Whose pitying love ordain'd the bless'd command
To bind our nature in a firmer band;
Enforce each human suff'rer's strong appeal,
And teach the selfish breast what others feel;
Wert thou the guide of life, mankind might know
A soft exemption from the worst of wo;
No more the powerful would the weak oppress,
But tyrants learn the luxury to bless;
No more would Slavery bind a hopeless train
Of human victims in her galling chain :
Mercy the hard, the cruel heart would move
To soften mis'ry by the deeds of love;
And Av'rice from his hoarded treasures give,
Unask'd, the liberal boon, that Want might live!
The impious tongue of Falsehood then would
To blast, with dark suggestions, Virtue's peace;
No more would Spleen or Passion banish rest,
And plant a pang in fond Affection's breast;
By one harsh word, one alter'd look, destroy
Her peace, and wither ev'ry op'ning joy;
Scarce can her tongue the captious wrong explain,
The slight offence which gives so deep a pain!
Th' affected ease that slights her starting tear,
The words whose coldness kills, from lips so dear;
The hand she loves, alone can point the dart,
Whose hidden sting could wound no other heart;
These, of all pains the sharpest we endure,
The breast which now inflicts, would spring to
No more deserted Genius then would fly
To breathe in solitude his hopeless sigh;
No more would Fortune's partial smile debase
The spirit, rich in intellectual grace ;
Who views unmov'd, from scenes where pleasures bloom,
The flame of genius sunk in mis'ry's gloom,
The soul, heaven-form'd to soar, by want deprest,
Nor heeds the wrongs that pierce a kindred breast.
Thou, righteous Law, whose clear and useful light
Sheds on the mind a ray divinely bright,
Condensing in one rule whate'er the sage
Has proudly taught, in many a labour'd page—
Bid every heart thy hallow'd voice revere,
To Justice sacred and to Nature dear.
CHARITY: A PARAPHRASE ON 1 COR. CHAP. XIII.
DID Sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue
Than ever man pronounc'd or angel sung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach or science can define;
And had I power to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling Earth;
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw
When Moses gave them miracles and law;
Yet, gracious Charity, indulgent guest,
Were not thy power exerted in my breast,
Those speeches would send up unheeded pray'r,
That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
A cymbal's sound were better than my voice;
My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.
Charity decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with just reins, and gentle hand to guide
Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.
Not soon provok'd, she easily forgives,
And much she suffers, as she much believes.
Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives
She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;
Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even,
And opens in each heart a little heaven.
Each other gift which God on man bestows
Its proper bounds and due reflection knows,
To one fix'd purpose dedicates its pow'r,
And finishing its act, exists no more.
Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
Knowledge shall fail and prophecy shall cease;
But lasting Charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall for ever live,
And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
As through the artist's intervening glass
Our eye observes the distant planets pass,
A little we discover, but allow
That more remains unseen than art can show;
So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,
(Its feeble eye intent on things above)
High as we may we lift our reason up,
By faith directed, and confirm'd by hope;
Yet are we able only to survey
Dawnings of beams, and promises of day.
Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight,
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.
But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd,
The sun shall soon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated sublime on his meridian throne:
Then constant Faith and holy Hope shall die, One lost in certainty, and one in joy; Whilst thou, more happy power,
Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,
Thy office and thy nature still the same,
Lasting thy lamp, and unconsum'd thy flame,
Shalt still survive-
Shalt stand before the host of Heaven confess'd,
For ever blessing, and for ever bless'd.
THE TWENTY-FIFTH CHAPTER OF JOB PARA
THEN will vain man complain and murmur still,
And stand on terms with his Creator's will?
Shall this high privilege to clay be given?
Shall dust arraign the providence of Heaven?
With reason's line the boundless distance scan?
Oppose Heaven's awful majesty to man?
To what a length his vast dimensions run!
How far beyond the journeys of the Sun!
He hung yon golden balls of light on high,
And launch'd the planets through the liquid sky:
To rolling worlds he mark'd the certain space,
Fix'd and sustain'd the elemental peace.
Unnumber'd as those worlds his armies move,
And the gay legions guard his realms above;
High o'er th' ethereal plains the myriads rise,
And pour their flaming ranks along the skies:
From their bright arms incessant splendour stream,
And the wide azure kindles with the gleam.
To this low world he bids the light repair, Down through the gulfs of undulating air;
For man he taught the glorious sun to roll
From his bright barrier to his western goal.
How then shall man, thus insolently proud,
Plead with his Judge, and combat with his God?
How from his mortal mother can he come
Unstain'd from sin, untinctur'd from the womb?
The Lord, from his sublime empyreal throne,
As a dark globe regards the silver Moon;
Those stars, that grace the wide celestial plain,
Are but the humblest sweepings of his train;
Dim are the brightest splendours of the sky,
And the Sun darkens in Jehovah's eye.
But does not sin diffuse a fouler stain,
And thicker darkness cloud the soul of man?
Shall he the depths of endless wisdom know?
This short-liv'd sovereign of the world below?
His frail original confounds his boast,
Sprung from the ground, and quicken'd from the
Pitt.
THE SONG OF MOSES IN THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER
OF EXODUS PARAPHRASED.
THEN to the Lord the vast triumphant throng
Of Israel's sons, with Moses, rais'd the song.
To God our grateful accents will we raise,
And ev'ry tongue shall celebrate his praise:
Behold display'd the wonders of his might!
Behold the Lord triumphant in the fight!
With what immortal fame and glory grac'd!
What trophies rais'd amid the wat'ry waste!
How did his power the steeds and riders sweep
Ingulf'd in heaps, and whelm'd beneath the deep?
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