[Page]
[Page]
Morning and Evening's MEDITATION, OR, A DESCANT ON THE TIMES, A POEM.
BY T. L.
—Silvis ubi passim,
Palantis error certo de tramite pellit,
Ille sinistrorsum, hic dext [...]orsum abis, unus utrique
Error, sed uariis illudit partibus HOR.
While mazy error draws mankind astray,
From truth's sure path each takes his devious way;
One to the right, one to the left recedes,
Alike deluded as each fancy leads. ELPHINSTON's Tr.
LONDON, Printed. PHILADELPHIA, Re-printed and Sold by B. FRANKLIN and D. HALL. 1766.
[Page iii]
THE PREFACE.
THE following essay is the fruit of some solitary hours, penned and published with a sincere desire for the reformation of the several classes of mankind, who are immersed in vice and sensuality,— of the designing and knavish,—and the stability of every virtuous, and ingenious person.
The manner in which I have thrown my thoughts together, seemed to occur the most easy, and for some reasons appeared to me the most eligible.
I am not so vain as to imagine my performance is free from inaccuracies; but such errors as have either escaped my notice, or are beyond my weak abilities to amend, I hope my Candid Reader will correct and excuse.
The person who ventures out on the public Stage as an author, becomes of course subject to the various criticisms of his observers; the keen invectives of satire, and the poisoned arrows of envy, are illiberally dealt against his character and productions.—These I am prepared to receive, with a contempt due to the efforts of malevolence; and, at the same time, shall not forget to pay a proper respect and deference to the criticisms of candour and ingenuity.
The poem before you, contains neither the Life nor Opinions of Tristram Shandy, the Memoirs of a Gentleman of Pleasure, or the Amours of a Lady of Quality.—A piece, I must confess, not so well adapted to the genius of the present age; an age, in which subjects serious, important and interesting, can scarce obtain a hearing, are treated with indifference, and forgot, whilst their authors are ridiculed as fools, or pitied as enthusiasts.
[Page iv]To treat of the Deity, his attributes, the relation we stand in to him, and the indispensable obligation of social and religious duties,— to excite considerations on the uncertainty of time, the certainty of death, and the awful approaching decision of infinite wisdom and purity, with a certain class of mankind, are deemed enthusiastic speculations, and idle reveries;—the certain specimens of either ignorance, a heated zeal, or of incurable madness. A class, who▪ to avoid the extreme of superstition and fanaticism, have incautiously run into another still more alarming and dangerous, from the borders of Implicit Faith to the confines of Infidelity, from a false heated zeal to the coldest indifference, and from the austerities of a penance to the most relaxed licentious indulgence. Be ours to walk in the happy medium of truth, and of right reason; the medium between the zeal-less and zealot, or indifference and presumption; and let the deluded of both extremes become the objects of our pity, and be remembered in our prayers.
You of every rank, degree, and circumstance in life, into whose hand this may fall, as rational and accountable beings, improve the few, fleeting moments of your continuance in this mode of existence, in matters of infinite consequence; consider seriously the important business of life, acquaint yourselves with the various branches of a Christian's duty, and discharge them with integrity.
Remember time is short; life altogether uncertain; and that death is inevitable. The time is approaching, when the sable mantle of affliction will be cast over all the pomp of a court, the glitter of a ball, and the ludicrous scenes of a comedy. The period, the awful period is hastening, when from life will be exhausted all its balm, and from terrestrial objects their power of pleasing — when every enjoyment will become insipid, except the complacent notice of uncreated excellence, the testimony of a good conscience, and the assurance of a happy futurity. Devote then your days, should they be few or many, to the service of Him, who hath called us to glory and virtue. Let not the enchanting scene of illusive pleasures, the influence of bad example, or the incitement of the libertine, prevail on you to run with the heedless multitude to do evil; walk pensive with the few on the side of virtue, acquit yourselves as men, and as Christians, and the lot of your inheritance will be with the just;—for, Verily there is a reward for the righteous, verily there is a God who judgeth the earth.
A well-wisher to all Mankind, T. L.
[Page]
A DESCANT on the TIMES.
THE clock strikes five—the fiery orb appears;
He seems t' emerge as from the briny deep,
Just gilds the hoary brow of yon high mount,
Darts lucid gleams throughout the atmosphere,
And bids depart the shadows of the night.
At his command they flee the firmament;
Then, for a moment, haunt the deep recess
Of arched valleys, groves, and leafy woods;
Now, higher risen, 'nihilates the gloom—
Drowns antient night in farthest western seas.
The flow'ry mead, the shrub, the quick-set hedge,
Spread o'er with Heaven's dew, in lustre vies
With orient gems; so christalline the drops:
No cloud is seen, throughout the wide expanse
Of Heaven's arched vault; the vapour dense
Ascending from the valleys, marshy swamps,
Sol's rays, obliquely glancing, dissipate.
Now, let me labour up th' acclivity
Of yonder eminence, and there recline
Upon the verdant ridge, bask in the blaze
The genial heat inspire, and feel the glow
Of Sol's refulgent rays glide thro' my veins—
Correct the languor of my quiv'ring pulse,
Exhilerate my spirits, sinking, sunk
By cruel hectic, colliquative sweats.
[Page]
The steep now gain'd, the pleasing landscape opes—
A variegated scene's disclos'd to view,
Of hills, of dales, of woods, of smiling meads,
And interspers'd with riv'lets, meand'rous streams.
See, what large herds of cattle, spread around,
With bags distended by salubrious juice,
Lowing, impatient wait the loitering swain
To ease them of a full, spring, milky tide!
The feather'd species hop from spray to spray;
Or, perch'd on th' highest branch of lofty elms,
Or on the pliant hazel twig, adjust
Their variegated plumes in neat arrange,
And hail the morn with songs of gratitude.
Th' aspiring lark, her matin anthem thrills
High in the aerial space, beyond my ken,
Lost in the blaze of Sol's refulgent beams;
Not out of hearing, her melodious song,
Soft tun'd, more grateful than the violins,
Descending lights upon m' attentive ear;
The inspiration of her tuneful lay
My mind, so much depress'd beneath the load
Of complicate disease, exhilerates.
O! how my soul's enraptur'd! what a scene,
Diversified around, now strikes my eye;
My ear, what melody—e'en nature seems
To raise my soul to thoughts refin'd, sublime,
Of the grand cause. But O! how weak the powers
Of human reason! the most enlarg'd ideas
Frail mortals form, or seraphs can attain,
Are infinitely short of God's perfections—
His attributes! O what a vast profound!
Hark! Moses hints his power! proclaims his praise!
The world in chaos—without form, and void—
When darkness envelop'd the formless mass—
[Page 7]Ere man, or beast, or fish, or reptile liv'd,
Th' Almighty fiat spoke; then, order sprang
From drear confusion; beauty, out of void.
Let there be light—in th' east the windows op'd—
The grand, primoeval day began to dawn;
And there was light—he plac'd the firmament—
The atmosphere—impos'd on matter laws.
The sun, the moon, the starry myriads form'd,
Assign'd their spheres in wisdom consummate,
Describ'd their ample circuit, bade them whirl
With motion uniform, the round immense.
Behold! on fair creation's wrote, A God!
Throughout the scale of beings animate!
Throughout all nature's scene inanimate!
Lo! every species, genus, bears his name,
In characters divine 'tis strong impress'd;
E'en legible to Reason's cloudy eye;
So plain, that we may even Run and Read
His power, his godhead; we're without excuse.
O thou supreme, all-wise, sufficient God—
Cause, unoriginate! to contemplate
The effects of wisdom, power, in spheres above
Th' azure, wide, immensurable space
Of aether; or, the grand display, beneath,
Of power, and wisdom—feeble reason bows
In humble admiration—What is man!
Wilt thou regard him! wilt thou deign to stoop
To his infirmities—to notice man—
A humbling thought—thou hast, thou dost, thou wilt.
For MAN, Immanuel bled on Calvary!
For MAN, a bloody sweat bedew'd his brow!
For MAN, he cry'd, Lama Sabacthani!
For MAN, he liv'd, he died!—what love is this!
Does man despise him! daring folly this!
[Page 8]And has he bled in vain! the question, this,
Our duty, int'rest, urge to ask ourselves—
Our all's at stake; be serious; let's enquire—
But oh! lamentable! so vain is man,
Hot in pursuit of riches, fame, or power,
Forgets the business which demands dispatch;
The most momentous business of his life;
On which unfading glory does depend,
Drops, in his thoughts, enduing substance, and
Hunts, fondly, Phantom's train; illusive joys:
Till, or affliction's school, the death-bed shews
His fatal error, by th' approach of woe.
What numbers are there—now, within the walls
Of yon great city, sunk below the brute,
(Nor can the learned Johnson coin a word
Too mean, expressive of nor man nor beast)
Inebriated with nectareous juice
Kind providence to man, to cheer him, gave,
Misus'd, has prov'd his bane, now snoring lays
On the soft pillow; on the downy plumes;
Of God forgetful—lost to all that's good,
To reason dead, and dead to common sense,
And dead to shame, or live to glory in't,
E'en rebels to their nature, and their God.
Awake, ye sons of sloth! ye epicures!
See! all the tribes, to man subordinate,
Proclaim your folly, loudly deal to you
Reproof, keen pointed; hear! the ox, the ass
Upbraids you—all creation censures man.
