Thofe truths which neither ufe nor years impair,
Invite thee, wooe thee, to the blifs they share.
What dotage will not vanity maintain,
What web too weak to catch a modern brain?
The moles and bats in full affembly find
On fpecial fearch, the keen-ey'd eagle blind.
And did they dream, and art thou wiser now?
Prove it if better, I fubmit and bow.
Wisdom and goodnefs are twin-born, one heart
Must hold both fifters, never seen apart.
So then as darkness overspread the deep, 'Ere nature rose from her eternal sleep,
And this delightful earth and that fair sky
Leap'd out of nothing, call'd by the Moft High,
By fuch a change thy darkness is made light,
Thy chaos order, and thy weakness, might,
And he whofe pow'r mere nullity obeys,
Who found thee nothing, form'd thee for his praise.
To praise him is to serve him, and fulfil,
Doing and fuff'ring, his unqueftion'd will,
'Tis to believe what men infpir'd of old,
Faithful and faithfully inform'd, unfold;
Candid and juft, with no falfe aim in view,
To take for truth what cannot but be true,
To learn in God's own fchool the Chriftian part,
And bind the task affign'd thee to thine heart:
Happy the man there feeking and there found,
Happy the nation where fuch men abound.
How shall a verse impress thee? by what name
Shall I adjure thee not to court thy fhame ?
By theirs whofe bright example unimpeach'd
Directs thee to that eminence they reach'd,
Heroes and worthies of days paft, thy fires?
Or his, who touch'd' their hearts with hallow'd fires?
Their names, alas! in vain reproach an age
Whom all the vanities they fcorn'd, engage,
And his that feraphs tremble at, is hung
Disgracefully on ev'ry trifler's tongue,
Or ferves the champion in forenfic war,
To flourish and parade with at the bar.
Pleafure herfelf perhaps suggests a plea,
If int❜reft move thee, to perfuade ev'n thee;
By ev'ry charm that fimiles upon her face,
By joys poffefs'd, and joys ftill held in chace,
If dear fociety be worth a thought,
And if the feaft of freedom cloy thee not,
Reflect that thefe and all that feems thine own,
Held by the tenure of his will alone,
Like angels in the fervice of their Lord,
Remain with thee, or leave thee at his word;
That gratitude and temp'rance in our use
Of what he gives, unsparing and profuse,
Secure the favour and enhance the joy,
That thankless waste and wild abuse destroy.
But above all reflect, how cheap foe'er
Those rights that millions envy thee, appear,
And though refolv'd to risk them, and fwim down
The tide of pleasure, heedlefs of his frown,
That bleffings truly facred, and when giv'n
Mark'd with the fignature and ftamp of Heav'n,
The word of prophecy, thofe truths divine Which make that Heav'n, if thou defire it, thine; (Awful alternative! believ'd, belov'd,
Thy glory, and thy fhame if unimprov'd,)
Are never long vouchfaf'd, if push'd aside
With cold difguft or philofophic pride,
And that judicially withdrawn, difgrace,
Error and darkness occupy their place.
A world is up in arms, and thou, a spot
Not quickly found if negligently fought,
Thy foul as ample as thy bounds are small,
Endur'ft the brunt, and dar'st defy them all:
And wilt thou join to this bold enterprize
A bolder ftill, a conteft with the skies?
Remember, if he guard thee and fecure,
Whoe'er affails thee, thy fuccefs is fure;
But if he leave thee, though the skill and pow'r
Of nations fworn to spoil thee and devour,
Were all collected in thy fingle arm,
And thou couldft laugh away the fear of harm,
That ftrength would fail, oppos'd against the push And feeble onset of a pigmy rush.
Say not (and if the thought of fuch defence
Should spring within thy bofom, drive it thence)
What nation amongst all my foes is free
From crimes as bafe as any charg'd on me?
Their measure fill'd-they too fhall pay the debt
Which God, though long forborn, will not forget;
But know, that wrath divine, when moft fevere,
Makes justice still the guide of his career,
And will not punish in one mingled crowd,
Them without light, and thee without a cloud.
Mufe, hang this harp upon yon aged beech,
Still murm'ring with the folemn truths I teach,
And while, at intervals, a cold blast fings
Through the dry leaves, and pants upon
My foul shall figh in fecret, and lament
A nation fcourg'd, yet tardy to repent.
I know the warning fong is fung in vain,
That few will hear, and fewer heed the strain :
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