And re-admits us, thro' the guardian hand
Of elder brothers, to our Father's throne;
Who hears our Advocate, and, thro' his wounds
Beholding man, allows that tender name.
'Tis this makes Christian triumph a command:
'Tis this makes joy a duty to the wise;
'Tis impious in a good man to be sad.
See thou, LORENZO! where hangs all our hope!
Touch'd by the Cross, we live ; or, more than die;
That touch which touch'd not angels; more divine
Than that which touch'd confusion into form,
And darkness into glory; partial touch!
Ineffably pre-eminent regard!
Sacred to man, and sov'reign thro' the whole
Long golden chain of miracles, which hangs
From heav'n thro' all duration, and supports
In one illustrious, and amazing plan,
Thy welfare nature! and thy God's renown;
That touch, with charm celestial, heals the soul
Diseas'd, drives pain from guilt, lights life in death,
Turns earth to keav'n, to heav'nly thrones transforms
The ghastly ruins of the mould'ring tomb.
Dost ask me when? When he who dy'd returns;
Returns, how chang'd! Where then the man of woe?
In glory's terrors all the godhead burns ;
And all his courts, exhausted by the tide
Of deities triumphant in his train,
Leave a stupendous solitude in heav'n;
Replenisht soon, replenisht with increase
Of pomp, and multitude; a radiant band
Of angels new; of angels from the tomb.
Is this by fancy thrown remote ? and rise
Dark doubts between the promise, and event?
I send thee not to volumes for thy cure ;
Read Nature; Nature is a friend to truth;
Nature is Christian; preaches to mankind;
And bids dead matter aid us in our creed.
Hast thou ne'er seen the comet's flaming flight?
Th' illustrious stranger passing, terror sheds
On gazing nations, from his fiery train
Of length enormous, takes his ample round
Thro' depths of Ether; coasts unnumber'd worlds,
Of more than solar glory; doubles wide
Heav'n's mighty cape; and then revisits earth,
From the long travel of a thousand years.
Thus, at the destin'd period, shall return
HE, once on earth, who bids the comet blaze:
And, with Him, all our triumph o'er the tomb.
Nature is dumb on this important point;
Or hope precarious in low whisper breathes;
Faith speaks aloud, distinct; ev'n adders hear;
But turn, and dart into the dark again.
Faith builds a bridge across the gulph of death,
To break the shock blind nature cannot shun,
And lands thought smoothly on the farther shore.
Death's terror is the mountain faith removes ;
That mountain barrier between man and peace.
'Tis faith disarms destruction; and absolves
From ev'ry clam'rous charge, the guiltless tomb.
Why disbelieve? LORENZO!" Reason bids,
"All-sacred reason."-Hold her sacred still;
Nor shalt thou want a rival in thy flame:
All-sacred reason! source, and soul, of all
Demanding praise, on earth, or earth above!
My heart is thine: Deep in its inmost folds,
Live thou with life; live dearer of the two.
Wear I the blessed Cross, by fortune stampt
On passive nature, before thought was born?
My birth's blind bigot! fir'd with local zeal!
No; reason re-baptized me when adult;
Weigh'd true, and false, in her impartial scale;
My heart became the convert of my head;
And made that choice, which once was but
"On argument alone my faith is built:"
Reason pursu'd is faith; and, unpursu'd
Where proof invites, 'tis reason, then, no more:
And such our proof, That, or our faith, is right,
Or reason lyes, and heav'n designed it wrong:
Absolve we This? What, then, is blasphemy?
Fond as we are, and justly fond, of faith, Reason, we grant, demands our first regard; The mother honour'd, as the daughter dear. Reason the root, fair faith is but the flower; The fading flower shall die; but reason lives Immortal, as her Father in the skies. When faith is virtue, reason makes it so. Wrong not the Christian; think not reason yours: 'Tis reason our great Mafter holds so dear; 'Tis reason's injur'd rights His wrath resents;
'Tis reason's voice obey'd His glories crown;
To give lost reason life, He pour'd his own:
Believe, and shew the reason of a man;
Believe, and taste the pleasure of a God-
Believe, and look with triumph on the tomb :
Thro' reason's wounds alone thy faith can die;
Which dying, tenfold terror gives to death,
And dips in venom his twice-mortal sting.
Learn hence what honours, what loud paans, due
To those, who push our antidote aside;
Those boasted friends to reason, and to man,
Whose fatal love stabs ev'ry joy, and leaves
Death's terror heighten'd, gnawing on his heart.
These pompous sons of reason idoliz'd
And vilify'd at once; of reason dead,
Then deify'd, as monarchs were of old
What conduct plants proud laurels on their brow?
While love of truth thro' all their camp resounds,
They draw pride's curtain o'er the noon-tide ray,
Spike up their inch of reason, on the point
Of philosophic wit, call'd Argument ;
And then, exulting in their taper, cry,
"Behold the sun :" And, Indian-like, adore.
Talk they of morals? O thou bleeding Love!
Thou maker of new morals to mankind!
The grand morality is love of Thee.
As wise as SOCRATES, if such they were,
(Nor will they 'bate of that sublime renown)
As wise as SOCRATES, might justly stand
The definition of a modern fool.
A CHRISTIAN is the highest stile of man:
And is there, who the blessed Cross wipes off,
As a foul blot from his dishonour'd brow?
If angels tremble, 'tis at such a sight:
The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge,
More struck with grief or wonder, who can tell?
Ye sold to sense! ye citizens of earth!
(For such alone the Christian banner fly)
Know ye how wise your choice, how great your gain? Behold the picture of earth's happiest man: "He calls his wish, it comes; he sends it back, "And says, he call'd another; that arrives, "Meets the same welcome; yet he still calls on; "Till one calls him, who varies not his call, "But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound, "Till nature dies, and judgment sets him free; "A freedom far less welcome than his chain." But grant man happy; grant him happy long; Add to life's highest prize her latest hour; That hour, so late, is nimble in approach,
That, like a post, comes on in full career:
How swift the shuttle flies, that weaves thy shroud!
Where is the fable of thy former years?
Thrown down the gulph of time; as far from Thee
As they had ne'er been thine; the day in hand,
Like a bird struggling to get loose, is going;
Scarce now possess'd, so suddenly 'tis gone;
And each swift moment fled, is death advanc'd
By strides as swift: Eternity is All;
And whose Eternity? Who triumphs there?
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