Come, O ye epicures! ye worldlings, come
And leave the bed of lewdness; leave the bowl,
Cotemporaries all in age, and vice,
Ascend this hill, let the adult'rer's eye,
Half ope, give but a glance on yonder scene,
[Page 9]Attend to th' honest [...] in the birds▪
Reflect on nature, then on providence;—
Reflect on th' order in the universe—
The sun, the moon, the stars, stupendous orbs!—
The various genus of the plants spread o'er
The surface of the earth; the various tribes
Of animals, of reptiles, insect tribes,
Unnumber'd as the sands, or deep immur'd
Beneath the turf, or, furnish'd with the wing
Attenuated, mount the air, traverse
In millions, in the fluid atmosphere;
Then on the dignity design'd for man.
Shall man, high plac'd, at head of creatures here,
First on the list of beings visible
Beneath the skies, but little lower than
An angel made, design'd to reign as king
O'er all inferior beings in the world,
Or species in creation, what! shall he
His station quit, descend beneath the brutes!
Shall man! oh shocking! form'd for happiness,
For glory, honour, immortality,
Created free, endow'd with reason too,
Powers intellectual, to read, to trace,
In nature's mighty volume, his own heart—
In every thing he sees a cause supreme—
(A self-sufficient, wise, Almighty God:)
Who knows his station, does, or may, the end
Design'd by his creation; free to think,
Compare, reflect, invest with power to act
The part becoming his superior rank,
Forget his dignity, forget his place,
Turn traitor 'gainst his int'rest and his God,
Degrade his nature, and degrade his name;
Invert his laws; stand forth in arms against
[Page 10]A God, his providence, and 'gainst himself?
O what a pity! is it then his case?
Exists that man, so stupid and so blind,
An high born heir of glory! has he sold
His birthright for a fulsome mess of sense?
There is—a mournful truth! traverse the streets
On yon metropolis—of young and old,
Degree and sex, or high or low in life,
Deluded victims, bound with chains of sense—
Bond-slaves to lustful passions, pleasures stil'd,
Feast there the eye, the ear; there ev'ry crave
Of grov'ling appetite employs their thoughts;
Their heads, their hands, their time, more precious far
Than all the treasure of the universe!
Than all the tinsels of an Eastern court!
The empty pleasures of an empty world,
Though canoniz'd by custom and levees.
Are these the pleasures? Does the dazzling glare
Of terrene objects, momentary joys,
Amusements vain, of toys theatrical,
The intellectual eye of reason blind,
Invert man's ideas, and retund his thoughts,
Obscure the laws of reason, laws of God,
Shew vice as virtue, and as virtue vice;
Phantoms for men, for substance shadows shew:
Height of delusion; delusion this the worst;
Power abus'd, the light of conscience shunn'd,
The fatal cause of such insanity?
Nor physical; it is a moral cause.
Who will confront me, or who dare pretend
They follow nature, when they break her laws,
Their conscience violate, and Heaven charge
For want of power!—O! let me here address
The men of pleasure; men, in vice grown grey,
[Page 11]In age but youths—in vice decrepid, old,
O'er whom their baneful influence poppies shed▪
Till in lethargic stupor sunk—a death
To all that's worthy man's rememberance.
Awake ye sluggards! 'wake at Heaven's call,
Ere death, with sure tho' silent stop, intrude—
Break up your dream with his terrific shock,
And hurl you, trembling, down the dreadful steep,
From Folly's giddy heights to shades beneath,
To meet your recompence for powers abus'd.
Trace back the path you have trod in life, recal
The yesterday, the years expir'd, the time,
In idea, when the blush of innocence
And modesty with crimson grac'd the cheek,
E'en at the mention of those vices which
An after-boldness, with a smile, indulg'd.
Were youthful passions 'waken'd by a lure?
What voice forbad it then? What fear possess'd
The very soul in th' interval, the pause
Ere biass'd will was seconded by act?
Reason forbad it, Conscience gave a twitch.
Was not truth's language—O! my son, refrain—
All unregarded, headlong rush'd the youth,
As horses to the siege, or battle plunge,
Unheeding death, from various engines dealt;
Timid, at first they consecrated shades
T'indulge the foul, flagitious, wanton lust—
In privacy the new-born vice was rais'd;
Familiariz'd, stalk'd boldly by their sides
In open day-light, unabash'd appear'd;
Star'd virtue out of countenance; she hid
Her modest face; she blushed red for them
Who, dead to shame, forgot to blush themselves.
[Page 12]
But, whither do I rove? My pensive soul,
Her powers employ'd by such momentous themes,
Has left my feet to wander 'thout a guide;
A riv'let's limpid stream recals my thoughts;
What shade is that reflected? 'Tis my own!
But rude, imperfect this, external form.
Reflection, in the lucid mental stream
Of peerless truth, unruffled by the wind
Of passions turbulent—presents a form
Expressive, perfect, and instructive too—
The moral shade of man exhibits plain;
'Tis reason's mirror, and a virtue here,
To view the image rising in the glass;
Discriminate its features, mark its faults.
This, if neglected, self's an odious sight
Deform'd by pride, and blacken'd deep with vice.
The garb we dress in for the public view,
Of honour, honesty—a pompous form,
Cannot conceal, in clear reflection's glass,
The darling vice—the scheme iniquitous,
Or latent evil purpose of the soul,
The inmost form arises full in view;
Delineated by the ablest hand—
The steady hand of truth, the pencil glides,
And draws a perfect portrait of the man:
Reflection! 'tis a very hell to fools,
They beg redemption of the nearest toy.
Amusement seems to alleviate the pain
Of keen, vibrating truth's convictive stroke;
Or, for a moment, poignant thoughts prevent;
Gives Fancy wings, she mounts the aereal space,
Builds castles there, ideally connect;
Above a God—above his providence.
[Page 13]
O! what a sight! see, how the fopling struts!
A consequential air, his tete, his hands
And back assumes, his feet Italic gait,
Beneath the cane's head grasps his hand, to shew
The naked, emboss'd imagery there.
Bid him reflect—his hand's upon his sword;
A man of honour, nor can brook affronts:
Reason has left him; he is worse than mad.
O! thou vain mortal, emmet of a day;
What, art thou proud? Dost look down with disdain
On all beneath thee? Beneath, did I say?
There's not a soul beneath thee in the world;
Perch'd on the point of mode, hast thou forgot,
Or ever learnt, the business of a man?
Or that of sins, pride's one, and bears the palm?
A sin 'gainst God, as well as common sense.
Reflect, and meet thy naked heart alone!
What various baubles, empty, glittering toys,
Delude the human soul, and captivate
Her noble faculties; the heart of man,
That ought be dedicated to the Lord;
A templè sacred to the Holy Ghost!
What various idols fill from all his thoughts!
A God, a providence, is banish'd; what
Amazing stupor lulls the sons of men,
Intoxicated with a glut of trash!
Lusts are their gods, and lusts they serve, adore:
Like filthy swine, some wallow in the mire,
Of foulest vices, and prefer it too;
Like filthy swine they rake the jakes of lust,
Their eyes are fix'd—are center'd in the earth—
Voracious, pall unnatural appetites.
Beneath the fruitful tree of providence,
[Page 14]Pleas'd with effects, call'd adventitious fruit;
'Tis fortuitous ideas fill their brains.
Come! ev'ry man, who rev'rences a God—
Reveres his laws—makes them his rule of life,
Manhood lay 'side, let us, as children weep,
They for their toys, let us for substance weep;
Licentiousness exulting in the land,
Spreads blackest horror, "darkness to be felt;"
Darkness more dense than fill'd a guilty land,
When gross idolatry in triumph reign'd;
And sheds a living terror on the soul.
See, Vice so daring, walks the open street,
And, strumpet-like, stares virtue in the face;
Defying law—in face e'en of the sun;
Vices to think of, make me even blush,
To write of more, they make me tremble too.
The English genius, not enough acute,
To coin fresh ***** equal to the taste—
The cravings of our modern appetite,
Our ports are open'd—earth is ransack'd o'er;
Exotics are imported duty free;
Here they improve, though not their native soil;
High they aspire, with wide extended branch,
Reach from the C**** to cots of simple swains,
Shade budding virtues, and prevent their bloom.
Brutes are outvied, the Hottentots would blush,
Could they imagine, much more see the scenes
Of vicious pleasures in this British isle,
Inverting nature's laws—men living here
Without a God, without a sense of shame;
Merely for sake of empty life they live;
E'en shorten the short span which Heaven gives,
By luxury—and Epicurean feasts.
The gaming table, brothel, **********,
[Page]Plays, operas, the bottle, flowing bowls,
Their souls distract—(distraction is their joy)
Fill up their waking moments, haunt their dreams,
The iron sinew melt, unnerve the man.
Huge edifices, groan our hospitals
Beneath the weight of riot, debauchees;
See, pile on pile, high tow'ring to the roof,
Of ev'ry age betraying ghastly forms,
Extended lay on foul disease's rack,
Emaciated, putrid, yet alive;
There—grim death reigns, in all his terrors cloth'd;
More dreadful still—a wounded conscience reigns,
Truth's bow, tight strung, than iron stronger, drawn,
Sinks deep the poison'd arrows in the soul,
And banishes delusive gleams of peace.
How many are there now, on beds of down,
Whose day nor night afford no glympse of light,
The light of hope, to allay their mental rage,
Bear up the soul to mock diseases rack,
And open prospects to celestial spheres;
The would be Atheist's pomp and glory fades,
His manly courage—casual jumbling schemes,
Now vanish as a vapour—he believes
The sceptic's cloud of doubts are clear dispell'd—
Life's evening curtain's drawn on every scene
Illusive, and their Heaven now dissolves;
Old fears revive, with double horror fraught,
Fears, grounded in convulsive aching, throbs
Of wounded conscience, rivetted remorse,
Whose torture constitutes a hell on earth.
