MAN, on the dubious waves of error toffed,
His fhip half foundered, and his compass loft,
Sees, far as human optics may command,
A fleeping fog, and fancies it dry land :
Spreads all his canvass, every finew plies;
Pants for it, aims at it, enters it, and dies!
Then farewell all felf-fatisfying schemes,
His well built fyftems, philofophic dreams;
Deceitful views of future blifs farewell!
He reads his fentence at the flames of hell.
Hard lot of man-to toil for the reward
Of virtue, and yet lofe it! Wherefore hard ?-
He that would win the race muft guide his horfe
Obedient to the cuftoms of the course;
Elfe, though unequalled to the goal he flies,
A meaner than himself fhall gain the prize.
Grace leads the right way: if you choose the wrong,
Take it and perish; but restrain your tongue;
Charge not, with light fufficient, and left free,
Your wilful fuicide on God's decree.
Oh how unlike the complex works of man,
Heaven's easy, artless, unincumbered plan!
No meretricious graces to beguile,
No clustering ornaments to clog the pile;
From oftentation as from weakness free,
It ftands like the cerulean arch we fee,
Majestic in its own fimplicity.
Inscribed above the portal from afar
Confpicuous as the brightness of a ftar,
Legible only by the light they give,
Stand the foul-quickening words-BELIEVE AND LIVE, Too many, shocked at what should charm them moft, Despise the plain direction and are loft.
Heaven on fuch terms! (they cry with proud disdain) Incredible, impoffible, and vain !—.
Rebel, because 'tis easy to obey;
And fcorn, for its own fake, the gracious way..
These are the fober, in whofe cooler brains
Some thought of immortality remains ;
The reft too busy or too gay to wait
On the fad theme, their everlasting state,
Sport for a day and perish in a night,
The foam upon the waters not fo light.
Who judged the Pharifee? What odious caufe
Exposed him to the vengeance of the laws?
Had he feduced a virgin, wronged a friend,
Or ftabbed a man to serve some private end?
Was blafphemy his fin? Or did he ftray
From the ftrict duties of the facred day?
Sit long and late at the caroufing board?
(Such were the fins with which he charged his Lord.)
No-the man's morals were exact, what then?
'Twas his ambition to be seen of men ;
His virtues were his pride; and that one vice
Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price;
He wore them as fine trappings for a show,
A praying, fynagogue-frequenting, beau.
The felf-applauding bird, the peacock fee-
Mark what a fumptuous Pharifee is he!
Meridian fun-beams tempt him to unfold
His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold:
He treads as if, fome folemn mufic near,
His measured step were governed by his ear;
And feems to fay-Ye meaner fowl give place,
I am all splendour, dignity, and grace!
Not fo the pheasant on his charms prefumes,
Though he too has a glory in his plumes.
He, chriftian like, retreats with modeft mien
To the clofe copfe, or far fequestered green,
And shines without defiring to be seen.
The plea of works, as arrogant and vain,
Heaven turns from with abhorrence and difdain
Not more affronted by avowed neglect,
Than by the mere diffembler's feigned respect.
What is all righteousness that men devise ?
What-but a fordid bargain for the skies?
But Chrift as foon would abdicate his own,
As ftoop from heaven to fell the proud a throne,
His dwelling a recefs in fome rude rock,
Book, beads, and maple-dish, his meagre stock;
In fhirt of hair and weeds of canvass dressed,
Girt with a bell-rope that the pope has blessed;
Aduft with ftripes told out for every crime,
And fore tormented long before his time;
His prayer preferred to faints that cannot aid;
His praise poftponed, and never to be paid;
See the fage hermit, by mankind admired,
With all that bigotry adopts inspired,
Wearing out life in his religious whim,
Till his religious whimfy wears out him.
His works, his abftinence, his zeal allowed,
You think him humble-God accounts him proud;
High in demand, though lowly in pretence,
Of all his conduct, this the genuine sense-
My penitential ftripes, my streaming blood,
Have purchased heaven, and prove my title good.
Turn eastward now, and fancy shall apply
To your weak fight her telescopic eye.
The bramin kindles on his own bare head
The facred fire, felf-torturing his trade,
His voluntary pains, severe and long,
Would give a barbarous air to British song;
No grand inquifitor could worse invent,
Than he contrives to fuffer, well content,
Which is the faintlier worthy of the two?
Paft all difpute, yon anchorite fay you.
Your fentence and mine differ. What is a name?
I fay the bramin has the fairer claim,
If fufferings, fcripture no where recommends,.
Devised by self to answer selfish ends,
Give faintship, then all Europe must agree
Ten ftarveling hermits fuffer less than he.
The truth is (if the truth may suit your ear,
And prejudice have left a paffage clear)
Pride has attained its moft luxuriant growth,
And poisoned every virtue in them both.
|