PROVIDENCE. Bold is the wretch, and blasphemous the man, The works of him that 's infinitely wise, As if a space immense were measurable by a span. But leaves it to itself alone. Which honour, ease, and affluence give; If the Most High, that 's just and good, And yet regards not the loud cries of guiltless blood? To comprehend how matter should be brought From all eternity; And yet that matter is, we feel and see: What ligatures the soul and body join; Or, how the memory does th' impression take In spite of all that human strength could do And sinking Virtue stoop to prosperous Ill; And all that part of nature which has breath And hurry to the dungeons of the grave, If watchful Providence were not concern'd to save. And though he does ten thousand see He did his life and safety owe, And helpless childhood was with safety crown'd, When he had nothing but his nurse's arms To guard him from innumerable fatal harms: From childhood how to youth he ran Securely, and from thence to man; How, in the strength and vigour of his years, The feeble bark of life he saves, Amidst the fury of tempestuous waves, From all the dangers he foresees, or fears; Yet every hour 'twixt Scylla and Charybdis steers, If Providence, which can the seas command, Held not the rudder with a steady hand. OMNIPRESENCE. 'Tis happy for the sons of men, that he, Who all existence out of nothing made, Supports his creatures by immediate aid: But then this all-intending Deity Must Omnipresent be: For how shall we by demonstration show What 's not perceptible by sense, may be And offer up our hymns and praise; No more than can an absent friend; How gratefully we make returns, When the loud music sounds, or victim burns, Than a poor Indian slave of Mexico. If so, 'tis equally in vain The prosperous sings, and wretched mourns ; He cannot hear the praise, or mitigate the pain. But by what Being is confin'd The Godhead we adore? He must have equal or superior power. If equal only, they each other bind, So neither 's God, if we define him right, But if the other have superior might, From all restraint, and so no Deity. Which to suppose, that strange conclusion brings His essence and his attributes are different things. IMMUTABILITY. As the supreme, omniscient mind, So Reason must acknowledge him to be For what He is, He was from all eternity. Is for the better or the worse. He that is infinitely wise, To alter for the worse will never choose, And He, in whom all true perfection lies, Be chang'd, like his inconstant subject, man, When an eternal stake is to be lost or won. JUSTICE. Rejoice, ye sons of Piety, and sing On all who virtue choose, and righteous paths pursue. (As infinitely good) be infinitely just. But does it with a gracious Godhead suit, With everlasting misery? This shocks the mind with deep reflections fraught, And Reason bends beneath the ponderous thought; Crimes take their estimate from guilt, and grow More heinous still, the more they do incense That God to whom all creatures owe Profoundest reverence: Though as to that degree they raise Our unrepented sins must fall, If so, from equity he cannot swerve, Ten thousand, more, perhaps, when they are past; Yet own the pleasures of the just remain To Heaven and Hell indifferent join'd, GOODNESS. But if there be one attribute divine With greater lustre than the rest can shine, "T is goodness, which we every moment see The Godhead exercise with such delight, It seems, it only seems, to be The best-belov'd perfection of the Deity, And more than infinite. Without that, he could never prove The proper objects of our praise or love; Were he not good, he 'd be no more concern'd To hear the wretched in affliction cry, Or see the guiltless for the guilty die, Than Nero, when the flaming city burn'd, And weeping Romans o'er its ruins mourn'd. Eternal justice then would be But everlasting cruelty; Power unrestrain'd, almighty violence; Who will deny him this, A god without a deity suppose. When the lewd atheist blasphemously swears, By his tremendous name, There is no God, but all 's a sham; Insipid tattle, praise, and prayers, Virtuc, pretence; and all the sacred rules Religion teaches, tricks to cully fools: Justice would strike th' audacious villain dead, But Mercy, boundless, saves his guilty head; Gives him protection, and allows him bread. Does not the sinner whom no danger awes, Without restraint, his infamy pursue, Rejoice, and glory in it too; Laugh at the power divine, and ridicule his laws; Labour in vice his rivals to excel, That, when he's dead, they may their pupils tell How wittily the fool was damn'd, how hard he fell? Yet this vile wretch in safety lives, Blessings in common with the best receives; Though he is proud t' affrout the God those bless To him each rational existence here, Whose breast one spark of gratitude contains, In whom there are the least remains Of piety or fear, His tribute brings of joyful sacrifice, By prompt obedience to his word, And shame the thinking world, who in rebellion live. To those ineffable above; Which from the vision of the Godhead flow, ELEAZAR'S LAMENTATION OVER JERUSALEM. PARAPHRASED OUT OF JOSEPHUS. ALAS, Jerusalem! alas! where 's now Where 's all thy majesty, thy beauty gone, Thy wondrous brightness, which no more But now, ah! now they laugh and cry, See how her flaming turrets gild the sky! Where 's all the young, the valiant, and the gay, That on her festivals were us'd to play Harmonious tunes, and beautify the day? The glittering troops, which did from far Ah! where's the house of the Eternal King; His terrible, amazing name, So full of glory, and so sacred then, Alas, Jerusalem! each spacious street Was once so fill'd, the numerous throng Was foro'd to jostle as they pass'd along, And thousands did with thousands meet; The darling then of God, and man's belov'd retreat. In thee was the bright throne of Justice fix'd, Justice impartial, and va'n fraud unmix'd! She scorn'd the beauties of fallacious gold, Despising the most wealthy bribes'; But did the sacred balance hold With godlike faith to all our happy tribes. Thy well-built streets, and every noble square, Were once with polish'd marble laid, And all thy lofty bulwarks made With wondrous labour, and with artful care. Thy ponderous gates, surprising to behold, Were cover'd o'er with sold gold; Whose splendour did so glorious appear, It ravish'd and amaz'd the eye; And strangers passing to themselves would cry, "What mighty