A Hell! whose flames an ocean cannot quench,
A Hell! which the inebriating juice
Will still increase—a Hell! that is beneath
The reach of strong emetic's power to cleanse;
[Page 16]A pain the nearest friend cannot abate,
Nor all invention's soothing opiates.
In this degen'rate age, what candid man,
Of virtuous principles, of virtuous life,
Can now forbear to shed unfeigned tears,
The torrent of licentious trash to view,
Thro' the abused medium of the Press,
Impetuous flowing o'er this British isle,
The few remaining seeds of virtue left
Contaminating—novels, foul, obscene—
To see; O what a thought!—men prostitute
Distinguish'd genius in the cause of vice!—
By Heav'n favour'd to promote the cause
Of sacred virtue, clothed with the gown
And holy characters of P******, D******.
O thou irrev'rend *****, for shame put up,
Restrain thy foul, obscene, licentious pen,
Nor more offend the ear of virtue with
That T—st—m S—dy libidinous stuff:
Strip off the gown, renounce thy sacred claim;
Quit, quit the altar; hide thee in a cave,
And gird thy loins with sackcloth;
On thy head strew ashes, then bewail the hurt
Thou'st done to Christ's cause—repent, repent;
In deep contrition wash away thy guilt.
At such a time, in this licentious age,
O! what a pity! few—too few indeed,
Of those who write professedly to serve
The cause of virtue—to reform the world
(How shall I, now, repress the rising sigh—
Forbear to shed a solemn tear of grief)
By good example virtue's laws inforce—
Just sentiments, by practices as just.
As brethren ought, in harmony should live
[Page 17]Fair virtue's twins—(the Christian's ornament)
United, hand in hand, ought travel on
Throughout the vale of time, fast by our sides,
Imparting mutual aid to virtue's cause,
The learned lecture—th' elegant essay,
Impotent (single) to effect the end
Of reformation; precept waits the aid
Of bright examples powerful allure,
T' attract the attention of the giddy throng,
And regulate the chaos multitude.
But reason points to Lambeth—says, behold
A second Tillotson resideth there;
His meekness, charity, exhibits plain
A bright example to the sable cloth—
Amongst the writers of the moral class,
She singles out a Johnson from the few;
A giant genius—humble, yet erect—
A Saul amongst his brethren appears,
As wise, as learn'd, as truly good as great.
Oh! modest Johnson, thy unrivall'd pen,
And moments few, the glass of time contains,
To virtue dedicate—O may thy sun
Unclouded sink beneath the horizon;
In good old age, may thy grey hairs descend
The silent grave—thy soul ascend above—
To peaceful mansions in celestial spheres.
Kind Charity, who always thinks the best,
Now whispers in my ear—inspires a hope
Ingenious L—gh—e stands amongst the few.
Ye men of conscience, honest, virtuous men,
Of ev'ry name, society and class,
Who wail religion's ebb, low ebb indeed;
Who, trembling, view the swelling torrent pour'd,
That, pouring still with unremitted speed
[Page 18]Of open unabash'd licentiousness,
Like a proud rapid current falling down
From giddy heights (see the drear cataracts)
Falling it foams, the loud discordant roar
Strikes craggy mountains tow'ring to the clouds,
Reverberates a tremor all around,
Shocks human nature, placid reason too,
Lay manhood 'side, let us as children weep;
They for their toys, let us for substance weep.
END OF THE FIRST PART.
[Page 19]
PART II.
WHILST I sit musing by this limpid stream,
The leafy hazels shade from piercing rays,
Here gentle zephyrs temperate the heat;
The purling rill, the distant water-fall,
Stills every passion rude, and spreads a calm
Solemnly pleasing; the delightful scene,
Diversified around, outvies the pomp,
The empty gew-gaws of the vain Beau-Monde.
O for a L—or—r, some other friend,
As true as they unrotten at the core,
To stray with me aside the mazy stream,
Along the sylvan groves or hazel copse,
To share the pleasures of the gilded morn,
And taste the simple joy of rural scenes.
What, am I then alone! millions around,
Of various beings, swarm the grove, and spread
The grassy hillock, skim the mantling stream,
Partake the boon the God of nature sheds
On fair creation, and they all rejoice
In his beneficence, express his praise.
All nature's big with life, earth, air and sea
With beings teem; gradations infinite
Of size and species, in each element.
Perhaps there's fish to whom a sprat's a whale;
Insects as small to mites, as mites to men,
[Page 20]To whom a Millet-seed may be a globe,
Proportionate, as large as this to man.
Now drowsy citizens begin to rise,
Ope wide the shop, expose their tinsel wares;
The ribbon curious wrought, th' embroider'd silk,
To attract the passing croud; now various schemes,
Planned in the zenith of old night's domain,
To accumulate the pelf of golden ore,
Or right or wrong, or honest or unjust,
With unrelenting ardour are pursued.
The knavish dealer, BROKER, BULL or BEAR.
Law is his gospel; lawyers are his priests—
Proteus like, transform'd to ev'ry shape,
The likeness of a saint as near assumes
As Satan does the angels form and light.
Morose or placid, arrogant or meek—
The place of sense effrontery supplies;
Of reason, of religion, honesty;
Conscience is banish'd when she can't approve,
The petty-fogger then supplies her place;
The cause his business, if, or right or wrong,
To plead, maintain, his client pays the score;
Base int'rest is his guide, yea 'tis his god,
He worships her; Indians adore the sun;
The Indian's ignorant, but he's a knave;
Foments contention, blows it to a flame,
Then keeps it living by the quirks of law.
Descanting on the vices of the times,
A trade most infamous must not escape
My justest censure—Negroe traffic, vile!
The wide extended coast of Africa's
Patrol'd by monsters, Christian cannibals,
The natives quarrels to perpetuate,
On either side their toys to truck for men.
[Page 21]When Afric's flames of war but languid blaze,
Nor hopes of sudden freight their minds elate,
European, Christian policy, supplies
Fresh fuel, throws it on the dying fire.
O what a sight!—see! human beings rang'd,
Expos'd to sale, as horses at a fair;
Creolan salesmen exercise the whip,
Or make them run, or walk, or shew their teeth;
The bargain struck, they're doom'd to slavery,
To proud, despotic planters, men devoid
Of ev'ry right to rule, but power usurp'd—
Of social virtues, all humanity,
To virtue dead, alive to ev'ry vice,
Reduc'd by luxury to walking ghosts—
Of men but shadows, or the imps of ***;
The cruel tyrants take the man for beast;
As such he's us'd, if different, 'tis worse.
One Lord, in power, in wisdom infinite,
Of one blood all the diff'rent nations made—
All claim relation equal to the source—
The common father of the human race—
The common parent's gracious unto all;
Nor hue, nor clime, nor wealth, degree nor power,
Dominion gives a brother to inthral.
Brethren we are, from pole to pole, o'erspread
The ant-hill surface of this little globe,
And here we ought in amity to creep,
Till wisdom infinite shall summons hence—
Strip off our clay, and mount us 'bove the world.
Slave! human nature scorns the abject name;
Apply it rightly, stamp it on the beast;
The beast's to bear it, and that's Heaven's decree;
His course invert! thou vain, presumptuous worm;
[Page 22]His laws and natures violate! high treason!
God will avenge the cause of the oppress'd.
O Europe! Christendom! what is a NAME!
Compare this traffic with the Christian law,
A law, worthy indeed of God to give,
Man to obey—hear! even as thou would
Be done unto, so unto others do.
Recal the C****c t***e, nor vainly dream
Of making converts in a distant clime
Where this is known; the Christians deal in slaves!
What thinks the Indian, what the Mussulman,
Or what the Heathen? What the scatter'd Jews?
The climes idolatrous, of civiliz'd?
First proselyte the infidels at home—
First cruel sons instruct in that grand law,
Charity, offspring divine, from Heaven gave,
In goodness gave, the rugged nature of
The man to smooth, to perfect human kind
This is neglected; why? Base int'rest reigns.
See! many rise in pomp, add house to house,
Estate unto estate on rent rolls add
By mere deceit, o'er-reaching, private frauds—
Oppressions gain their swelling coffers fill.
See! proud Glorio rolls along in state,
Close at his heels a pompous equipage;
Giant in power—in virtue but a dwarf:
Amongst the gaping throng, where'er he goes
He scatters terror with indignant glance;
Like Leviathans, in the northern seas,
Preys on his fellow creatures; he devours
The widow and the orphan—lo! his pride,
Leagu'd with his power, stalks lordly through the land.
See! the industrious tradesman haunts his porch,
Beseeching payment of an ancient debt—
[Page 23]With suppliant knee he begs—but for his due,
Unhear'd, unnotic'd begs—but begs in vain.
Pufft up with pride—with th' empty dignity
Of sounding titles—down the putrid stream
Of luxury he swims, along the vale
To vast eternity; yet unperceives
The quick succession of protuding hours,
Frail nature urging, onward to the brink
Of that tremendous precipice of death.
All his old follies gather strength from age,
And each new wrinkle brings a new desire.
Beloved ****, and a vile romance,
In deep oblivion bury thoughts of death.
O! what a sight! behold the youthful lust,
Fresh, blooming still upon the hoary head,
Whose dim eyes sunk, must soon for ever close
To all terrestrial glory—all its bliss—
The pomp of courts—the glitter of a ball—
Delusive pleasures and the feasts of sense!
