Then why abroad a frequent guest?
Why such a stranger to your breast?
Why turn so many volumes o'er,
Till Dodsley can supply no more?
Not all the volumes on thy shelf,
Are worth that single volume, Self.
For who this sacred book declines,
Howe'er in other arts he shines;
Though smit with Pindar's noble rage,
Or vers'd in Tully's manly page;
Though deeply read in Plato's school;
With all his knowledge is a fool.

'Proclaim the truth-say, what is man?

His body from the dust began;

And when a few short years are o'er,

The crumbling fabric is no more.

'But whence the soul? From Heav'n it came!

Oh! prize this intellectual flame.

This nobler Self with rapture scan,

"Tis mind alone which makes the man.
Trust me, there's not a joy on earth,
But from the soul derives its birth.
Ask the young rake (he'll answer right)
Who treats by day, and drinks by night,
What makes his entertainments shine,
What gives the relish to his wine;
He'll tell thee, (if he scorns the beast)
That social pleasures form the feast.
The charms of beauty too shall cloy,
Unless the soul exalts the joy.
The mind must animate the face,
Or cold and tasteless every grace.

'What! must the soul her pow'rs dispense To raise and swell the joys of sense?

Know too, the joys of sense control,
And clog the motions of the soul;
Forbid her pinions to aspire,
Damp and impair her native fire:
And sure as Sense (that tyrant!) reigns,
She holds the empress, Soul, in chains.
Inglorious bondage to the mind,
Heav'n-born, sublime, and unconfin'd!
She's independent, fair, and great,
And justly claims a large estate;
She asks no borrow'd aids to shine,
She boasts within a golden mine;
But, like the treasures of Peru,
Her wealth lies deep, and far from view.
Say, shall the man who knows her worth,
Debase her dignity and birth;

Or e'er repine at Heaven's decree,
Who kindly gave her leave to be;
Call'd her from nothing into day,
And built her tenement of clay?
Hear and accept me for your guide,
(Reason shall ne'er desert your side.)
Who listens to my wiser voice,
Can't but applaud his Maker's choice;
Pleas'd with that First and Sovereign Cause,
Pleas'd with unerring Wisdom's laws;
Secure, since Sovereign Goodness reigns,
Secure, since Sovereign Pow'r obtains.
With curious eyes review thy frame,

This science shall direct thy claim.
Dost thou indulge a double view,
A long, long life, and happy too?
Perhaps a farther boon you crave-
To lie down easy in the grave?

Know then my dictates must prevail,
Or surely each fond wish shall fail.-
'Come then, is Happiness thy aim?
Let mental joys be all thy game.

Repeat the search, and mend your pace,
The capture shall reward the chase.
Let every minute, as it springs,
Convey fresh knowledge on its wings;
Let every minute, as it flies,
Record thee good as well as wise.
While such pursuits your thoughts engage,
In a few years you'll live an age.
Who measures life by rolling years?
Fools measure by revolving spheres.
Go thou, and fetch th' unerring rule
From Virtue's, and from Wisdom's school.
Who well improves life's shortest day,
Will scarce regret its setting ray;
Contented with his share of light,
Nor fear nor wish th' approach of night.
And when Disease assaults the heart,
When Sickness triumphs over Art,
Reflections on a life well past
Shall prove a cordial to the last;
This med'cine shall the soul sustain,
And soften or suspend her pain;
Shall break Death's fell tyrannic pow'r,
And calm the troubled dying hour.'
Blest rules of cool prudential age!
I listen'd, and rever'd the sage.
When lo! a form divinely bright
Descends and bursts upon my sight,
A seraph of illustrious birth!
(Religion was her name on earth)

Supremely sweet her radiant face,
And blooming with celestial grace!

Three shining cherubs form'd her train,
Wav'd their light wings, and reach'd the plain;
Faith, with sublime and piercing eye,
And pinions fluttering for the sky:
Here Hope, that smiling angel, stands,
And golden anchors grace her hands;
There Charity, in robes of white,
Fairest and favourite maid of light!
The seraph spake-" "Tis Reason's part,
To govern, and to guard the heart;
To lull the wayward soul to rest,
When hopes and fears distract the breast.
Reason may calm this doubtful strife,
And steer thy bark through various life:
But when the storms of death are nigh,
And midnight darkness veils the sky,
Shall Reason then direct thy sail,
Disperse the clouds, or sink the gale?
Stranger, this skill alone is mine,
Skill! that transcends his scanty line.
"That hoary sage has counsel'd right-
Be wise, nor scorn his friendly light.
Revere thyself thou'rt near allied
To angels on thy better side.

How various e'er their ranks or kinds,
Angels are but unbodied minds;
When the partition-walls decay,
Men emerge angels from their clay.

Yes, when the frailer body dies,
The soul asserts her kindred skies.

But minds, though sprung from heavenly race, Must first be tutor'd for the place.

(The joys above are understood,
And relish'd only by the good)
Who shall assume this guardian care?
Who shall secure their birthright there?
Souls are my charge-to me, 'tis giv'n,
To train them for their native Heav'n.
'Know then-Who bow the early knee,
And give the willing heart to me;
Who wisely, when Temptation waits,
Elude her frauds and spurn her baits;
Who dare to own my injur'd cause,
(Though fools deride my sacred laws,)
Or scorn to deviate to the wrong,
Though Persecution lifts her thong,
Though all the sons of Hell conspire
To raise the stake and light the fire;
Know, that for such superior souls,
There lies a bliss beyond the poles;
Where spirits shine with purer ray,
And brighten to meridian day;

Where Love, where boundless Friendship rules, (No friends that change, no love that cools!) Where rising floods of knowledge roll,

And pour and pour upon the soul!'

"But where's the passage to the skies?
"The road through Death's black valley lies.
Nay, do not shudder at my tale-

Though dark the shades, yet safe the vale.
This path the best of men have trod;
And who'd decline the road to God?

Oh! 'tis a glorious boon to die!
This favour can't be priz'd too high.'
While thus she spake, my looks express'd
The raptures kindling in my breast: