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Devils are chain'd and tremble; but the Spoufe
No force but love, nor bond but bounty, knows.
Men (whom we now fo fierce and dangerous fee)
Would guardian-angels to each other be:

Such wonders can this mighty love perform;
Vultures to doves, wolves into lambs transform!
Love what Isaiah prophefy'd can do,

Exalt the valleys, lay the mountains low;

Humble the lofty, the rejected raise,

Smooth and make streight our rough and crooked ways

Love, ftrong as death, and like it, levels all;
With that poffeft, the great in title fall:
Themselves esteem but equal to the least,

Whom Heaven with that high character has bleft,
This love, the centre of our union, can
Alone bestow complete repofe on man:
Tame his wild appetite, make inward peace,
And foreign ftrife among the nations cease.
No martial trumpet should disturb our rest,
Nor Princes arm, though to subdue the East;
Where for the Tomb fo many Heroes (taught
By those that guided their devotion) fought.
Thrice happy we, could we like ardour have
To gain his love, as they to win his grave!
Love as he lov'd! A love fo unconfin'd,
With arms extended, would embrace mankind
Self-love would ceafe, or be dilated, when
We should behold as many felfs as men:
All of one family, in blood ally'd,

His precious blood, that for our ransom dy'd!

CANTQ

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HOUGH the creation (fo divinely taught!) Prints fuch a lively image on our thought, That the first spark of new-created light, From Chaos ftrook, affects our present fight: Yet the firft Chriftians did eíteem more bleft The day of rifing, than the day of rest; That every week might new occafion give, To make his triumph in their memory live. Then let our Mufe compose a sacred charm, To keep his blood among us ever warm: And finging, as the Blessed do above, With our last breath dilate this flame of love. But, on so vast a subject, who can find Words that may reach th' ideas of his mind ? Our language fails: or, if it could supply, What mortal thought can raise itself fo high? Despairing here, we might abandon art, And only hope to have it in our heart. But though we find this facred task too hard, Yet the defign, th' endeavour, brings reward. The contemplation does suspend our woe, And make a truce with all the ills we know.. As Saul's afflicted spirit, from the found Of David's harp, a prefent folace found: So on this theme while we our Muse engage, No wounds are felt, of fortune or of age.

On divine love to meditate is peace,

And makes all care of meaner things to cease.
Amaz'd at once, and comforted, to find
A boundless Power so infinitely kind;
The foul contending to that light to fly
From her dark cell, we practise how to die :
Employing thus the Poet's winged art,
To reach this love, and grave it in our heart.
Joy fo complete, fo folid, and fevere,
Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there:
Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone,
When from the east the rising fun comes on.

OF

OF THE

FEAR OF GO D.

IN TWO CANTO S.

T

CANTO I.

HE fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace;

And makes all ills that vex us here to cease: Though the word Fear fome men may ill endure, 'Tis fuch a fear as only makes fecure.

Ask of no Angel to reveal thy fate;
Look in thy heart, the mirror of thy state.
He that invites will not th' invited mock;
Opening to all that do in earnest knock.
Our hopes are all well-grounded on this fear;
All our affurance rolls upon that sphere.
This fear, that drives all other fears away,
Shall be my fong; the morning of our day!
Where that fear is, there's nothing to be fear'd;
It brings from heaven an Angel for a guard:
Tranquillity and peace this fear does give;
Hell gapes for those that do without it live.
It is a beam, which he on man lets fall,
Of light; by which he made and governs all.

"Tis God alone should not offended be;

But we please others, as more great than he.
For a good cause, the sufferings of man

May well be borne: 'tis more than Angels can.
Man, fince his fall, in no mean ftation refts,
Above the Angels, or below the beasts.
He with true joy their hearts does only fill,
That thirst and hunger to perform his will.
Others, though rich, fhall in this world be vext
And fadly live, in terror of the next.

The world's great conqueror would his point pursue,
And wept because he could not find a new:
Which had he done, yet till he would have cry'd,
To make him work, until a third he spy'd.
Ambition, avarice, will nothing owe

To Heaven itself, unless it make them grow.
Though richly fed, man's care does still exceed :
Has but one mouth, yet would a thousand feed.
In wealth and honour, by fuch men poffeft,
If it encrease not, there is found no reft.
All their delight is while their wish comes in;
Sad when it stops, as there had nothing been.
'Tis ftrange men fhould neglect their present store,
And take no joy, but in pursuing more;.
No! though arriv'd at all the world can aim:
This is the mark and glory of our frame.

A foul capacious of the Deity,

Nothing, but he that made, can fatisfy.

*Alexander.

A thoufand

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