O! foolish Glorio! when wilt thou be wise—
Correct thy errors, and prepare to DIE.
Of those who live in state, in chariots loll,
Half drown'd in luxury, and drunk with pride,
How many now (conscience recall'd) must blush
To trace their labour'd steps back to the vale
Of penury; or to review the means
By which they climb'd the slipp'ry mount of wealth:
Th' ideal ghosts of orphans, widows, poor
Laborious mechanics they'ave oppress'd,
Would then appear in view, in every place,
Whilst living, haunt them, in the hour of death,
The soul itself would shudder with despair,
And trembling, drop into the deep abyss,
Where's weeping, wailing, gnashing of the teeth.
[Page 24]
Where is the honest, where's th' ingenuous man,
Who squares his actions by the golden rule,
Whose heart is free from ev'ry paltry bribe;
Ev'ry oppressive means of gain despise,
And make his fellow creatures case his own?
"The world's all title page, there's no contents;
"The world's all face, the man who shews his heart
"Is whooted for his nudities and scorn'd."
Why, here and there we see one 'mongst the croud,
Like glow-worms scatter'd o'er the parched turf,
Or in the thicket blazing as a star;
Nor wonder then, the honest and the brave,
The man that's just beyond a point of law,
The world writes on his forehead fool or mad;
He's an exception 'gainst TOO GENERAL RULES.
Methinks, on wings of contemplation rais'd,
I have now a prospect of the busy world,
See multitudes with multitudes commix'd;
Towards th' enchanted golden mount they press,
With furious ardor—how they force their way,
Run o'er the widows, push the orphans down;
See! tender Virtue's almost press'd to death;
She cries aloud, but who regards her cry?
What mingled plaints approach the car divine—
From the oppressed! real plaints ascend
From the oppressor's hypocritic forms,
To blind his neighbour, and effect his end.
See! father 'gainst his son, and, in his turn,
The son against his father; and the brother,
By int'rest blinded, strives to cheat his brother.
Nor only social bonds, the stronger tie
Of relative affection, is dissolved;
The torrent of mere mercenary thoughts
Have drowned love; have sympathy repress'd.
[Page 25]Lo! one for one his private int'rest seeks;
Religion, truth, all that is sacred too
Is call'd upon to cloak the foulest schemes,
And vouch the purity of hypocrites;
The tinsel shrine of INT'REST is ador'd:
Some of the r******* t***e, C*n***c class,
Lay prostrate at her feet, they beg her aid
To guide them to a benefice; to crown
Their learned heads with m*****, and to clothe
Their nakedness and poverty in lawn.
O how my soul's convuls'd, to view from hence
The various means of craft, chicanery,
Which various men, their various ends to gain,
Adopt, yea consecrate, beneath the cloak
Of truth, religion, honour, public good.
See! what a hideous monster yonder struts,
Goliah's size—MONOPOLY by name—
Stalks ghastly 'mongst the throng, his rolling eyes
Flash baneful avarice at every glance,
At ev'ry step wide devastation spreads!
Pale, meagre FAMINE, follow'ng at his heels;
No seed of virtue's living in his soul,
Meek sympathy, benevolence and truth—
The common feelings of humanity
Are banish'd—Int'rest's base, mere selfish laws,
Guides ev'ry step, and ev'ry act inspires.
See! in his hand a cruel scythe he holds,
Now sweeps it 'mongst the pigmy multitude,
Destruction's dealt around at every sweep,
And thousands fall fast-by his pond'rous side;
See! thunder-struck the gaping throng aghast,
Stand trembling—boldly he defies the world,
And glories in his conquests—where's the youth
By virtue strength'ned, and by wisdom taught,
[Page 26]Dare now step forth, and give the monster fight.
Yon legislature has him in his eye—
The monster huge Monopoly pursues;
His coward heart already quakes for fear,
See paleness gathers on the giant's brow,
Whilst ev'ry Israelite exulting, shouts.
Hear, all ye worldings! hear, ye men of PREY!
Of every name, of every place and trade,
Who eat, and then in vain attempt to hide,
Th' omniscient God explores your very souls
Through all the trappings of a pompous shew,
Or painted garbs of vile hypocrisy;
Nor is unseen the deepest, dark recess,
Or schemes in embryo concealed there.
Come, all ye knaves, come, summons all your art,
Take to your nitre; wash yourselves with soap;
Try all expedients sophistry affords,
Or syllogisms logic can produce,
Your sins are seen, iniquities are mark'd;
Omniscience, nor only what you seem,
But what you really are, his eye beholds!
To flee his presence whither will ye go?
Ascend to Heaven, lo! a God is there;
Or to the depths descend, a God is there;
Or to the ocean's bounds—he's every where;
The darkness and the light's the same to him.
Hear, all ye worldlings—hear, ye men of prey—
Nor think you there's a God, hereafter too?
Nor think you e'er of judgment after death?
You know, you feel those poignant, solemn truths;
Awake they haunt you—haunt nocturnal dreams,
Tread on your heels, and whisper on your ears;
E'en at the banquet house sometimes they're heard—
A hand is seen to write, as on the wall,
[Page 27]When mirth and jolitry reigns noisy round,
You would efface it, would expel the thoughts,
Flee their Conviction, fain elude their force,
Or, like a Felix, beg them to depart;
Yet still they haunt you—would you lay the ghosts,
Repent, amend, they'll vanish and be gone.
Be wise; consider; live as man ought live;
Correct your errors—peace will then attend.
Come ye, the gleanings of a guilty land,
Whoe'er you are, or wheresoe'er you dwell,
(The friends to real truth, the friends of man)
Untainted yet with vices popular,
Who walk in innocence, the paths of peace—
Are strangers to the pleasure and the pain
The vicious multitude enjoy, and rue;
May I be your companion through the vale
Of present life, and yours in future too,
When this frail body, bore down with disease,
Shall to its center drop, a ghastly corpse,
And some kind friend turn up the turf, and hide
My putrid carcase in the silent grave,
To lay and rot amongst the ancient dead;
O! what a chill the thought sends thro' my blood!
The libertine, be his to sneer at God,
Deride his providence, deny his laws—
Curse Virtue when he meets her in the street;
Invention torture, rack his very brains
T' invent diversions for his guilty soul,
And 'bate the force of constitutions fears,
He'll find they are wove into his very soul.
Be yours, as beings rational and free,
To contemplate the man, explore yourselves;
To contemplate the deity; to read
His wisdom, power, in th' objects all around;
[Page 28]Adore him, fear him, and observe his law—
His laws—the grand palladium of our bliss,
The ruling principle in nature's scenes,
Ought be the ruling principles of man.
But where to read his law? They're wrote within;
Nor need we ransack the huge tow'ring pile
Of mighty volumes to find out his law—
Respecting man, a being rational;
In our own breasts, in the fair open page
Of conscience they are wrote, there we should read.
What matter then tho' infidels may laugh,
Or the licentious puff an empty blast
Of foulest ridicule, sarcastic fleers,
And passing hiss you, 'tis beneath the man,
By virtue crown'd with her triumphant wreath,
To fear the idle censures of the world.
Immanuel sustain'd the CRUCIFY;
Upon his head they plac'd a crown of thorns:
Be yours to learn of him; forgive the wrong;
Pray even for your enemies—o'ercome
The malice, pride and envy of the world,
By meekness, patience, faith and charity.
The Christians weapons these, his armour too,
His breast-plate and his shield impregnable;
A meek forbearance's better than revenge.
The means to help ourselves, reform the man,
By passion overcome—our enemy.
If just the censure; then remove the cause,
Correct thy errors; if unjust, increase
Thy watchfulness; be more upon thy guard
In every step; assert thy innocence,
And let thy conduct give report the lie;
Defeat th' intent of every enemy,
The craft of knaves, and ignorance of fools.
[Page 29]By injuries we even may improve!
The day of trial is the test of faith!
These are occasions to call forth to view
The latent Christian virtues in the soul,
And give a striking proof of virtue's pow'r;
As men acquit yourselves—you're in the field,
Time is the day of battle, urge the fight;
Within, without your enemies in arms;
Man's greatest enemies are in his house,
And in his house appears his greatest friend;
If any man is tempted, 'tis by lusts;
If any man is saved, 'tis by grace,
And this salvation hath appear'd to all.
Remember life's a scene probationate,
Afflictions various await us here;
The alternates of health, disease and pain,
Vicissitudes of day, of night, of heat,
Of cold, of summer, winter, alternates
Fill up our time, uncertain too, what in
Th' approaching moment—life or sudden death!
The cup of pleasure's mingled with the gall
Of disappointment; pain and pale disease
Of ev'ry rank and age, degree in life,
None here exempt, the Wormwood's dealt to all.
The life of man is like a nat'ral day;
The sun of happiness is often hid
Behind a cloud of vapours from the earth.
O! for those purer realms, mansions divine!
