Sifter of faith, fair charity,
Shew me the wondrous man on high,
Tell how he fees the Godhead Three in One;
The bright conviction fills his eye,
His nobleft powers in deep proftration lie
At the mysterious throne.
"Forgive, he cries, ye faints below,
"The wavering and the cold affent
"I gave to themes divinely true;
"Can you admit the bleffed to repent?
"Eternal darkness vail the lines
"Of that unhappy book,
Where glimmering reason with falfe luftre fhines,
"What the celeftial meant!"
AM not concern'd to know
What to-morrow fate will do:
'Tis enough that I can say,
I've poffefs'd myself to day:
Then if haply midnight-death
Seize my flesh, and flop my breath,
Yet to-morrow I fhall be
Heir to the best part of me.
Glittering ftones, and golden things, Wealth and honours that have wings, Ever fluttering to be gone,
I could never call my own:
Riches that the world beftows,
She can take, and I can lofe;
But the treasures that are mine
Lie afar beyond her line.
When I view my fpacious foul,
And furvey myself awhole,
And enjoy myfelf alone,
I'm a kingdom of my own.
I've a mighty part within
That the world hath never feen,
Rich as Eden's happy ground,
And with choicer plenty crown'd.
Here on all the fhining boughs
Knowledge fair and useless grows;
On the fame young flowery tree
All the feafons you may fee;
Notions in the bloom of light,
Juft difclofing to the fight;
Here are thoughts of larger growth,
Ripening into folid truth;
Fruits refin'd, of noble taste;
Seraphs feed on such repast.
Here, in a green and fhady grove,
Streams of pleafure mix with love;
There beneath the fmiling fkies
Hills of contemplation rife;
Now upon fome shining top
Angels light, and call me up;
I rejoice to raife my feet,
Both rejoice when there we meet.
There are endlefs beauties more
Earth hath no refemblance for;
Nothing like them round the pole,
Nothing can defcribe the foul:
'Tis a region half unknown,
That has treasures of its own,
More remote from public view
Than the bowels of Peru;
Broader 'tis, and brighter far,
Then the golden Indies are;
Ships that trace the watery stage
Cannot coaft it in an age;
Harts, or horfes, ftrong and fleet,
Had they wings to help their feet,
Could not run it half way o'er
In ten thousand days and more.
Yet the filly wandering mind,
Loth to be too much confin'd,
Roves and takes her daily tours,
Coafting round the narrow shores,
Narrow fhores of flesh and sense,
Picking fhells and pebbles thence:
Or fhe fits at fancy's door,
Calling fhapes and fhadows to her,
Foreign vifits still receiving,
And t' herself a stranger living.
Never, never would the buy
Indian dut, or Tyrian dye,
Never trade abroad for more,
If fhe faw her native store;
If her inward worth were known',
She might ever live alone.
URANIA takes her morning flight
With an inimitable wing:
Through rifing deluges of dawning light
She cleaves her wonderous way,
She tunes immortal anthems to the growing day; Rapin gives her rules to fly, nor † Purcell notes to fing.
She nor inquires, nor knows, nor fears
Where lie the pointed rocks, or where th' ingulfing
Climbing the liquid mountains of the skies
She meets descending angels as fhe flies,
Nor afks them where their country lies,
Or where the fea-marks ftand.
Touch'd with an empyreal ray
She fprings, unerring, upward to eternal day,
Spreads her white fails aloft, and fteers,
With bold and safe attempt, to the celestial land.
*A French Critick.
An English master of music.
Whilft little skiffs along the mortal fhores
With humble toil in order creep,
Coasting in fight of one another's oars,
Nor venture through the boundless deep,
Such low pretending fouls are they
Who dwell inclos'd in solid orbs of skull;
Plodding along their fober way,
The fnail o'ertakes them in their wildest play,
While the poor labourers sweat to be correctly dull.
Give me the chariot whofe diviner wheels
Mark their own rout, and unconfin'd
Bound o'er the everlasting hills,
And lofe the clouds below, and leave the ftars behind,
Give me the Mufe whofe generous force,
Impatient of the reins,
Pursues an unattempted course,
Breaks all the criticks iron chains,
And bears to paradife the raptur'd mind.
There Milton dwells: The mortal fung
Themes not prefum'd by mortal tongue;
New terrors, or new glories, fhine
In every page, and flying scenes divine
Surprise the wondering fenfe, and draw our fouls along.
Behold his Mufe fent out t' explore
The unapparent deep where waves of Chaos roar,
And realms of night unknown before.
She trac'd a glorious path unknown,
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