For though e'er yet the fhaft is on the wing,
Or when it first forfakes th' elaftic ftring,
It err but little from th' intended line,
It falls at laft, far wide of his defign,
So he who feeks a manfion in the sky,
Muft watch his purpose with a stedfast eye,
That prize belongs to none but the fincere,
The leaft obliquity is fatal here.
With caution tafte the sweet Circæan cup,
He that fips often, at laft drinks it up.
Habits are foon affum'd, but when we strive
To ftrip them off, 'tis being flay'd alive.
Call'd to the temple of impure delight,
He that abftains, and he alone does right.
If a wifh wander that way, call it home,
He cannot long be fafe, whose wishes roam.
But if you pass the threshold, you are caught,
Die then, if pow'r Almighty fave you not:
There hard'ning by degrees, 'till double steel'd,
Take leave of nature's God, and God reveal'd,
Then laugh at all you trembl'd at before,
And joining the free-thinkers brutal roar,
Swallow the two grand noftrums they dispense,
That scripture lies, and blafphemy is sense:
If clemency revolted by abuse
Be damnable, then, damn'd without excuse.
Some dream that they can filence when they will The storm of paffion, and fay, Peace, be ftill; But "Thus far and no farther," when addrefs'd To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, Implies authority that never can,
That never ought to be the lot of man.
But mufe forbear, long flights forebode a fall, Strike on the deep-ton'd chord the fum of all.
Hear the just law, the judgment of the skies! He that hates truth fhall be the dupe of lies. And he that will be cheated to the laft, Delufions, ftrong as hell, fhall bind him fast. But if the wand'rer his mistake difcern, Judge his own ways, and figh for a return,
Bewilder'd once, muft he bewail his lofs.
For ever and for ever? No-the cross.
There, and there only (though the deist rave,
And atheift, if earth bear fo base a slave)
There, and there only, is the pow'r to fave.
There no delufive hope invites defpair,
No mock'ry meets you, no deception there.
The spells and charms that blinded you before,
All vanish there, and fafcinate no more.
I am no preacher, let this hint fuffice,
The cross once feen, is death to ev'ry vice:
Elfe he that hung there, fuffer'd all his pain,
Bled, groan'd, and agoniz'd, and died in vain,
AN on the dubious waves of error tofs'd,
His fhip half founder'd and his compafs loft,
Sees far as human optics may command,'
A fleeping fog, and fancies it dry land
Spreads all his canvafs, ev'ry finew plies,
Pants for't, aims at it, enters it, and dies.
Then farewell all self-satisfying 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 horse
Obedient to the cuftoms of the course,
Elfe, though unequall'd to the goal he flies,
A meaner than himself shall gain the prize.
Grace leads the right way, if chufe the wrong,
Take it and perish, but reftrain your tongue;
Charge not, with light fufficient and left free,
Your willful fuicide on God's decree.
Oh how unlike the complex works of man,
Heav'ns easy, artless, unincumber'd plan!
No meretricious graces to beguile,
No cluft'ring ornaments to clog the pile,
From oftentation as from weakness free,
It ftands like the cærulean arch we fee,
Majestic in its own fimplicity.
Infcrib'd above the portal, from afar
Confpicuous as the brightness of a ftar,
|