Nor sun, nor moon, nor stars are wanted there;
Refulgent lights, to which th' unclouded sun
In full meridian glory is opaque,
Where God, the Lamb, at once are light and joy,
And constitute an everlasting day—
Now adverse gales, now prosperous attend,
[Page 30]We're now elated, then again depress'd,
Like ships at sea; we, in the storm of life,
Now are uplift high on the mountain waves,
Descending swiftly, then the yawning gulf,
The hull's immerg'd, the labouring vessel heaves,
Th' affrighted pilot lashes to the helm;
Addresses him who walks on wings of wind,
Whose chariots are the clouds, to still the waves;
(Invoked in the storm, in calms forgot)
Rough, strong, keen, loud tho' Boreas may blow,
A dreary, stormy blast, low'ring and black,
The clouds may gather, from the East may dart,
Bright coruscations, or the thunder roll
From pole to pole terrifick, torrents pour
From clouds capacious, waves with fury foam,
'Tis God Almighty ruleth in the storm;
Nor murmur then, submit, yea kiss the rod,
A moment bear discordant elements—
Bear nature's clash, the din will soon be o'er,
And then ensues an everlasting calm—
But O! how hard to human nature, in the hour
When she aghast seems trembling on the verge
Of vast eternity, to cast the eye
Towards the Lord of Heaven, earth and sea,
Of all creation—say thy will be done—
O! for a tabernacle on the mount—
But human nature shudders at these thoughts,
The Garden—Calvary, and Golgotha.
The honest, virtuous man, has nought to fear,
Or in life's vale, or in the vale of death;
Before a tyrant, even on the rack,
His nature shrinks, his conscience wears a smile,
The paltry arts of torture with disdain
Looks down upon—Endures the moment strife
[Page 31]Of human frailty, with disease's rage;
His cause refers to God, and in the hour
Of fell excruciating pangs of death,
Supports a dignity becoming man.
He meets the King of Terrors with a smile—
He welcomes him, as a redeeming angel,
By heaven sent to call to perfect day,
To perfect liberty and happiness.
To break the heavy fetters of this clay,
Incrusting thick th' inhabitant within,
To loose her from captivity, to range
In spheres celestial, permanent above,
T' ascend that holy, fair, celestial mount,
The habitation of celestial souls,
With them to feast, enraptur'd, who surround
The awful throne—who prostrate in the blaze
Of his refulgent glory—ever live,
To sing the Hallelujah's—themes divine!
The honest, virtuous man, hath nought to fear;
He bears about a heaven in his soul,
Who dares to meet his naked heart alone,
With her communes, without a sickly pale,
Nor feels his blood run trembling to its source,
And knows her testimony's on his side—
Confides in God—hath hope, nor feareth man.
Would'st thou be happy here, hereafter too;
Would'st thou be wise, be rich, be full, be safe?
Unmoved hear the praise and scorn of man;
Unmoved see him smile, or see him frown;
Nor praise nor obloquy take for thy rule
Through life to steer; within thou hast a guide;
A faithful monitor—a trusty friend:
Make Conscience then thy test; ask her report
Of all that's past; she'll faithfully report;
[Page 32]She will not flatter, nor she cannot lie;
What friend's beside so perfect sound at core,
What friend so wise, so honest, so sincere,
To speak the truth, the whole, nor more nor less?
How loth are friends to probe the wounds of friends!
The wounds of friends how apt we are to heal
Deceitfully—t' extenuate their guilt.
Where is the man impartial to his friend
In ev'ry case, or to his enemy?
Affection's biass on the judgment hung,
Inclines the scale in favour of the man
At once we wish to serve and pleasure too.
That task how difficult to execute!
Trust not in man—Vain is the help of man,
Tho' honour'd with a robe, a wand or staff,
A title, coronet or blazing star,
Surrounded with a numerous cringing train
Of fawning sycophants, at core decay'd;
They'll bless and c—, as interest may urge.
The title dignified; they are but men;
They're incident to pain, disease and death—
Death presses through the herd of hangers on,
Above, e'en ceremonies of a court,
Pass by the page, the lord in waiting, and
Invalidates the plea of privilege,
Arrests the peer, deep sinks the fatal dart;
In vain sagacious SMITH, that favour'd son
Of Hipp'crates prescribes; alas! he dies.
Above there's no distinction made between
The peasant and the prince; there titles drop—
Nor in the grave beneath—th' inhabitants
Of dreary, gloomy mansions of the dead
Know no distinction; merciless to all,
They prey upon the MONARCH and the Slave.
[Page 33]
Trust not to man, he's like a broken reed,
Nor lean thereon, 'twill pierce thee to the heart;
Oft make a pause amidst tumultuous life,
And feel the pulse of Conscience, how it beats;
And oft withdraw from all the noisy world
To Solitude's instructive, pleasing vale;
Walk silent, pensive there—there ruminate
On past occurrences—there trace the spring
Of ev'ry action, and explore thyself.
In night's zenith, when thou art reclin'd
On downy plumes, forget th' alluring toys—
All glittering objects, transitory, vain,
When on thy bed—with thy own heart commune!
Be thine to act the open honest man,
(Nor take th' advantage mere contingence gives,
In midst of plenty to proclaim a dearth,
T'ingross, monopolize, send through the land
The ghost of Famine, or distress the poor,
Increase their wants, and prey upon their fears.)
The honest humble man's desires are few,
And therefore few his wants, kind providence
Has put within his reach those few for him:
The wants of nature are but few, 'tis PRIDE
Increases them almost to INFINITE—
Pride sends us o'er the globe from pole to pole,
To rake the mines of Peru—to import
The tinsels of the Indies—'Tis our pride
That swells enormously the heart's desires
For mere terrestrial superfluities;
Mere superfluities, not worth a wish;
They are but trifles, vain, sublunary.
To act as children's seemly in a child,
Toys are adapted to infantile years;
To act as children, and to play with toys,
[Page 34]Disgraces manhood—Superfluities
Divert th'attention from important truths,
Subjects sublime, adapt to Reason's eye,
Distract our thoughts, plague even whilst they please.
Nor let me now, descanting on the Times—
Whilst pointing out the vices of the age;
In blackest shades painting the sensualist,
Lashing the hypocrite, that formal shrew,
A Churchill like, too rapid in my song
To make exceptions as I go along;
Forget t' applaud, where 'plause is justly due,
I rev'rence merit wheresoe'er she dwells,
Or in a mansion, or the rural cot,
The good I honour, but I hate the knave;
Not hate the man, his vices 'tis I hate:
Though low indeed—exceeding low the cause
Of true religion—yet of every class
Of clergy, laity—rulers and the rul'd,
There are a few who, bound to virtue's cause,
Are friends of truth, of reason, and of man;
There are, and may their number still increase,
Men who deserve to rule, to be obey'd,
As constellations deck the azure sky,
(Their brilliant virtues) grace the church and state:
Come then, ye virt'us, let's forget a name—
Let's close unite in virtue's sacred cause,
And make a stand against licentiousness.
On that fair, firm, that everlasting ground,
Charity! tongues, prophecies, will cease;
Charity never fails, it is the soul
Of all religion, worship—'tis the soul,
Th' inspiring soul of Heaven's holy song,
Accentuates the hallelujah there.
[Page 35]
O! thou Almighty Being, pierce my soul,
Lay bare my heart, present it to my view,
Nor let me, blind to self, indulge one vice
My pen is drawn to censure in the world.
Lord! let a reverential awe possess
The inmost, deep recesses of my soul;
O! light up there a pure, a holy flame,
Purge off the dregs of ev'ry secret thought,
And every sin in embryo consume:
Nor let me only see the secret fault,
Deep rooted in the mental ground within,
But ere it peeps in act, O! lay thine hand
Upon it, tho' in judgment; extirpate
The root of evil from my very soul.
Methinks, this moment, lashing bold the age,
My imperfections stare me in the face;
The latent weakness hid from mortal eye,
In full view rise—ah what a humbling sight!
O truth, thy kindness calls for loudest praise!
Nor let thy mercy unimprov'd escape,
Or, like a shadow, in a moment flee;
What man ought be, that let me strive to be;
And honour human nature; honour thee;
Write then my errors on my very heart,
As with a pen of iron 'grave them there,
Until reform'd; let mercy then expunge
The dread hand-writing, and forget my sins.
Nor let a vain, deluded, empty world's
Harsh censure, nor its frothy sounding praise,
Awake my fears, light up hope's lamp, or warp
The virtuous purpose of my cool resolve,
To follow Truth wherever she may lead;
May thou, but O! I shudder at the thought,
The spirit's willing, human nature's weak,
[Page 36]When my last awful day shall dawn, or in
The bloom of life, meridian, or old age,
Ancient of Days be with me, stay my mind
In humble trust, and confidence in thee,
The darksome dreary valley to illume!
When pale disease, exulting on my brow,
Shall mock the feeble power of medicine,
And death's cold sweat shall trickle down my face,
Bear up my soul with thy Almighty pow'r
O'er death, the grave and hell to triumph then,
In hope of blessed immortality—
In full assurance of ETERNAL BLISS.
[Page 37]
AN EVENING'S MEDITATION.
THE clock strikes nine; the light of day departs;
No longer ting'd with gold yon mountain's top;
See Heav'n's bright lamps light up, the planets rise;
The blackbird, thrush, and tuneful lark are dumb;
A silence universal seems to reign,
Save the soft murmurs of a purling rill,
Which grateful break upon my list'ning ear.
Methinks I view th' inhospitable climes
Where Mogul, Cham, or Asiatic prince,
Or proud Bashaw, despotic tyrants, reign,
Or desarts wide-extended, burning sands,
Waste howling wildernesses! dreary scenes!
The sun girt, giant-like, to run his race,
His highest altitude attain'd, darts down
The piercing ray, with swiftness not conceiv'd;
The sultry scorching heat the Indian drives
To seek a shade beneath the creeping shrub.
When western oceans quench the fiery ball,
And sable evening spreads her twilight robe
O'er parched desarts, and Arabian sands,
Voracious monsters quit the hidden den,
Propell'd by hunger, and by nature fierce,
[Page 38]And haunt the clay-built cot for human blood.
