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In which obscurity has wrapped them up,
The threads of politic and shrewd design,
That ran through all his purposes, and, charge
His mind with meanings that he never had,
Qr, having, kept concealed. Some drill and bore
The solid earth, and from the strata there
Extract a register, by which we learn,
That he who made it, and revealed its date
To Moses, was mistaken in its age.
Some, more acute, and more industrious still,
Contrive creation; travel nature up.
To the sharp peak of her sublimest height,
And tell us whence the stars; why some are fixed,
And planetary some; what gave them first
Rotation, from what fountain flowed their light.
Great contest follows, and much learned dust.
Involves the combatants; each claiming truth,
And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend
The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp
In playing tricks with nature, giving laws
To distant worlds, and trifling in their own.
Is't not a pity now that tickling rheums
Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight
Of oracles like these ? Great pity too,
That having wielded the elements, and built
A thousand systems, each in his own way,
They should go out in fume, and be forgot?
Ah! what is life thus spent ? and what are they
But frantic, who thus spend it ? all for smoke-
Eternity for bubbles proves at last
A senseless bargain. When I see such games
Played by the creatures of a Power, who swears

That he will judge the earth and call the fool
To a sharp reckoning, that has lived in vain ;
And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well,
And prove it in the infallible result
So hollow and so false I feel my heart
Dissolve in pity, and account the learned,
If this be learning, most of all deceived.
Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps,
While thoughtful man is plausibly amused.
Defend me therefore, common sense, say I,
From reveries so airy, from the toil
Of dropping buckets into empty wells,
And growing old in drawing nothing up!

'Twere well, says one sage erudite, profound,
Terribly arched, and aqueline his nose,
And overbuilt with most impending brows,
'Twere well, could you permit the world to live
As the world pleases : what's the world to you?
Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk
As sweet as charity from human breasts.
I think, articulate, I laugh and weep,
And exercise all functions of a man.
How then should I and any man that lives
Be strangers to each other? Pierce my vein,
Take of the crimson stream meandering there,
And catechise it well; apply the glass,
Search it, and prove now if it be not blood
Congenial with thine own, and, if it be,
What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose
Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art,
To cut the link of brotherhood, by which

One common Maker bound me to the kind ?
True; I am no proficient, I confess,
In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift
And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds,
And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath ;
I cannot analyse the air, nor catch
The parallax of yonder luminous point,
That seems half quenched in the immense abyss :
Such powers I boast not-neither can I rest
A silent witness of the headlong rage,
Or heedless folly, by which thousands die,
Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine.

God never meant that man should scale the heavens
By stride of human wisdom, in his works,
Though wondrous : he commands us in his word !
To seek bim rather where his mercy shines.
The mind, indeed, enlightened from above,
Views him in all; ascribes to the grand cause
The grand effect ; acknowledges with joy
His manner, and with rapture tastes his stile;
But never yet did philosophic tube,
That brings the planets home into the eye
Of observation, and discovers, else
Not visible, his family of worlds,
Discover him that rules them ; such a veil
Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth,
And dark in things divine. Full often too
Our wayward intellect, the more we learn
Of nature, overlooks her author more ;
From instrumental causes proud to draw
Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake.


But if his Word once teach us, shoot a ray
Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal
Truths undiscerned but by that holy light,
Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized
In the pure fountain of eternal love,
Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees
As meant to indicate a God to man,
Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own.
Learning has borne such fruit in other days
On all her branches; piety has found
Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer
Has flowed from lips wet with Castalián dews.
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-like sage!
Sagacious reader of the works of God,
And in this word sagacious. Such too thine,
Milton, whose genius had angelic wings,
And fed on manga! And such thine, in whom
Our British Themis gloried with just cause,
Immortale Hale; for deep discerninent praised,
And sound integrity, not inore than famed
For sanctity of manners undefiled.

All Hesh is grass, and all its glory fades
Like the fair flower dishevelled in the wind;
Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.
The man we celebrate must find a tomb,
And we that worship him ignoble graves.
Nothing is proof against the general curse
Of vanity, that seizes all below.
The only amaranthine flower on earth
Is virtue; th' only lasting treasure, truth.
But what is truth? "Twas Pilate's question put

To Truth itself, that deigned him no reply. And wherefore? will not God impart his light To them that ask it?-Freely-'tis his joy, His glory, and his nature, to impart. But to the proud, uncandid, insincere, Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. What's that, which brings contempt upon a book, And him who writes it, though the style be neat, The method clear, and argument exact ? That makes a minister in holy things The joy of many, and the dread of more, His name a theme for praise and for reproach ?That, while it gives us worth in God's account, Depreciates and undoes us in our own ? What pearl is it that rich men cannot buy, That learning is too proud to gather up; But which the poor, and the despised of all, Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ? Tell me- and I will tell thee what is truth?

O friendly to the best pursuits of man, Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, Domestic life in rural pleasure passed ! Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets; Though many boast thy favours, and affect To understand and choose thee for their own. But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss, E'en as his first progenitor, and quits, Though placed in Paradise (for earth has still Some traces of her youthful beauty left,) Substantial happiness for transient joy. Scenes formed for contemplation, and to nurse

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