Isle of Life,
This dark incarcerating Colony,

Divides us. Happy Day! that breaks our Chain;
That manumits; that calls from Exile home;
That leads to Nature's great Metropolis,

And re-admits us, thro' the guardian Hand
Of elder Brothers, to our Father's Throne;
Who hears our Advocate, and thro' his Wounds
Beholding Man, allows that tender Name.
"Tis this makes Chriftian Triumph a Command:
'Tis this makes Joy a Duty to the Wise;
'Tis impious, in a good Man, to be fad.

Seeft thou, Lorenzo! where hangs all our Hope?
Touch'd by the Crofs we live; or, more than die;
That Touch which touch'd not Angels; more divine
Than that, which touch'd Confufion into Form,
And Darkness into Glory: Partial Touch!
Ineffably pre-eminent Regard!

Sacred to Man, and Sov'reign thro' the whole
Long golden Chain of Miracles, which hangs
From Heav'n thro' all Duration, and fupports
In one illuftrious, and amazing Plan,

Thy Welfare, Nature! and thy God's Renown;
That Touch, with charm celeftial, heals the Soul
Diseas'd, drives Pain from Guilt, lights Life in Death,
Turns Earth to Heav'n; to heav'nly Thrones transforms
The ghaftly Ruins of the mould'ring Tomb.

Do'ft ask me when? when He who dy'd returns ; Returns, how chang'd! where then the man of Woe? In Glory's terrors all the Godhead burns ;

And all his Courts exhausted by the Tide

Of Deities triumphant in his Train,

Leave a ftupendous Solitude in Heav'n;
Replenish'd foon; replenish'd with encrease
Of Pomp, and Multitude; a radiant Band
Of Angels new; of Angels from the Tomb.
Is this by Fancy thrown remote ? and rife
Dark Doubts between the Promife, and Event?
I send thee not to Volumes for thy Cure;
Read Nature; Nature is a Friend to Truth ;
Nature is Chriftian, preaches to Mankind;
And bids dead Matter aid us in our Creed.
Haft thou ne'er feen the Comet's flaming Flight;
Th' illuftrious Stranger paffing, Terror sheds
On gazing Nations, from his fiery Train
Of length enormous; takes his ample Round
Thro' Depths of Ether; coafts unnumber'd Worlds,
Of more than folar Glory; doubles wide
Heav'n's mighty Cape, and then revifits Earth,
From the long Travel of a thousand Years.
Thus, at the deftin'd Period, fhall return

He, once on Earth, who bids the Comet blaze;
And with Him all our Triumph o'er the Tomb.
Nature is dumb on this important Point ;
Or Hope precarious in low Whisper breaths:
Faith speaks aloud, diftinct; ev'n Adders hear,
But turn, and dart into the Dark again.
Faith builds a Bridge across the Gulph of Death,
To break the Shock blind Nature cannot shun,
And lands Thought fmoothly on the farther Shore.
Death's Terror is the Mountain Faith removes ;
That Mountain Barrier between Man and Peace.
'Tis Faith difarms Deftruction; and abfolves
From ev'ry clam'rous Charge, the guiltless Tomb.
Why disbelieve! Lorenzo?" Reason bids,
"All-facred Reafon."-Hold her facred ftill
Nor fhalt Thou want a Rival in thy Flame:

All

All-facred Reafon! Source, and Soul, of all
Demanding Praise, on Earth, or Earth above!
My Heart is Thine: Deep in its inmoft Folds,.
Live Thou with Life; live dearer of the Two.
Wear I the bleffed Cross, by Fortune Stamp'd
On paffive Nature, before Thought was born?
My Birth's blind Bigot! fir'd with local Zeal?
No; Reason rebaptiz'd me when adult;
Weigh'd True and Falfe in her impartial Scale;
My Heart became the Convert of my Head;
And made that Choice, which once was but my
"On Argument alone my Faith is built :"
Reafon purfu'd is Faith; and unpurfu'd

Fate

Where Proof invites, 'tis Reason, then, no more: And fuch our Proof, that, or our Faith is right, Or Reafon lies, and Heav'n defign'd it wrong : Abfolve we This, what, then, is Blafphemy?