The woods resound the hoarse, loud, hideous roar,
Whilst they with terror stalk along the gloom
Of ancient Night's domain—The dreadful howl,
The complicated roar of savage beasts,
Not to be equall'd, search all nature round,
Except by man! (most savage animal!)
The yell of Indians, or, more horrid still,
The cruel, modulated whoop of war!
That dreadful presage of a painful death,
Just as caprice or vengeance may dictate.
O how my soul's convulsed at the thought!
My spirits ebb; th' arterial blood is chill'd,
And scaree propell'd the trembling ventricle.
Whilst seated here beneath an ancient oak,
That liv'd before my grandsire's pulse began
To beat, or tenant to a womb his embryo,
Secure from ruffians, and beyond the reach
Of Indian scalping-knives and tomahawks,
To meditate the glories of the skies,
To warm my breast at yonder glowing spheres,
And raise life's mercury to fair, serene,
Perhaps some honest, harmless peasant, who
Beyond the Alleghennies fix'd his tent,
Himself aloof, in ambush lies conceal'd
Deep in the thicket of a leafy shrub,
And, bath'd in tears, hears the departing groans
Of all that's near; the partner of his toils,
And of his joys; the lisping child; the babe
Wrench'd from its mother's arms, and hurl'd to death,
Nor spar'd the life of man, nor that of brute.
Blind, indiscriminating cruelty!
E'en now, perhaps, some destin'd family,
The wants of nature temperately supply'd,
[Page 39]Not with high dishes, but with simple fare,
Swarm round the blaze, ere they resign to rest
Their weary limbs, to take a parting glow,
Affrighted hear the dread distinguish'd voice,
Nor strive t' elude the shock they cannot shun.
Hail! Britain's favour'd Isle! thrice happy clime!
Nor lion's den, nor alligator's lake,
Nor devastation by tornado spread,
Nor savage Indian (tho' as cruel men,
Check'd by the laws, if not humanity;
The dread of punishment, if not of shame)
Within the limits of our Eden found:
No piercing rays descend in lines direct;
Cheer'd and enliven'd by an oblique glance,
The summer solstice darts the genial beam,
Nor scorches here, but maturates our fruit;
With golden varnish paints the swelling grain,
And glorious plenty spreads throughout the land.
Pensive I sit, retir'd from strife of tongues,
Int'rest's loud clamour, folly's louder still,
Prophanity's hoarse bawl, and chorus lewd,
Which drown reflection, conscience lull to sleep.
Come solitude, thou physic of the soul,
Purge off the dregs of riot thoughts, and take
The vicious bias off from reason's scale
Frailty hung on, and custom has confirm'd.
The lonely cell, the deep recess of groves,
Are schools of wisdom, where momentous truths
Themselves unfold to contemplation's eye:
Refin'd employment for immortal souls.
'Tis solitude's the proper focus, whence
We contemplate the rising wonders of
Almighty Power, and Wisdom's grand display;
By Uncreated Excellence pourtray'd
[Page 40]On ev'ry object which invites the eye
To gaze with rapture on the rolling spheres,
Th' amazing host of twinkling brilliant stars,
Which intersperse the blue ethereal vault,
And decorate th' immensity of space:
'Tis here to trace th' Almighty in his works;
Stupendous orbs reduc'd to lucid points
By distance infinite, and trace the line
In which they roll incessant ample rounds,
And, rolling, preach aloud their Author's praise.
'Tis here to know ourselves, to know our God;
With our own hearts commune; commune with God▪
And will He dwell on earth? Amazing kind!
And will He deign from empyreal spheres,
From th' highest heavens (condescension great!)
To cast an eye on frail mortality,
And in creation's veil himself enwrap?
T' impart a feeble glimpse to feeble worms?
T' enkindle ardour in our abject breasts?
To raise our thoughts, inspire the mental prayer?
And guide our secret wish beyond the skies?
Am I, a feeble emmet of a day,
Notic'd by Him? I am! I feel the truth;
The glowing ardour heaves my panting breast;
And may it vivify, reanimate
My cold, my dead affections, once entomb'd
In worldly lusts, and smother'd in the dust
Rais'd by the active heels of sense, to blind
From duty, peace, and everlasting gain.
In pleasing contemplation Wisdom shines,
And Wisdom infinite! This plainly wrote,
On ev'ry part, on ev'ry object wrote,
Throughout creation's wide-extended field.
[Page 41]
The striking glare, endless diversity
Of colours glowing in the flow'ry tribes,
Beyond the skill of paltry mimic art,
The fragrant bloom of purple hyacinth,
The jonquille, tulip, and auricula,
The sturdy oak, the lofty tow'ring pine,
The creeping shrub, high on the mountain's brow,
From Lebanon, the cedar branching there,
By just gradation to the smallest plant,
Nor stop at th' hyssop which o'er-runs the wall,
Take in the humble lilly of the vale;
Amazing wisdom shines throughout the whole!
The foliage expands, to shew his praise;
Ambrosial sweets commix'd perfume the air,
Th' ascending incense from earth's altar rais'd.
Stupendous orbs, the work of Power Supreme,
Perform their ample circuit, wheeling round
The line describ'd by Him, nor devious stray
In the wide regions of ethereal space;
With swiftness nice adjusted, uniform,
Their revolutions to a point observe.
Earth, air and winds, the tides, their ebbs and flows,
The sun, the planets, and the starry host,
The whole connect, and every part proclaims
The attribute of Wisdom. Nor less man!
A world in miniature! a microcosm!
The just position of his various parts
For use and ornament, the purposes
Of life to answer, and provide his food.
Nor yet omit the grand machinery
Contriv'd within, to separate, digest,
Extract the essence of the aliment,
To form the chyle, convert it into blood,
Its mazy passage through the lacteals,
[Page 42]Its progress thence to the subclavian vein,
Nay, all the animal oeconomy,
The curious texture of the human frame,
The just arrangement of the various tubes,
Infinitesimal, composing man,
In accents loud proclaim Almighty Power.
Inclosed here within these walls of flesh,
Faint gleams of light break in upon the soul,
Thro' inlets which material organs form.
This lower world, this vale of ignorance,
Though day to owls, is gloomy night to man.
Our views but short; these views imperfect too!
There's earth between us and the greater light!
Dust modified! call'd flesh! Reason, that moon
Of spirits immaterial cloath'd in clay,
Not always equal, always clear its light;
At best but gloomy; sometimes 'tis eclips'd
By passion, int'rest, prejudice or pain:
These send a cloud of vapours, which obscure
The but dim light, and make it total dark.
Causes approximate; of these how few
Short-sighted mortals just discern and trace!
Then for a moment wonder, and are lost!
Nor adequately can define, conceive,
Or how we live, or what the lamp of life,
How lighted, how supply'd, or how it burns,
Now free, now clear, now dim, now almost dark,
Now leaps in quiv'ring flame, now quench'd by death.
The lamp of life, that pure ethereal flame,
Common to brutes, e'en to the creeping worm,
The mite, and smallest animalcula,
That lie immur'd beneath the clods of earth,
Or, floating, buoy'd up in the atmosphere,
The soul of animals,—its nature what?
[Page 43] Material still, tho' an ethereal flame;
And nought but matter strain'd thro' the fine sieve
Of nature's process—How is this conjoin'd,
Connected with an immaterial soul?
What ligaments can reason here suppose?
Or how cohesive principles can act?
Or matter's laws restrict a human soul?
Surpassing wonder!—Need we boldly soar,
Or try to soar, thro' nature's mystic bounds,
Beyond th' ethereal concave wing our way
Up to the Highest, to the Source of worlds,
T' assert the weakness of a finite mind,
When, dropping into self, we're there but fools?
Parent of worlds, of universe! how weak
Are all conceptions finite beings form
Of infinite perfection! O! what eye
Can pierce th' amazing height, th' amazing depth!
E'en Newton, on the mount of science rais'd,
His studious mind, his philosophic eye,
Saw but a part, of that a part he knew:
Trembling he wing'd his way, his soul on fire
With eager expectation, to explore
The rising wonders in th' amazing scene
Of Providence; yet at the utmost verge
Of his excursion 'bove the galaxy,
The opening views of farther, fresh, new scenes,
Wider extended yet, amazing orbs,
Unwieldy to the power of science, check,
Repress the ardour of th' aspiring mind;
For at the utmost bounds of human ken
Is wrote, A novice still at infinite.
A Being self-existent! the sole source
Of wisdom, power; his attributes divine!
Not only man's, e'en angels tongues fail here:
[Page 44]Before his eye confus'd the Cherub hides,
Nor purest Seraph without solly found,
And all the nations of the world a drop!
Finite with Infinite there's no compare.
Lost in th' attempt to scan the Deity,
Our reason roves and searches, but in vain;
The more she roves, the more bewilder'd still.
Like silk-worms buried in the silk they spin,
Reason, wrapp'd round and round, lies hid in dark,
Intangled in the arguments she rais'd,
The growth luxuriant of fancy's ground,
Drawn from the stock of theologic lore.
The chain that holds creation stands defin'd
Concatenation of effect and cause;
The Deity beyond the highest link:
Far distant Infinite from nature's bounds;
Yet ev'ry atom form'd, pervades, sustains,
That lives, or moves, or is! Skill exquisite,
In series infinite appears throughout
The animal and vegetable world.
'Tis but a part we see of that vast chain
On which suspended all creation hangs,
Offspring of Deity, by him upheld;
Th' efficient and conserving cause of all.
