13

Some simpler secret, that, yet unreveal'd,
Amidst contending systems lies conceal'd.
A book, perhaps, beyond the vulgar page,
Removes at once the lumber of an age:
Truth is presented; strikes upon our eyes;
We feel conviction, and we fear surprise:
We gaze, admire, dispute, and then the baw!-
"Fly from Enthusiasm"-that answers all.
Now, if my friend has patience to inquire,
Let us awhile from noisy scenes retire;
Let us examine sense, as well as sound,
And search the truth, the nature, and the ground.
'Tis will, imagination, and desire
Of thinking life, that constitute the fire,
The force, by which the strong volitions drive,
And form the scenes to which we are alive.
What! tho', unsprouted into outward shape,
The points of thought our grosser sight escape?
Nor bulky forms in prominent array
Their secret cogitative cause betray?
Once fix the will, and nature must begin
T'unfold its active rudiments within;
Mind governs matter, and it must obey:
To all its opening forms desire is key:
Nor mind nor matter's properties are lost,
As that shall mould, this must appear embost.
Imagination, trifling as it seems,

Big with effects, its own creation teems.
We think our wishes and desires a play,
And sport important faculties away:
Edg'd are the tools with which we trifle thus,
And carve out deep realities for us.
Intention, roving into Nature's field,
Dwells in that system which it means to build,
Itself the centre of its wish'd-for plan;
For where the heart of man is-there is man.
Ev'ry created, understanding mind
Moves as its own self-bias is inclin'd:
From God's free spirit breathed forth to be,
It must of all necessity be free;

Must have the pow'r to kindle and inflame
The subject-matter of its mental aim:
Whither it bend the voluntary view,
Realities, or fictions, to pursue:
Whether it raise its nature, or degrade,
To truth substantial, or to phantom shade,
Falshood or truth accordingly obtains;
That only which it wills to gain--it gains:
Good-if the good be vigorously sought,
And ill-if that be first resolv'd in thought.
All is one good, that nothing can remove,
While held in union, harmony, and love.
But when a selfish separating pride

Will break all bounds, and good from good divide,
"T is then extinguish'd, like a distant spark,
And pride self-doom'd into its joyless dark.
The miscreant desire turns good to ill,
In its own origin, the evil will:

A fact, that fills all histories of old,

That glares in proof, while conscious we behold
The bliss, bespoken by our Maker's voice,
Fixt, or perverted by a man's own choice.
Now when the mind determines thus its force,
The man becomes enthusiast of course.
What is enthusiasm? What can it be,
But thought enkindled to an high degree?
That may, whatever be its ruling turn,
Right, or not right, with equal ardour burn.
It must be therefore various in its kind,
As objects vary, that engage the mind:

When to religion we confine the word,
What use of language can be more absurd?
'Tis just as true, that many words beside,
As love, or zeal, are only thus apply'd:
To ev'ry kind of life they all belong;
Men may be eager, tho' their views be wrong:
And hence the reason, why the greatest foes
To true religious earnestness are those
Who fire their wits upon a diff'rent theme,
Deep in some false enthusiastic scheme.

One man politely, seiz'd with classic rage,
Dotes on old Rome, and its Augustan age;
On those great souls who then, or then abouts,
Made in their state such riots and such routs.
He fancies all magnificent and grand,
Under this mistress of the world's command:
Scarce can his breast the sad reverse abide,
The dame despoil'd of all her glorious pride:
Time, an old Goth, advancing to consume
Immortal gods, and once eternal Rome;
When the plain gospel spread its artless ray,
And rude unsculptur'd fishermen had sway;
Who spar'd no idol, tho' divinely carv'd,
Tho' Art, and Muse, and shrine-engraver, starv'd:
Who sav'd poor wretches, and destroy'd, alas!
The vital marble, and the breathing brass.
Where does all sense to him, and reason, shine?
Behold-in Tully's rhetoric divine!
Tully! enough-high o'er the Alps he's gone,
To tread the ground that Tully trod upon;
Haply to find his statue, or his bust,
Or medal green'd with Ciceronian rust:
Perchance the rostrum-yea, the very wood,
Whereon this elevated genius stood;
When forth on Catiline, as erst he spoke,
The thunder of quousque tandem broke.

