T

CANTO VI.

HO' the creation, (fo divinely taught!)
Prints fuch a lively image in our thought,
That the first spark of new-created light,
From Chaos ftrook, affects our present fight:
Yet, the first Christians did efteem more blest
The day of rifing, than the day of rest;
That ev'ry week might new occafion give,
To make his triumph in their mem❜ry live.
Then, let our Mufe compofe a facred charm,
To keep his blood, among us, ever warm:
And finging, as the Blessed do above,
With our last breath dilate this flame of love.
But, on fo vast a subject, who can find

Words that may reach th' ideas of his mind?
Our language fails: or, if it could fupply,
What mortal thought can raise itself so high?
Defpairing here, we might abandon art,
And only hope to have it in our heart.
But, tho' we find this facred task too hard,
Yet the defign, th' endeavour, brings reward.
The contemplation does fufpend our woe,
And make a truce with all the ills we know.
AS SAUL'S afflicted fpirit, from the found
Of DAVID'S harp, a present folace found:
So, on this theme while we our Mufe engage,
No wounds are felt, of fortune, or of age.
On divine love to meditate is peace,

And makes all care of meaner things to cease.
Amaz'd at once, and comforted, to find

A boundless Pow'r fo infinitely kind;

The

The foul contending to that light to flie
From her dark cell, we practise how to die:
Employing thus the Poet's winged art,
To reach this love, and grave it in our heart.
Joy fo complete, fo folid, and fevere,

Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there:
Pale they would look, as ftars that must be gone,
When from the east the rifing fun comes on.

HE fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace;

TH

And makes all ills that vex us here to cease:

Tho' the word, Fear, fome men may ill indure,
'Tis fuch a fear, as only makes fecure.

Ask of no Angel to reveal thy fate;
Look in thy heart, the mirror of thy state.
He that invites will not th' invited mock;
Op'ning to all, that do in earnest knock.
Our hopes are all well-grounded on this fear;
All our affurance rolls upon that sphere.

This fear, that drives all other fears away,
Shall be my fong; the morning of our day!
Where that fear is, there's nothing to be fear'd;
It brings from heav'n an Angel for a guard:
Tranquility, and peace, this fear does give;
Hell gapes for those that do without it live.
It is a beam, which he on man lets fall,
Of light; by which he made, and governs, all.
'Tis GOD alone fhould not offended be;
But we please others, as more great than he.
For a good caufe, the fufferings of man
May well be born: 'tis more than Angels can.
Man, fince his fall, in no mean ftation refts,
Above the Angels, or below the beasts.
He with true joy their hearts does only fill,
That thirst, and hunger, to perform his will.
Others, tho' rich, fhall in this world be vext;
And fadly live, in terror of the next.

*

The world's great conqu'ror would his point perfue; And wept, because he could not find a new:

Which had he done, yet still he would have cry'd ;
To make him work, until a third he spy'd.
Ambition, avarice, will nothing owe

To heav'n itself, unless it make them grow.
Tho' richly fed, man's care does ftill exceed :
Has but one mouth, yet would a thousand feed.
In wealth, and honor, by fuch men poffeft,

If it increase not, there is found no reft.
All their delight is while their wish comes in;
Sad when it ftops, as there had nothing been.
'Tis ftrange, men fhould neglect their prefent ftore,
And take no joy, but in perfuing more;

*Alexander.

No!

No! tho' arrived at all the world can aim :
This is the mark, and glory, of our frame.
A foul capacious of the Deity,

Nothing, but he that made, can satisfy.
A thousand worlds, if we with him compare,
Lefs than fo many drops of water are.

Men take no pleasure, but in new defigns:

And what they hope for, what they have, out-fhines.
Our sheep, and oxen, feem no more to crave;
With full content feeding on what they have:
Vex not themselves for an increase of store;
But think to-morrow we fhall give them more.
What we from day to day receive from heav'n,
They do from us expect it should be giv❜n.
We made them not, yet they on us rely;
More than vain men upon the Deity:
More beasts than they! that will not underfland,
That we are fed from his immediate hand.
Man, that in him has Being, moves, and lives,
What can he have, or ufe, but what he gives?
So that no bread can nourishment afford,
Or useful be, without his Sacred Word.

E

ARTH praifes conquerors for fhedding blood:
Heav'n, thofe that love their foes, and do them

It is terreftrial honor, to be crown'd

For ftrowing men, like rushes, on the ground.
True glory 'tis to rife above them all,

Without th' advantage taken by their fall.

[good.

He

He that in fight diminishes mankind,
Does no addition to his ftature find:
But, he that does a noble nature show,
Obliging others, ftill does higher grow.
For virtue practis'd fuch an habit gives,
That among men he like an Angel lives.
Humbly he doth, and without envy, dwell;
Lov'd, and admir'd, by thofe he does excell.
Fools anger fhew, which politicians hide:
Bleft with this fear, men let it not abide.
The humble man, when he receives a wrong,
Refers revenge to whom it doth belong.
Nor fees he reason why he should engage,
Or vex his fpirit, for another's rage.
Plac'd on a rock, vain men he pities toft
On raging waves, and in the tempest lost.
The rolling planets, and the glorious fun,
Still keep that order which they first begun :
They their first leffon conftantly repeat,
Which their CREATOR, as a law, did fet.
Above, below, exactly all obey:

But wretched men have found another way;
Knowledge of good, and evil, as at first,
(That vain perfuafion!) keeps them still accurft!
The Sacred Word refufing as a guide,
Slaves they become to luxury, and pride.
As clocks, remaining in the skilful hand
Of some great mafter, at the figure ftand;
But when abroad, neglected they do go,
At random strike, and the false hour do fhow:
So, from our MAKER wandering, we ftray;
Like, birds, that know not to their nefts the way.