Commences thus the agonizing strife
Previous to nature's death, and second life:
Struck by their own inclement piercing eye,
Their feeble virtue's blush, subside, and die:
They view the scheme that mimic nature made,
A fancied goddess, and religion's shade;
With angry scorn they now reject the whole,
Unchanged their heart, undeified their soul;
Till indignation sleeps away to faith,
And God's own power and peace take root in sacred
Aim less to teach than love.
In words, is crown'd by artless warmth alone.
Love to your friend a second office owes,
Yourself and him before heaven's footstool throws:
You place his form as suppliant by your side,
(An helpless worm, for whom the Saviour died)
Into his soul call down th' ethereal beam,
And longing ask to spend, and to be spent for him.
ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. MR. CENNİCK.
THOU generous soul! to me thy path shines bright: Happy thy choice, and exquisitely right!
Blameless in all that constitutes a man,
Or man can e'er demand, admire or scan,
Thy keener eye yet higher fountains viewed,
Whence a divine immortal rectitude,
Must clothe the best, as worst, thro' Jesus' blood.
I've seen the warmth, wherewith to reptiles vain God's counsel thou, undaunted, didst maintain; How, next, the mourners thou could'st gird with
In thy great Master's name, so that one hour
Did former gloom and guilt in heavenly joy devour:.
How, lastly, to that heart, whose godlike zeal
Met the rough steel to work this general weal,
Thy heart with private gratitude did burn,
With tears of love filled up its votive urn;
Best, sweetest monument, which man's spirit here,
'Midst deeds more echoed, can in silence rear.
My breast with pain do these reflections fill,
Barely not censuring the all-wise will:
Why from our streets did such a torch retire,
When reigning night insults all sacred fire,
Deems it long buried as in Erro's days,
And stalks securely Pagan, o'er the place!
Ah! my heart bleeds-my God has lost a friend! (We Christians teach, our God could condescend To lose, yea, suffer for a time, and die : Friendless, unheeded, walks poor Jesus by.) Sinners have lost one too, who very low, Armed with the gospel promises, could go; Yet the most hopeless souls to comfort raised, Who with renewed hearts their Saviour praised. What shall I say? I'm loser too and lameWanting the helper, I'll enshrine the name ! 'Twill raise my ardour, and direct my aim.
ACCEPT, dear youth, a sympathizing lay,
The only tribute pitying love can pay :
Though vain the hope thine anguish to assuage,
Charm down desire, or calm fierce passion's rage:
Yet still permit me in thy griefs to grieve,
Relief to offer, if I can't relieve;
Near thy sick couch with fond concern t'attend,
And reach out cordials to my dying friend.
Poor hapless youth! what words can ease thy
pain;
When reason pleads, and wisdom cries in vain!
Can feeble verse impetuous nature guide,
Or stem the force of blind affection's tide?
If reason checks, or duty disallows,
"Reason, you cry, and duty are my foes:
Religion's dictates ineffectual prove,
And God himself's impertinence in Love."
What art thou, love? Thou strange mysterious ill,
Whom none aright can know, though all can feel.
From careless sloth thy dull existence flows,
And feeds the fountain whence itself arose:
Silent its waves with baleful influence roll,
Damp the young mind, and sink th' aspiring soul,
Poison its virtues, all its powers restrain,
And blast the promise of the future man.
To thee, curst fiend, the captive wretch consigned
"His passions rampant, and his reason blind,"
Reason, heaven's great vicegerent, dares disown,
And place a foolish idol in its throne:
Or wildly raise his frantic raptures higher,
And pour out blasphemies at thy desire.
At thy desire he bids a creature shine,
He decks a worm with attributes divine;
Her's to angelic beauties dares prefer,
"Angels are painted fair, to look like her!"
Before her shrine the lowly suppliant laid,
Adores the idol that himself has made:
From her almighty breath his doom receives,
Dies by her frown, as by her smile he lives.
Supreme she reigns in all-sufficient state,
To her he bows, from her expects his fate,
"Heaven in her love, damnation in her hate."
He rears unhallowed altars to her name,
Where lust lights up a black polluted flame;
Where sighs impure, as impious incense rise,
Himself the priest, his heart the sacrifice:
And thus God's sacred word his horrid prayer
supplies.
"Centre of all perfection, source of bliss,
In whom thy creature lives, and moves, and is,
Save, or I perish! hear my humble prayer,
Spare thy poor servant-O in mercy spare.
Thou art my joy, on thee alone I trust,
Hide not thy face, nor frown me into dust.
Send forth thy breath, and raised again I see
My joy, my life, my final bliss in thee.
For thee I am; for thee I all resign;
Be thou my one thing needful, ever mine!"
But O forbear, presumptuous muse, forbear, Nor wound with rant profane the Christian ear: A just abhorrence in my friend I see,
He starts from love, when love's idolatry,
"Give me thy heart," if the Creator cries,
""Tis given the creature," what bold wretch replies?
Not so my friend-he wakes, he breathes again,
And "reason takes once more the slackened rein."
In vain rebellious nature claims a part,
When heaven requires, he gives up all his heart:
("For love divine no partnership allows,
And heaven averse rejects divided vows.”)
Fixed though she be, he rends the idol thence,
Nor lets her power exceed Omnipotence.
Commands his God," Cut off th' offending hand!"
He hears, obedient to his God's command:
"Pluck out thine eye," let the Redeemer say;
He tears, and casts the bleeding orb away.
Victorious now to nobler joys aspires,
His bosom, touched with more than earthly fires:
He leaves rough passion for calm virtue's road,
Gives earth for heaven, and quits a worm for God.
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