Nor let it sooth the infidel, tho' man,
Of finite understanding, fails to solve
Nature's phaenomena throughout; nor sees
The depths of Providence, in every step
To trace him; yet enough we see and hear,
Enough we feel within ourselves, to know
Before the grand primoeval day first dawn'd,
Or e'er the sun was made, and hung aloft
In the wide regions of the liquid air,
That God, the unoriginated cause,
[Page 45]Existed. Where's the Epicure so dull,
Or the Lucretian fool, when he perceives
Th' apparent signatures of a divine,
Intelligent, self-moving principle,
Display'd around, dares still disclaim the truth?
A glorious truth! the life, the soul of all!
The animating spirit of the world.
Without it life is scarcely worth a wish,
And all its pleasures but insipid froth:
The sun without it beams no chearing ray,
Each blessing bears within a hidden sting;
Of future recompence beyond the grave
No prospect fair appears. Without a God
Life's without joy, and death's without a hope.
O! glorious Truth! it is thy energy
That sooths my soul: In all afflictive scenes
Thou art my joy; thou art my sure defence;
When tempests rise, the elements grow black,
When sun and moon are dark'ned, thou'rt my light,
From heat a covert, shelter from the storm;
In life my pilot, and my anchor too:
When sickness pale sits brooding on my brow,
Or hectic fever creeps along my veins,
Thou art my stay, my staff, my only hope,
My all in all, the only source of good
To man beneath, and cherubim above.
If famine, nakedness, or peril, sword,
Disease or pain should be my lot to bear,
May thy complacent smile support my soul!
Forsake me not, or in life's vale, or death.
Take not thy Spirit from me, I am rich
In poverty; in want am full, am safe:
Nor more than this an angel can desire;
Nor less than this thou will'st us to accept;
[Page 46]And this my prayer, this my warmest wish.
Let atheists laugh, their laughter I despise;
I 'wail their folly, let them sneer at mine.
A God without beginning, without end!
Omniscient, omnipresent! O my soul!
Be thine the lot, the happy lot, whilst here
To know he is, to read him in his works,
To feel him present, to adore his name;
Nor vain, impertinent, presume to scan
The wisdom, essence of the Deity,
Or square a God by mathematic rules;
Content to leave the speculative how,
Conceal'd from man, and foreign to the end
Of his existence in the present mode,
Incrusted with these elements below.
Yet in a future scene (of which frail man
An adequate conception cannot form)
When life's grand engine, muscular and strong,
Shall cease to play, diffuse the purple stream,
The quiv'ring pulse a final period make,
And send us trembling thro' the gulph of death,
What mortal knows (may I conjecture here?)
What vehicle the soul shall then inform?
Perhaps a pure, a light ethereal one;
A vehicle refin'd, all eye, all ear!
Thou great I AM! Thou all-supporting Pow'r!
Uncircumscrib'd, eternal, 'bove all praise,
The length, the breadth, the height, the depth to shew
Of thy redeeming love, expression fails!
The blest effect untutor'd Indians seel;
All, all have heard, tho' all have not obey'd:
From universal kindness none exempt;
Thou rul'st in heaven above, in earth beneath,
The Lord, the King, the Father, Friend of man!
[Page 47]
But whither would I soar? My active mind,
The more she flutters, more she feels the chains;
Nor can arise above the narrow sphere
Of earth's attraction! What then? Wish for death?
'Tis ours to wait the time, th' appointed time;
Beg resignation's aid, in life or death.
All's for the best that Providence permits,
Or Wisdom Infinite allots beneath;
Of Perfect Goodness this the gracious scheme;
Nor does he e'er afflict, but with this view,
To raise his creatures to consummate joy.
Things secret appertain to God, not man:
But things reveal'd, to us, our children too.
The truths essential to our peace below,
The truths essential to our final bliss,
Are here reveal'd, wrote on our very souls,
As with a sun-beam—Sun-beam did I say?
Brighter than sun-beams, with a ray divine.
How frail, how blind, how ignorant is man!
And yet how strong, how wise, how proud appears!
His life a span; so small the distance from
His first to last; his cradle to his grave.
Diseases numerous await his pass;
Nor can he shun, in this strait path to life,
The numerous ills thick-spread throughout the whole.
And would he rest on earth? Kind heaven forbids;
At peril too;—the thorn his pillow here.
Health, riches, fame and power, precarious goods,
Misus'd are evils; prove our greatest curse.
Prosperity;—this blessing proves our bane,
If in its sun-shine wantonly we bask;
As the bright rays emitted from the sun,
The wine, a sweet, to vinegar convert.
Then where's our shelter? 'Tis humility;
[Page 48]Humility, the proper dwelling-place
Of helpless, blind, dependent, feeble man▪
His best estate what is it? Vanity.
A father's title foul corruption claims;
The abject worm, immur'd beneath the clod
We scarcely deign to tread, so delicate,
Claims a relation; mother, sister too:
Gaping they wait impatient our return.
Whilst living on the surface of the earth,
Worms riot in us, on our vitals prey;
Like cannibals torment us, kill, devour.
O mortifying thought to Mira's pride!
This face, this piercing eye, this snowy neck,
This hand, as lillies white, this blooming cheek,
This form, by flatterers angelic term'd,
Now stripp'd of all the equipage of dress!
My casket leave! nor longer grace a ball!
A lifeless putrid lump the grave descend!
Mix with the earth, beneath me e'en to tread!
O shocking! if a truth, let pleasure veil it.
Come, John, a chair; transport me to the play.
O mortifying thought! the miser's hell;
No bags of gold, nor rent-rolls in the grave.
In quivering flame see nature's lamp declines;
Portentous universal languor reigns:
The aged hand, of ore already full,
Trembling at once with age and vanity,
Still discontented, ransacks earth for more;
Nor heart to spend, nor power to hold it long;
On pelf his dim eyes gazing, dying close.
The ponderous bag Avaro's dead hand drops,
The gaping heir receives the golden prize.
O mortifying thought! and must I die?
It shocks, recoils! And why then hate the thought?
[Page 49]Hear what says Reason, Revelation too:
"Time here's uncertain, transitory, short;
"This lower world is but a jail at best,—
"Contracted, dark; a dreary vale of tears.
"The man who lives to answer life's great end,
"Loves God, his neighbour, and fulfils the law,
"Exults o'er death, and triumphs in the hour
"Of nature's dissolution.—Where's thy sting,
"O death? And, grave, thy boasted victory?
"To him how diff'rent then must death appear?
"Disease and pain he meekly bears, as means
"To ope the door, knock off the chains of flesh,
"And guide th' inhabitant of mould'ring clay
"To perfect freedom, boundless liberty,
"To light unmix'd, and everlasting day,
"With which compar'd, e'en the meridian sun
"Appears opaque, and all its glory fades."
What then the cause man flies the thought of death?
A guilty conscience, when she whispers sin;
(Sin unrepented of, uncancell'd there)
And writes our imperfections on our face,
The dread inscription on the whited wall,
Th' exterior part of hypocritic man.
This who can read without a sickly pale,
Or when, high uplift, opes the long-wrote roll,
Containing mourning, lamentation, woe,
Not feel his blood run trembling to his heart?
Hear, O ye epicures, who, deep immers'd
In floods of luxury, miscall'd high life,
Catch at a twig, if any one presents;
Reflect now on your origin, the end
For man design'd; 'tis glory, happiness.
To rise in glory! O transporting thought!
[Page 50]Higher and higher to eternity!
See God's perfections infinite display;
Enjoy those pleasures, pure, refin'd, above
Which man's contracted heart no place affords
E'en to conceive! pleasures for ever new!
When God the object, this the future scene,
How beats the human soul, confin'd in clay!
Within these elements, this nether world,
Compress'd with gross materiality,
She flutters, would extend her wings, and soar,
With unremitted speed, above the stars,
The bliss of Seraphs to anticipate.
Let reason take her scales, and let us weigh
Kingdoms, imperial crowns, and golden mines,
The empty gew-gaws of rich tinsell'd pride,
With all the finery of courts, levees,
Wreaths fame hath wrought to grace a victor's brow,
His name immortalize for shedding blood,
All pleasures man enjoys, or earth affords,
'Gainst but a glimpse of beatific joy,
Or a good conscience, heaven here on earth!
See which preponderates and turns the scale,
Celestial or terrestrial glory: Then,
Come then, ye epicures, ye worldlings come,
Call out for mercy; Mercy's ear is ope;
He hears, nor only hears, he hearkens too:
What condescension to the penitent!
A glorious attribute! Accept; be sav'd;
Nor stumble at the means; repent, amend:
Regain the man, and live as man ought live.
Is conscience banish'd? She'll again return,
Resume the seat she lost, assert her right,
And cause a resurrection of your sins.
[Page 51]The ghosts of man's forgotten vices rais'd,
Will on the death-bed with new dread appear,
And haunt him in the agonizing hour
Of dissolution; nor will leave him when
The breath of life shall quiv'ring take its flight;
Nor only here, hereafter will torment,
Complete the hell they had begun on earth.
With a distinguish'd blaze this attribute
Enlightens, warms, enlivens drooping man:
Of hope and confidence the only ground,
T' avert the sentence justice would dispense.
Suppose th' Omnipotent, the Sovereign Lord
Of all creation, now were to appear
In fiery clouds of justice rigorous,
To execute eternal vengeance on
The million heaps of proud rebellious worms,
What flesh could stand before th' incensed God?
