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As blindly grop'd they for a future state,
As rashly judg'd of Providence and Fate;
But least of all could their endeavours find
What most concern'd the good of human kind;
For happiness was never to be found,

But vanish'd from 'em like enchanted ground.
One thought content the good to be enjoy'd ;
This ev'ry little accident destroy'd;

The wiser madmen did for virtue toil,

A thorny, or at best a barren soil:

In pleasure some their glutton souls would steep,
But found the line too short, the well too deep,
And leaky vessels which no bliss would keep.
Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll,
Without a centre where to fix the soul:
In this wild maze their vain endeavours end;
How can the less the greater comprehend?
Or finite reason reach infinity?

For what could fathom God were more than He.
The Deist thinks he stands on firmer ground;
Cries Eupnxa, the mighty secret's found:
God is that spring of good, supreme, and best;
We made to serve, and in that service blest.
If so, some rules of worship must be giv❜n,
Distributed alike to all by Heav'n;
Else God were partial, and to some deny'd
The means his justice should for all provide.

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This general worship is to praise and pray;
One part to borrow blessings, one to pay :
And when frail nature slides into offence,
The sacrifice for crimes is penitence.
Yet since th' effects of Providence we find
Are variously dispens'd to human kind;
That vice triumphs, and virtue suffers here,
(A brand that sov❜reign Justice cannot bear)
Our reason prompts us to a future state,
The last appeal from Fortune and from Fate,
Where God's all-righteous ways will be declar'd, 60
The bad meet punishment, the good reward.

Thus man, by his own strength, to heav'n would
And would not be oblig'd to God for more. [soar,
Vain, wretched creature! how art thou misled,
To think thy wit these godlike notions bred!
These truths are not the product of thy mind,
But dropt from heav'n, and of a nobler kind.
Reveal'd religion first inform'd thy sight,
And Reason saw not till Faith sprung the light.
Hence all thy nat'ral worship takes the source;
'Tis revelation what thou think'st discourse;
Else how com'st thou to see these truths so clear
Which so obscure to Heathens did appear?
Not Plato these, nor Aristotle, found,
Nor he whose wisdom oracles renown'd,
Hast thou a wit so deep or so sublime?
Or canst thou lower dive or higher climb ?
Dryden.]
Lij

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Canst thou by reason more of Godhead know

Than Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero?

Those giant wits in happier ages born,

When arms and arts did Greece and Rome adorn,
Knew no such system; no such piles could raise
Of nat'ral worship, built on pray'r and praise,
To one sole God:

Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe,
But slew their fellow-creatures for a bribe:
The guiltless victim groan'd for their offence,
And cruelty and blood was penitence.
If sheep and oxen could atone for men,
Ah! at how cheap a rate the rich might sin!
And great oppressors might Heav'n's wrath beguile,
By off'ring his own creatures for a spoil!

Dar'st thou, poor worm! offend Infinity?

And must the terms of peace be giv'n by thee?
Then thou art justice in the last appeal;

Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel;

And like a king remote and weak, must take
What satisfaction thou art pleas'd to make.
But if there be a pow'r too just and strong
To wink at crimes, and bear unpunish'd wrong,
Look humbly upward, see his will disclose
The forfeit first, and then the fine impose;
A mulct thy poverty could never pay
Had not Eternal Wisdom found the way,

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And with celestial wealth supply'd the store;

His justice makes the fine, his mercy quits the score.
See God descending in thy human frame,

Th' offended suff'ring in th' offender's name ;
All thy misdeeds to him imputed see,

And all his righteousness devolv'd on thee.

For granting we have sinn'd, and that th' offence

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Of man is made against Omnipotence,
Some price that bears proportion must be paid,
And infinite with infinite be weigh'd.
See then the Deist lost; remorse for vice
Not paid, or paid, inadequate in price.
What farther means can reason now direct?
Or what relief from human wit expect?
That shews us sick, and sadly are we sure
Still to be sick, till Heav'n reveal the cure.
If then Heav'n's will must needs be understood,
(Which must, if we want cure, and Heav'n be good)
Let all records of will reveal'd be shewn,

With Scripture all in equal balance thrown,
And our one sacred Book will be that one. }
Proof needs not here; for whether we compare
That impious, idle, superstitious ware
Of rites, lustrations, off'rings, which before,
In various ages, various countries bore,
With Christian faith and virtues, we shall find
None answ'ring the great ends of human kind

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But this one rule of life; that shews us best
How God may be appeas'd and mortals blest.
Whether from length of time its worth we draw,
The world is scarce more ancient than the law:
Heav'n's early care prescrib'd for ev'ry age,
First in the soul, and after in the page;
Or whether more abstractedly we look,

Or on the writers, or the written Book,

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Whence but from Heav'n could men unskill'd in arts,

In sev'ral ages born, in sev'ral parts,

Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why
Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie?
Unask'd their pains, ungrateful their advice,
Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.
If on the Book itself we cast our view,
Concurrent Heathens prove the story true:
The doctrine, miracles, which must convince,
For Heav'n in them appeals to human sense;
And tho' they prove not, they confirm the cause, 150
When what is taught agrees with Nature's laws.
Then for the style; majestic and divine,
It speaks no less than God in every line:
Commanding words whose force is still the same
As the first Fiat that produc'd our frame.
All faiths beside or did by arms ascend,

Or sense indulg'd has made mankind their friend:
This only doctrine does our lusts oppose,
Unfed by Nature's soil in which it grows;

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