Well may this grand enthusiast deride
The dulness of a pilgrim's humbler pride,
Who paces to behold that part of Earth,
Which to the Saviour of the world gave birth;
To see the sepulchre from whence he rose;
Or view the rocks that rented at his woes;
Whom Pagan reliques have no force to charm,
Yet e'en a modern crucifix can warm:
The sacred signal who intent upon,
Thinks on the sacrifice that hung thereon,
Another's heated brain is painted o'er
With ancient hieroglyphic marks of yore:
He old Egyptian mummies can explain,
And raise 'em up almost to life again;
Can into deep antique recesses pry,
And tell, of all, the wherefore and the why;
How this philosopher, and that, has thought,
Believ'd one thing, and quite another taught;
Can rules, of Grecian sages long forgot,
Clear up, as if they liv'd upon the spot.

What bounds to nostrum? Moses, and the Jews,
Observ'd this learned legislator's views,
While Israel's leader purposely conceal'd
Truths, which his whole economy reveal'd;
No heav'n disclos'd, but Canaan's fertile stage,
And no for-ever-but a good old age;
Whilst the well untaught people, kept in awe
By meanless types, and unexplained law,
Pray'd to their local god to grant a while
The future state, of corn, and wine, and oil;
"Till, by a late captivity set free,
Their destin'd errour they began to see;
Dropt the Mosaic scheme, to teach their youth
Dramatic Job, and Babylonish truth.

To soar aloft on obeliskal clouds; To dig down deep into the dark-for shrouds; To vex old matters, chronicled in Greek, While those of his own parish are to seek; What can come forth from such an antic taste, But a Clarissimus Enthusiast?

Fraught with discoveries so quaint, so new, So deep, so smart, so ipse-dixit true, See arts and empires, ages, books, and men, Rising, and falling, as he points the pen: See frauds and forgeries, if ought surpass, Of nobler stretch, the limits of his class, Not found within that summary of laws, Conjecture, tinsel'd with its own applause. Where erudition so unblest prevails, Saints, and their lives, are legendary tales; Christians, a brain-sick, visionary crew, That read the Bible with a Bible view, And thro' the letter humbly hope to trace The living word, the spirit, and the grace. It matters not, whatever be the state That full-bent will and strong desires create; Where'er they fall, where'er they love to dwell, They kindle there their Heaven, or their Hell; The chosen scene surrounds them as their own, All else is dead, insipid, or unknown. However poor and empty be the sphere, 'Tis all, if inclination centre there:

Its

own enthusiasts each system knows,
Down to lac'd fops, and powder-sprinkled beaus.
Great wits, affecting, what they call, to think,
That deep immers'd in speculation sink,
Are great enthusiasts, howe'er refin'd,
Whose brain-bred notions so inflame the mind,
That, during the continuance of its heat,
The summum bonum is-its own conceit:
Critics, with all their learning recondite,
Poets, that sev'rally be-mused write;
The virtuosos, whether great or small;
The connoisseurs, that know the worth of all;
Philosophers, that dictate sentiments,
And politicians, wiser than events;

Such, and such-like, come under the same law,
Altho' their heat be from a flame of straw;
Altho' in one absurdity they chime,
To make religious entheasm a crime.

Endless to say how many of their trade
Ambition, pride, and self-conceit have made.
If one, the chief of such a num'rous name,
Let the great scholar justify his claim.
Self-love, in short, wherever it is found,
Tends to its own enthusiastic ground;

With the same force that goodness mounts above,
Sinks, by its own enormous weight, self-love-
By this the wav'ring libertine is prest,
And the rank atheist totally possest:
Atheists are dark enthusiasts indeed,
Whose fire enkindles like the smoking weed:
Lightless, and dull, the clouded fancy burns,

Wild hopes, and fears, still flashing out by turns.
Averse to Heav'n, amid the horrid gleam
They quest annihilation's monstrous theme,
On gloomy depths of nothingness to pore,
'Till all be none, and being be no more.

