And fhall for ever live

In all the glories that a God can give Or a created being 's able to receive.

At this the architects divine on high
Innumerable thrones of glory raise,
On which they, in appointed order, place,
The human coheirs of eternity,

And with united hymns the God incarnate praise ::
O holy, holy, holy, Lord,.

Eternal God, Almighty One,

Be Thou for ever, and be Thou alone,
By all thy creatures, conftantly adored ! !
Ineffable, co-equal Three,

Who from non-entity gave birth

To angels and to men, to Heaven and to earth,
Yet always waft Thyself, and wilt for ever be..
But for thy mercy, we had ne'er poffeft
These thrones, and this immenfe felicity;.
Could ne'er have been fo infinitely bleft!
Therefore all Glory, Power, Dominion, Majesty,
To Thee, O Lamb of God, to Thee,
For ever longer, than for ever, be !

Then the incarnate. Godhead turns his face.
To thofe upon the left, and cries,
(Almighty vengeance flafling in his eyes);
Ye impious, unbelieving race,
To thofe eternal torments go,,
Z

}

}

Prepar'd

Prepar'd for thofe rebellious fons of light,
In burning darknefs and in flaming night,
Which fhall no limit or ceffation know,
But always are extreme, and always will be fo.
The final fentence paft, a dreadful cloud
Inclofing all the miferable crowd,

A mighty hurricane of thunder rofe,
And hurl'd them all into a lake of fire,
Which never, never, never can expire;
The vaft abyss of endless woes:
Whilft with their God the righteous mount on high,
In glorious triumph paffing through the sky,
To joys immenfe, and everlasting extafy.

REASON:

UN

A POE M.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1700.

Nhappy man! who, through fucceffive years, From early youth to life's laft childhood errs: No fooner born but proves a foe to truth; For infant Reafon is o'erpower'd in youth. The cheats of fenfe will half our learning fhare; And pre-conceptions all our knowledge are, Reafon, 't is true, fhould over fenfe prefide: Correct our notions, and our judgments guide; But falfe opinions, rooted in the mind, Hoodwink the foul, and keep our Reafon blind. Reafon 's a taper, which but faintly burns; A languid flame, that glows, and dies by turns:

We

We fee 't a little while, and but a little way;
We travel by its light, as men by day:
But quickly dying, it forfakes us foon,
Like morning-stars, that never stay till noon.
The foul can fcarce above the body rise;
And all we fee is with corporeal eyes.

Life now does fcarce one glimpse of light display;
We mourn in darkness, and despair of day:
That natural night, once dreft with orient beams,
Is now diminish'd, and a twilight feems;
A mifcellaneous compofition, made

Of night and day, of sunshine and of shade.
Through an uncertain medium now we look,
And find that falfehood, which for truth we took :
So rays projected from the eastern skies,

Shew the falfe day before the fun can rife.

That little knowledge now which man obtains,
From outward objects, and from sense he gains:
He, like a wretched flave muft plod and fweat;
By day muft toil, by night that toil repeat;
And yet, at laft, what little fruit he gains!
A beggar's harvest, glean'd with mighty pains!
The paffions, ftill predominant, will rule
Ungovern'd, rude, not bred in Reafon's fchool;
Our understanding they with darkness fill,
Caufe ftrong corruptions, and pervert the will.
On these the foul, as on fome flowing tide,
Muft fit, and on the raging billows ride,
Hurried away; for how can be withstood
Th' impetuous torrent of the boiling blood?

Begone, falfe hopes, for all our learning 's vain;
Can we be free where these the rule maintain ?
These are the tools of knowledge which we ufe;
The fpirits heated, will ftrange things produce.
Tell me, whoe'er the paffions could control,
Or from the body disengage the soul :
Till this is done, our best pursuits are vain,
To conquer truth, and unmix'd knowledge gain :
Through all the bulky volumes of the dead,

1

}

And through those books that modern times have bred,
With pain we travel, as through moorish ground,
Where scarce one ufeful plant is ever found;
O'er-run with errors, which fo thick appear,
Our search proves vain, no spark of truth is there.
What's all the noify jargon of the schools,
But idle nonfenfe of laborious fopls,
Who fetter Reason with perplexing rules?
What in Aquina's bulky works are found,
Does not enlighten Reason, but confound
Who travels Scotus' fwelling tomes, fhall find
A cloud of darkness rifing on the mind;
In controverted points can Reason sway,
When paffion, or conceit, ftill hurries us away !..
Thus his new notions Sherlock would inftil,
And clear the greatest mysteries at will;
But, by unlucky wit, perplex'd them more,..
And made them darker than they were before.
South foon oppos'd him, out of christian zeal;
Shewing how well he could dispute and rail.

How

How shall we e'er discover which is right,
When both fo eagerly maintain the fight?
Each does the other's arguments deride;
Each has the church and scripture on his fide.
The sharp, ill-natur'd combat 's but a jest;
Both may be wrong; one, perhaps, errs the least.
How fhall we know which articles are true,
The old ones of the church, or Burnet's new?
In paths uncertain and unfafe he treads,
Who blindly follows other fertile heads :
What fure, what certain mark have we to know,
The right or wrong, 'twixt Burgess, Wake, and Howe?
Should unturn'd nature crave the medic art,
What health can that contentious tribe impart?
Every phyfician writes a different bill,

And gives no other Reafon but his will.
No longer boast your art, ye impious race;
Let wars 'twixt Alcalies and Acids ceafe;
And proud G-11 with Colbatch be at peace.
Gibbons and Radcliffe do but rarely guess;
To-day they've good, to-morrow, no fuccefs.
Ev'n Garth and * Maurus fometimes fhall prevail,
When Gibson, learned Hannes, and Tyfon, fail.
And, more than once we 've seen, that blundering Sloane,
Miffing the gout, by chance has hit the stone;
The patient does the lucky error find:

A cure he works, though not the cure defign'd.
Custom, the world's great idol, we adore;
And knowing this, we seek to know no more.
* Sir Richard Blackmore.