The heavens gather blackness at the thought,
A paleness man, and trembling seeks to hide.
Before him went the pestilence of old;
He lightly touch'd the mountains, and they smok'd;
He blew on Lebanon, it was consum'd;
Forth from his feet went burning coals of fire;
He measur'd earth, asunder nations drove;
The hoary heads of aged mountains bow'd;
Hoarse, loud and dreadful roar'd the bellowing deep;
The sun and moon affrighted, stood aghast,
Struck with the lustre of his glitt'ring spear!
But is there mercy still?—
There is: Stupendous thought! Immanuel,
That pool transparent, lucid, open'd in
The vale of time: And this, O glorious truth!
At once a pool, a Shiloh's pearly stream,
[Page 52]Ancient and new, silent and softly glides,
For ever clear, and undiminish'd too;
As yesterday, to-day; for evermore
Remains the same. A river? 'Tis a sea,
Immense extended, and immensely deep,
Unfathomable to the longest line
Of human reason, or pure intellect,
Of winged Cherubim or Seraphim.
What love is this! 'Tis felt, but not express'd.
A Being self-sufficient and intire,
Perfect and glorious throughout his name,
Amazing thought! to notice poor proud man,
A helpless, boasting, grov'ling, abject worm.
In his immensity of mercy lost,
Our reason, passions rude, to silence hush'd,
The soul enraptur'd breathes unfeigned praise.
And praise a song too high to modulate
In vocal quivering accents, mental praise,
A melody of an angelic kind.
But is there mercy still? There is. The Lord,
Th' Almighty Parent of the universe,
Calls loud to poor deluded sons of earth,
Pursuing phantoms as substantial joys,
To quit the strife of tongues, and to withdraw
From din of petty int'rests, powerful banes!
The noise and clamour of misguided crouds,
The feast of libertines, empty parade!
A pompous, ostentatious pride of fame,
Deriv'd from beings foolish, weak and vain,
Short-sighted creatures! nor can pierce the heart,
The deep recess where pride and interest lurk;
But falsely estimate, at transient view,
The real worth of men by painted garbs.
[Page 53]
The epicure, the meanest slave to sense,
Who, like the swine he nearly imitates,
But wakes to lust, drinks deep at the foul trough,
Grunts, staggers, drops, and sleeps to shame again.
Nor these forgot; by heaven's most gracious call
Awak'd they are (for all have heard the sound)
But wake, and stare, and beg to sleep again!
Come, sleep, thy poppies shed around my bed;
Invite my senses to th' inchanted scene;
This voice that rouses brings me no good news;
It interrupts my train of golden dreams;
It pours reflection's horror on my thoughts;
The keen vibrations of important truths,
Too soon they visit on the stage of joy.
Come, sleep a little more, and longer yet;
The veil of darkness suffer to eclipse
The naked truth, too strong for sensual eyes:
At least a slumber's lesser aid I beg,
To sooth the pain of conscience, so acute.
Come, rising generation, deep immers'd
In bellowing waves of passion; mounted high
On folly's giddy heights, ideal joys,
Look down the precipice, the gulph of death,
And look beyond, look to the gulph beneath.
Come, rising generation, leave the stage,
The club of lewdness; to the house descend
Of dying infidels: Behold the King
Of every terror sitting on their brow!
The friend may weep, but cannot help; in vain
He would allay the agony of soul;
Yet can't repress the inward heart-felt pang,
The complicated weight of death and sin.
Come, rising generation, now ascend,
And see the King of terrors wear a smile:
[Page 54]See how the good man meets the shock of death,
Welcomes the messenger, and bids adieu
To all his family around his bed,
Dries up their tears with, All is well with me.
Take his example, smooth the rugged vale;
Death will be then a glorious path to life.
But when to smooth it? In the day of health:
'Tis our great business, 'tis our happiness;
Th' important work at peril left undone.
Consider then the end, the glorious end
Of your creation, and pursue the means;
Fill up the duty Heaven has assign'd,
Nor quit your post; an enemy is near:
'Tis youthful lusts that war against the soul,
Cloud reason's eye, and wound e'en while they please.
Let's then assert the dignity of man,
Nor meanly truckle to our appetites,
The impetus of grov'ling brute desire;
Assert our dignity, and reign as kings,
Intelligent, free spirits, cloathed with
An angel's nature, immortality,
Tho' for a moment cloathed with a worm's;
Offspring of Deity, the sons of God;
A higher title can man wish to wear?
A lower then shall man stoop to acquire?
Forfeit his glory, and relinquish man?
Come, rising generation, take the field,
Nor make delay; duty demands dispatch,
And int'rest urges too; they're both connect,
Man's duty and man's real happiness.
Make no delay, eternity's the prize;
Eternity of pure celestial joy.
Be always ready, and be always safe.
[Page 55]Trust to the morrow? This a dreadful risque!
Morrow may be eternity to thee!
The day, the hour, the awful moment, when
Our frame shall fall, no prudence can foresee.
What folly then in man to trust to health,
To strength of nerves a moment may unstring!
A moment parts th' attenuated thread,
Dissolves the vital bond of present life.
Omnipotence! he spoke; Let Us make man:
The particles of dust assembled; then
Coher'd together, and a system fram'd,
A vehicle for intellectual life,
A dreary prison to th' immortal soul;
And at his nod the homogeneous mass
Will quick appear a putrid ghastly lump,
Dissolve and crumble into dust again;
For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return.
This vehicle, with complicated threads
Tho' wove and interwove so accurate,
Obnoxious still to thousand different ills,
Disease and death can enter ev'ry pore;
And these in millions which our clay o'erspread
At once the avenues of life and death;
Nor riches, power, nor wisdom can exempt
E'en Alexanders from the debt of death.
See, silent monitors, the ghastly corpse
Of nearest relative, or bosom friend,
Crush'd by some heavy apoplectic stroke,
Or by a febrile heat intense consum'd,
Or other engines death successful plays
Within the limits of these elements,
To bring down princes from exalted thrones,
With simple peasants humble to the dust.
[Page 56]Did I say silent? No, they preach aloud;
In reason's ear inspire important truths:
Be always ready; this the dead man's text,
Voice of religion, and of common sense.
Why weep for me? You weep for me in vain:
Weep for yourselves, weep for your children too.
We hear the solemn language of the dead,
We strew their grave with transient bursts of tears,
Say, Ah! he's gone! I knew him in life's bloom!
The thought of death, like electrific touch,
Our nerves a moment shudder, and 'tis o'er;
Impute the shock to a mechanic fear:
So foolish, vain and inconsiderate man!
What! do we start at death? And are we shock'd?
Another truth, and yet more solemn still,
Dreadful, important, interesting too;
To whom? The sensualist; to him a hell;
The day of judgment! Hast thou never heard?
Then why fly back? Or, hearing, hast thou thought?
Or, thinking, hast prepar'd against the day,
The scene succeeding death, alarming most,
Or should alarm before it does arrive?
The Judge enthron'd! angelic myriads round!
The long-despis'd, neglected volume op'd,
The book of conscience! Register'd are there
Our actions, words, our thoughts; the springs of all
From mortal eye secreted, here are wrote:
These read aloud, e'en infidels must hear,
And hearing, tremble at the dread report.
Not guilty, vain to plead; we're naked, bare;
Discriminating Justice sees our hearts;
One glance explores them; and the prisoner's face,
Paleness already gather'd, self-condemn'd,
Flashes confusion, horror and despair.
[Page 57]
Be wise in time; eternity's too late.
From life's gay stage descend, and enter deep
Into thyself; commune with thine own heart,
Not taking sense, but reason for thy guide,
And reason with a ray divine illum'd;
Nor conscience lull with Creeds and Peter-pence;
Nor let self-love just judgment warp: Self-love
The cause we err; remove this cause, and then
Th' effect will cease. But that's ENTHUSIASM.
This monitor is hiss'd from off the stage;
To wit and gaiety his subject's dull;
Nay truth is banish'd from their very thoughts:
Liars are entertain'd, believ'd, ador'd;
And lies the liars only refuge here.
The reason ask, if reason can be given;
Error, delusive, dark, the multitude
To light of truth prefer. This folly's height.
O thou Supreme, First Cause, Omniscient God!
Whose faintest glance takes in th' immense of space,
Hold up truth's mirror to my feeble eye,
Nor let a single blemish lie conceal'd
In self-love's shade; lay bare to open view
The depth of all deception in my soul;
Nor let me barely trust to names, to creeds,
Births instantaneous, delusive boasts
Of mere enthusiast, fanatic zeal,
Whom yet I pity, tho' I can't approve:
The lurking thought of int'rest base expel;
Let honesty the single motive reign
To guide my thoughts, my words, my actions all.
The task be mine, I ask nor more nor less,
An humble, thoughtful penitent, to tread
The lonely path of virtue; nor regard
[Page 58]The sneer of libertines, the scoff of fools:
And whilst this vale of life I steal along,
A better country may my views direct;
For murmur here; what Providence permits
With patience bear, and then resign my breath,
My soul to Thee, its Author, in full hope
Nor vain, presumptuous in thy mercy trust)
To mingle with th' angelic host on high,
With harmony the hallelujah sing.
What if affliction be the scene beneath,
Diseases numerous depress my soul;
What matter, russet-clad, or dignify'd
With titles and a star, puff'd with fame's blast,
Or lolling in a coach with coronets,
And equipage's train; a glaring shew!
Time's moments few and fleeting; soon they pass,
And in the grave distinction is forgot:
One common lot the king and peasant share.
FINIS.