rejected, or overlooked! From these considerations, and from my being, accidentally, privy to the sentiments of some particular persons, I have been long persuaded, that most, if not all, of our Infidels (whatever name they take, and whatever scheme, for argument's sake, and to keep themselves in countenance, they patronise) are supported in their deplorable error by some doubt of their immortality, at the bottom. And I am satisfied, that men once thoroughly convinced of their immortality, are not far from being Christians. For it is hard to conceive, that a man fully conscious eternal pain or happiness will certainly be his lot, should not earnestly, and impartially, inquire after the surest means of escaping the one and securing the other. And of such an earnest and impartial inquiry, I well know the consequence.
Here, therefore, in proof of this most fundamental truth, some plain arguments are offered: arguments derived from principles which infidels admit in common with believers; arguments which appear to me altogether irresistible; and, such as, I am satisfied, will have great weight with all who give themselves the trouble of looking seriously into their own bosoms, and of observing, with any tolerable degree of attention, what daily passes round about them in the world.-If some arguments shall here occur which others have declined, they are submitted, with all deference, to better judgments in this of all points the most important. For as to the being of a GOD, that is no longer disputed; but it is undisputed for this reason only, viz. because, where the least pretence to reason is admitted, it must for ever be indisputable. And, of consequence, no man can be betrayed into a dispute of that nature by vanity, which has a principal share in animating our modern combatants against other articles of our belief
Containing the Nature, Proof, and Importance of Imortality.
Where, among other things, Glory and Riches are particularly considered.
Inscribed to the RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY PELHAM.
SHE* (for I know not yet her name in heav'n)
Not early, like Narcissa, left the scene,
Nor sudden, like Philander. What avail?
This seeming mitigation but inflames:
This fancied med'cine heightens the disease.
The longer known, the closer still she grew,
And gradual parting is a gradual death.
'Tis the grim tyrant's engine which extorts,
By tardy pressure's still-increasing weight,
From hardest hearts confession of distress.
O the long dark approach, through years of pain,
Death's gall'ry! (might I dare to call it so?)
With dismal doubt and sable terror hung,
Sick Hope's pale lamp its only glimm'ring ray:
* Referring to Night the Fifth.
'There, Fate my melancholy walk ordain'd,
Forbid Self-love itself, to flatter, there.
How oft I gazed prophetically sad!
How oft I saw her dead, while yet in smiles!
In smiles she sunk her grief, to lessen mine:
She spoke me comfort, and increased my pain.
Like powerful armies, trenching at a town,
By slow and silent, but resistless, sap,
In his pale progress gently gaining ground,
Death urg'd his deadly siege; in spite of art,
Of all the balmly blessings Nature lends
To succour frail humanity. Ye stars!
(Not now first made familar to my sight)
And thou, O moon! bear witness; many a night
He tore the pillow from beneath my head,
Tied down my sore attention to the shock
By ceaseless depredations on a life
Dearer than that he left me. Dreadful post
Of observation! darker ev'ry hour:
Less dread the day that drove me to the brink,
And pointed at eternity below,
When my soul shudder'd at futurity;
When on a moment's point th' important die
Of life and death spun doubtful, ere it fell,
And turn'd up life, my title to more woe.
But why more woe? More comfort let it be
Nothing is dead but that which wish'd to die;
Nothing is dead but wretchedness and pain;
Nothing is dead but what incumber'd, gall'd,
Block'd up the pass, and barr'd from real life.
Where dwells that wish most ardent of the wise?
Too dark the sun to see it; highest star
Too low to reach it: Death, great Death alone,
O'er stars and sun triumphant, lands us there.
Nor dreadful our transition, though the mind,
An artist at creating self-alarms,
Rich in expedients for inquietude,
Is prone to paint it dreadful. Who can take
Death's portrait true? the tyrant never sat.
Our sketch all random strokes, conjecture all;
Close shuts the grave, nor tells one single tale.
Death and his image rising in the brain
Bear faint resemblance; never are alike:
Fear shakes the pencil; Fancy loves excess:
Dark ignorance is lavish of her shades;
And these the formidable picture draw.
But grant the worst, 'tis past! new prospects rise,
And drop a veil eternal o'er her tomb.
Far other views our contemplation claim,
Views that o'erpay the rigours of our life;
Views that suspend our agonies in death.
Wrapt in the thought of immortality,
Wrapt in the single, the triumphant thought!
Long life may lapse, age unperceiv'd come on,
And find the soul unsated with her theme,
Its nature, proof, importance, fire my song.
O that my song could emulate my soul!
Like her, immortal. No!-the soul disdains
A mark so mean; far nobler hope inflames;
If endless ages can outweigh an hour,
Let not the laurel, but the palm, inspire.
Thy nature, Immortality! who knows?
And yet who knows it not? It is but life
In stronger thread of brighter colour spun,
And spun for ever; dipt by cruel Fate
In Stygian dye, how black, how brittle here!
How short our correspondence with the sun!
And while it lasts inglorious! Our best deeds.
How wanting in their weight! Our highest joys,
Small cordials to support us in our pain,
And give us strength to suffer. But how great
To mingle int'rests, converse, amities,
With all the sons of reason, scatter'd wide
Through habitable space, wherever born,
Howe'er endow'd! to live free citizens
Of universal nature! to lay hold,
By more than feeble faith, on the Supreme!
To call heav'n's rich unfathomable mines
(Mines which support archangels in their state)
Our own! to rise in science as in bliss,
Initiate in the secrets of the skies!
To read creation! read its mighty plan
In the bare bosom of the Deity!
The plan and execution to collate!
To see, before each glance of piercing thought,
All cloud, all shadow, blown remote, and leave
No mystery-but that of love divine,
Which lifts us on the seraph's flaming wing,
From earth's Aceldama, this field of blood,
Of inward anguish and of outward ilì,
From darkness and from dust, to such a scene!
Love's element! true joy's illustrious home!
From earth's sad contrast (now deplored) more fair! What exquisite vicissitude of fate!
Bless'd absolution of our blackest hour!
Lorenzo, these are thoughts that make man Man, The wise illumine, aggrandize the great.
How great, (while yet we tread the kindred clod,
And ev'ry moment fear to sink beneath
The clod we tread, soon trodden by our sons)
How great, in the wild whirl of time's pursuits,
To stop, and pause;
involv'd in high presage
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