heaps of wealth are here! How thick the bars of massy silver lie! O happy people! and still happy be, Celestial city! from destruction free, May'st thou enjoy a long, entire prosperity!" But now, oh wretched, wretched place! Thy streets and palaces are spread With heaps of carcasses, and mountains of the dead, The bleeding relics of the Jewish race! Each corner of the town, no vacant space, But is with breathless bodies fill'd, Death's arrows all at random flew Of the same bitter poison taste, See how the burning ruins flame! The most obdurate creature must Be griev'd to see thy palaces in dust, Those ancient habitations of the just: And could the marble rocks but know The miseries of thy fatal overthrow, They 'd strive to find some secret way unknown, Maugre the senseless nature of the stone, Their pity and concern to show: For now, where lofty buildings stood, Thy sons' corrupted carcasses are laid; And all by this destruction made One common Golgotha, one field of blood! See! how those ancient men, who rul'd thy state, And made thee happy, made thee great; Who sat upon the awful chair Of mighty Moses, in long scarlet clad, In silent melancholy, and in sad despair! See how their murder'd children round them lie! Thus they lament, thus beg for ease; And then be mix'd with common dust. Oh! insupportable, stupendous woe! What shall we do? ah! whither shall we go? Down to the grave, down to those happy shades below, Where all our brave progenitors are blest With endless triumph and eternal rest. But who, without a flood of tears, can see Their mighty weight no mortal knows, Nothing but desolation, woe, and misery! Nay, while we thus, with bleeding hearts, com Thus then resolve; nor tremble at the thought: Since the Almighty wisdom has decrced, What brave Despair compell'd us to! Bring then your wives, your children, all I know your courages are truly brave, Let your bold hands then give the fatal blow: Is mercy, tenderness, and pity, now! SINCE we can die but once, and after death To endless joys, or everlasting woes: That mighty and important stake; As we are born, return to dust: Whither, we fain would know ; This makes us tremble, and creates Noue know what Death is, but the dead; When to the margin of the grave we come, And scarce have one black, painful hour to live; No hopes, no prospect of a kind reprieve, To stop our speedy passage to the tomb; How moving, and how mournful, is the sight! How wondrous pitiful, how wondrous sad! Where then is refuge, where is comfort, to be had In the dark minutes of the dreadful night, To cheer our drooping souls for their amazing flight? Feeble and languishing in bed we lie, Despairing to recover, void of rest; Wishing for Death, and yet afraid to die : Terrors and doubts distract our breast, With mighty agonies and mighty pains opprest. Our face is moisten'd with a clammy sweat; The blood unactive grows, Depriv'd of all its vigour, all its vital heat. And for some kind assistance call: But pity, useless pity 's all Our weeping friends can give, Or we receive; Our sons, who, in their tender years, Were objects of our cares, and of our fears, Come trembling to our bed, and, kneeling, cry, "Bless us, O father! now before you die; Though their desires are great, their powers are Bless us, and be you bless'd to all eternity." small, The tongue 's unable to declare The pains and griefs, the miseries we bear; Then we are sensible too late, Riches and honours then are useless things, And, like the book which the apostle eat, To the ill-judging palate sweet, But turn at last to nauseousness and gall. Nothing will then our drooping spirits cheer, But the remembrance of good actions past. Virtue's a joy that will for ever last, And makes pale Death less terrible appear; Takes out his baneful sting, and palliates our fear. In the dark anti-chamber of the grave What would we give (ev'n all we have, All that our care and industry have gain'd, All that our policy, our fraud, our art, obtain’d) Could we recall those fatal hours again, Which we consum'd in senseless vanities, Ambitious follies, or luxurious ease! For then they urge our terrours, and increase our pain. Our friends and relatives stand weeping by, And plunge into the deep abyss of wide eternity. They pity our deplorable estate: But what, alas! can pity do To soften the decrees of Fate? Though they do unsuccessful prove, Brings us a cordial we want sense to taste; This wipes away the sweat; that, sighing, cries, "See what convulsions, what strong agonies, Both soul and body undergo! His pains no intermission know; For every gasp of air he draws, returns in sighs." To save his dear relation, or his dearer friend; Our father, pale with grief and watching grown, Takes our cold hand in his, and cries, "Adieu! Adieu, my child! now I must follow you:" Then weeps, and gently lays it down. Our friend, whom equal to ourselves we love, Cries, "Will you leave me here behind? Through the bright passage of the yielding sky. Ev'n Death, that parts thee from thyself, shall be Incapable to separate (For 'tis not in the power of Fate) My friend, my best, my dearest friend, and me: But since it must be so, farewell; For ever? No; for we shall meet again, And live like gods, though now we die like men, In the eternal regions, where just spirits dwell." The soul, unable longer to maintain The fruitless and unequal strife, Finding her weak endeavours vain, To keep the counterscarp of life, By slow degrees retires towards the heart, And fortifies that little fort With all its kind artilleries of art; Botanic legions guarding every port. But Death, whose arms no mortal can repel, A formal siege disdains to lay; Summons his fierce battalions to the fray, And in a minute storms the feeble citadel. Sometimes we may capitulate, and he Pretends to make a solid peace; But 'tis all shanı, all artifice, That we may negligent and careless be: For, if his armies are withdrawn to-day, And we believe no danger near, But all is peaceable, and all is clear: His troops return some unsuspected way; While in the soft embrace of Sleep we lie, The secret murderers stab us, and we die. Since our first parents' fall, A portion none of human race can miss Infernal spirits hover in the air, Where they must dwell till that tremendous day, When the loud trump shall call them to appear Before a Judge most terrible, and most severe; By whose just sentence they must go To everlasting pains, and endless woe. |