The Heathens had Wisdom of celestial Origin,
But still, in virtue of a Saviour's plea,
Not blind by choice, but destin'd not to see.
Their fortitude and wisdom were a flame
Celestial, though they knew not whence it came,
Deriv'd from the same source of light and grace
That guides the Christian in his swifter race.
Their judge was conscience, and her rule their law:
That rule, pursued with rev'rence and with awe,
Led them, however fault'ring, faint, and slow,
From what they knew to what they wish'd to know.
But let not him that shares a brighter day
Traduce the splendour of a noon-tide ray,
Prefer the twilight of a darker time,
And deem his base stupidity no crime;
The wretch, who slights the bounty of the skies,
And sinks, while favour'd with the means to rise,
Shall find them rated at their full amount,
The good he scorn'd all carried to account.
Marshalling all his terrors as he came ;
Thunder, and earthquake, and devouring flame;
but not so active and illuminated as Christians.
From Sinai's top Jehovah gave the law-
Life for obedienc-death for ev'ry flaw.
When the great Sov'reign would his will
He gives a perfect rule; what can he less?
And guards it with a sanction as severe
As vengeance can inflict, or sinners fear:
Else his own glorious rights he would disclaim,
And man might safely trifle with his name.
He bids him glow with unremitting love
To all on earth, and to himself above;
Condemns th' injurious deed, the sland'rous tongue,
The thought that meditates a brother's wrong:
Brings not alone the more conspicuous part-
His conduct to the test, but tries his heart.
Hark! universal nature shook and groan'd,
'Twas the last trumpet-see the Judge enthron'd:
Rouse all your courage at your utmost need;
Now summon ev'ry virtue-stand, and plead.
What! silent? Is your boasting heard no more?
That self-renouncing wisdom, learn'd before,
The transcendent Joy of Believers.
Had shed immortal glories on your brow,
That all your virtues cannot purchase now.
All joy to the believer! He can speak—
Trembling, yet happy; confident, yet meek.
Since the dear hour that brought me to thy foot,
And cut up all my follies by the root,
I never trusted in an arm but thine,
Nor hop'd, but in thy righteousness divine:
My pray'rs and alms, imperfect, and defil'd,
Were but the feeble efforts of a child;
Howe'er perform'd, it was their brightest part
That they proceeded from a grateful heart:
Cleans'd in thine own all-purifying blood,
Forgive their evil, and accept their good:
I cast them at thy feet-my only plea
Is what it was-dependence upon thee:
While struggling in the vale of tears below,
That never fail'd, nor shall it fail me now,
Angelic gratulations rend the skies:
Pride falls unpitied, never more to rise;
Humility is crown'd; and faith receives the prize.
Tantane, tam patiens, nullo certamine tolli
WHY weeps the muse for England? What appears
In England's case to move the muse to tears?
From side to side of her delightful isle,
Is she not cloth'd with a perpetual smile?
Can nature add a charm, or art confer
A new-found luxury not seen in her?
The Advantages of England,
Where under heav'n is pleasure more pursued?
Or where does cold reflection less intrude?
Her fields a rich expanse of wavy corn,
Pour'd out from plenty's overflowing horn;
Ambrosial gardens, in which art supplies
The fervour and the force of Indian skies;
Her peaceful shores, where busy commerce waits
To
pour his golden tide through all her gates;
Whom fiery suns, that scorch the russet spice
Of eastern groves, and oceans floor'd with ice
Forbid in vain to push his daring way
To darker climes, or climes of brighter day;
Whom the winds waft where'er the billows roll,
From the world's girdle to the frozen pole;
The chariots, bounding in her wheel-worn streets;
Her vaults below where ev'ry vintage meets;
Her theatres, her revels, and her sports;
The scenes to which not youth alone resorts,
But age, in spite of weakness and of pain,
Still haunts, in hope to dream of youth again;
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