Fond as we are, and juftly fond of Faith, Reason, we grant, demands our Firft Regard, The Mother honour'd, as the Daughter dear; Reafon the Root, fair Faith is but the Flow'r ; The fading Flow'r fhall die; But Reafon lives. Immortal, as her Father in the Skies. When Faith is Virtue, Reason makes it fo. Wrong not the Christian, think not Reafon yours; "Tis Reason our great Master holds so dear; "Tis Reafon's injur'd Rights His Wrath resents; "Tis Reafon's Voice obey'd His Glories crown ;. To give loft Reafon Life, He pour'd his own: Believe, and fhew the Reason of a Man; Believe, and taste the Pleasure of a God;

Believe, and look with Triumph on the Tomb: Thro' Reafon's Wounds, alone, thy Faith can die; Which, dying, tenfold Terror gives to Death, And dips in Venom his twice-mortal Sting.

Learn

Learn hence what Honours, what loud Peans due
To those, who push our Antidote afide;
Thofe boafted Friends to Reason, and to Man,
Whose fatal Love stabs ev'ry Joy, and leaves
Death's Terror heighten'd gnawing on his Heart.
These pompous Sons of Reafon Idoliz'd,

And Vilify'd at once; of Reason dead,
Then Deify'd, as Monarchs were of old,

What Conduct plants proud Laurels on their Brow?
While Love of Truth thro' all their Camp refounds,
They draw ride's Curtain o'er the Noontide Ray,
Spike up their Inch of Reason, on the Point
Of Philofophic Wit, call'd Argument,
And then, exulting in their Taper, cry,
"Behold the Sun :" And, Indian-like, adore.
Talk they of Morals? O thou bleeding Love!
Thou Maker of new Morals to Mankind!
The grand Morality is Love of Thee.
As wife as Socrates, if fuch they were,
(Nor will they bate of that fublime Renown)
As wife as Socrates, might juftly stand

The Definition of a modern Fool :

A Chriftian! -'Tis the highest Stile of Man.
And is there, who the bleffed Crofs wipes off,
As a foul Blot, from his difhonour'd Brow?
If Angels tremble, 'tis at fuch a Sight:

The Wretch they quit, defponding of their Charge;
More ftruck with Grief or Wonder, who can tell?
Ye fold to Senfe! ye Citizens of Earth!
(For fuch alone the Christian Banner fly)

Know ye how wife your Choice, how great your Gain?
Behold the Picture of Earth's happiest Man :
"He calls his Wish, it comes; he fends it back,
"And fays, he call'd another; that arrives,
"Meets the fame Welcome; yet he still calls on;

"Till One calls him, who varies not his Call, "But holds him fast, in Chains of Darkness bound, "Till Nature dies, and Judgment sets him free; "A Freedom, far less welcome than his Chain." But grant Man Happy; grant him Happy long Add to Life's highest Prize her latest Hour; That Hour fo late is nimble in Approach, That, like a Poft, comes on in full Career;

How swift the Shuttle flies, that weaves thy Shroud?
Where is the Fable of thy former Years?

Thrown down the Gulph of Time; as far from Thee
As they had ne'er been Thine; the Day in Hand,
Like a Bird ftruggling to get loose, is going;
Scarce now poffefs'd, fo fuddenly 'tis gone;
And each swift Moment fled is death advanc'd
By Strides as fwift: Eternity is All;

And whose Eternity? Who triumphs there?
Bathing for ever in the Font of Bliss!

For ever basking in the Deity!

Lorenzo! who?-Thy Confcience shall reply.

O give it Leave to speak; 'twill speak ere long,
Thy Leave unask'd: Lorenzo! hear it now,
While useful its Advice, its Accent mild.
By the great Edict, by divine Decree,
Truth is depofited with Man's laft Hour;

An honeft Hour, and faithful to her Truft.
Truth, eldeft Daughter of the Deity;

Truth, of his Council, when he made the Worlds,
Nor less, when he fhall judge the Worlds he made;
Tho' filent long, and fleeping ne'er fo found,
Smother'd with Errors, and oppreft with Toys,
That Heav'n-commiffion'd Hour no fooner calls,
But from her Cavern in the Soul's Abyss,
Like him they fable under Ætna whelm'd,
The Goddess burfts in Thunder, and in Flame ;

Loudly