Grace leads the right Way.
Deceitful views of future bliss, farewell!
He reads his sentence at the flames of hell.
Hard lot of man-to toil for the reward
Of virtue, and yet lose it! Wherefore hard?-
He that would win the race must guide his horse
Obedient to the customs of the course;
Else, though unequall'd to the goal he flies,
A meaner than himself shall gain the prize.
Grace leads the right way: if you choose the wrong,
Take it, and perish; but restrain your tongue.
Charge not, with light sufficient, and left free,
Your wilful suicide on God's decree.
Oh how unlike the complex works of man,
Heav'n's easy, artless, unincumber'd plan!
No meretricious graces to beguile,
No clust❜ring ornaments to clog the pile;
From ostentation, as from weakness, free
It stands like the cerulean arch we see,
Majestic in its own simplicity.
Inscrib'd above the portal, from afar
Conspicuous as the brightness of a star,
The Necessity of Faith to attain Salvation.
Legible only by the light they give,
Stand the soul-quick'ning words--BELIEVE, AND LIVE! Too many, shock'd at what should charm them most, Despise the plain direction, and are lost.
Heav'n on such terms! (they cry, with proud disdain) Incredible, impossible, and vain!—
Rebel, because 'tis easy to obey;
And scorn for its own sake the gracious way.
These are the sober, in whose cooler brains
Some thought of immortality remains;
The rest, too busy, or too gay, to wait
On the sad theme, their everlasting state
Sport for a day, and perish in a night;
The foam upon the waters not so light.
Who judg'd the pharisee? What odious cause
Expos'd him to the vengeance of the laws?
Had he seduc'd a virgin, wrong'd a friend,
Or stabb'd a man to serve some private end?
Was blasphemy his sin? Or did he stray
From the strict duties of the sacred day?
Folly of Ostentation contrasted with Modesty.
Sit long and late at the carousing board?
(Such were the sins with which he charg'd his Lord.)
No-the man's morals were exact. What then?
"Twas his ambition to be seen of men;
His virtues were his pride; and that one vice
Made all his virtues gewgaws
of no price;
He wore them, as fine trappings, for a show;
A praying, synagogue-frequenting, beau.
The self-applauding bird, the peacock, see-
Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he!
Meridian sun-beams tempt him to unfold
His radiant glories; azure, green, and gold:
He treads as if, some solemn music near,
His measur'd step were govern'd by his ear;
And seems to say-Ye meaner fowl, give place;
I am all splendour, dignity, and grace!
Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes;
Though he, too, has a glory in his plumes.
He, christian like, retreats with modest mien
To the close copse, or far-sequester'd green,
And shines, without desiring to be seen,
Solitary Devotion to religious Offices condemned.
The plea of works as arrogant and vain,
Heav'n turns from with abhorrence and disdain:
Not more affronted by avow'd neglect,
Than by the mere dissembler's feign'd respect.
What is all righteousness that men devise?
What-but a sordid bargain for the skies?
But Christ as soon would abdicate his own,
As stoop from heav'n to sell the proud a throne.
His dwelling a recess in some rude rock ;
Book, beads, and maple-dish, his meagre stock;
In shirt of hair and weeds of canvass dress'd,
Girt with a bell-rope that the pope has bless'd;
Adust with stripes, told out for ev'ry crime,
And sore tormented, long before his time;
His pray'r preferr'd to saints that cannot aid;
His praise postpon'd, and never to be paid;
See the sage hermit, by mankind admir'd,
With all that bigotry adopts inspir'd,
Wearing out life in his religious whim,
'Till his religious whimsey wears out him.
Bodily Tortures self inflicted, condemned
His works, his abstinence, his zeal allow'd,
You think him humble-God accounts him proud.
High in demand, though lowly in pretence,
Of all his conduct this the genuine sense-
My penitential stripes, my streaming blood,
Have purchas'd heav'n, and prove my title good.
Turn eastward now, and fancy shall apply
Το your weak sight her telescopic eye.
The bramin kindles on his own bare head
The sacred fire-self-torturing his trade!
His voluntary pains, severe and long,
Would give a barb'rous air to British song;
No grand inquisitor could worse invent,
Than he contrives, to suffer, well content.
Which is the saintlier worthy of the two?
Past all dispute, you anchorite say you.
Your sentence and mine differ. What's a name?
the bramin has the fairer claim.
If suff'rings, scripture no where recommends,
Devis'd by self, to answer selfish ends,
|