The sprightlier infidel, as yet more gay,
Fires off the next ideas in his way,
The dry fag-ends of ev'ry obvious doubt;
And puffs and blows for fear they should go out.
Boldly resolv'd, against conviction steel'd,
Nor inward truth, nor outward fact, to yicid;

Urg'd with a thousand proofs, he stands unmov'd
Fast by himself, and scorns to be out-prov'd;
To his own reason loudly he appeals,
No saint more zealous for what God reveals.
Think not that you are no enthusiast then:
All men are such, as sure as they are men.
The thing itself is not at all to blame:
'Tis in each state of human life the same.
The fiery bent, the driving of the will,
That gives the prevalence to good, or ill.
You need not go to cloisters, or to cells,
Monks, or field preachers, to see where it dwells:
It dwells alike in balls and masquerades;
Courts, camps, and 'Changes, it alike pervades.
There be enthusiasts, who love to sit
In coffee-houses, and cant out their wit.
The first in most assemblies would you see,
Mark out the first haranguer, and that's he:
Nay 'tis what silent meetings cannot hide,
It may be notic'd by its mere outside.
Beaus and coquets would quit the magic dress,
Did not this mutual instinct both possess.
The mercer, taylor, bookseller, grows rich,
Because fine clothes, fine writings can bewitch.
A Cicero, a Shaftsbury, a Bayle,

How quick would they diminish in their sale?
Four fifths of all their beauties who would heed,
Had they not keen enthusiasts to read?

That which concerns us therefore is to see What species of enthusiasts we be; On what materials the fiery source Of thinking life shall execute its force: Whether a man shall stir up love, or hate, From the mix'd medium of this present state; Shall choose with upright heart and mind to rise, And reconnoitre Heav'n's primeval skies; Or down to lust and rapine to descend, Brute for a time, and demon at its end. Neither perhaps, the wary sceptics cry, And wait till Nature's river shall run dry; With sage reserve not passing o'er to good, Of time, lost time, are borne along the flood; Content to think such thoughtless thinking right, And common sense enthusiastic flight.

1

Fly from Enthusiasm ?" Yes, fly from air, And breathe it more intensely for your care. Learn, that, whatever phantoms you embrace, Your own essential property takes place: Bend all your wits against it, 't is in vain, It must exist, or sacred, or profane. For flesh, or spirit, wisdom from above, Or from this world, an anger, or a love, Must have its fire within the human soul: 'Tis ours to spread the circle, or control; In clouds of sensual appetites to smoke, While smoth'ring lusts the rising conscience choke; Or, from ideal glimmerings, to raise, Showy and faint, a superficial blaze; Where subtle reasons, with their lambent flames, Untouch'd the things, creep round and round the Or-with a true celestial ardour fir'd, Such as at first created man inspir'd, To will, and to persist to will, the light, The love, the joy, that makes an angel bright, That makes a man, in sight of God, to shine With all the lustre of a life divine.

[names;

When true religion kindles up the fire, Who can condemn the vigorous desire? That burns to reach the end for which 't was giv'n, To shine, and sparkle in its native Heav'n?

What else was our creating Father's view?
His image lost why sought he to renew?
Why all the scenes of love that Christians know,
But to attract us from this poor below?
To save us from the fatal choice of ill,
And bless the free co-operating will?

Blame not enthusiasm, if rightly bent;
Or blame of saints the holiest intent,
The strong persuasion, the confirm'd belief,
Of all the comforts of a soul the chief;
That God's continual will, and work to save,
Teach, and inspire, attend us to the grave:
That they, who in his faith and love abide,
Find in his spirit an immediate guide:
This is no more a fancy, or a whim,

Than that we live, and move, and are in him:
Let Nature, or let Scripture, be the ground,
Here is the seat of true religion found.
An earthly life, as life itself explains,
The air and spirit of this world maintains:
As plainly does an heav'nly life declare,
An heav'nly spirit, and an holy air.

What truth more plainly does the gospel teach,
What doctrine all its missionaries prooch,
Than this, that ev'ry good desire and thought
Is in us by the Holy Spirit wrought?
For this the working faith prepares the mind;
Hope is expectant, charity resign'd:
From this blest guide the moment we depart,
What is there left to sanctify the heart?
Reason and morals? And where live they most?
In Christian comfort, or in stoic boast?
Reason may paint unpractis'd truth exact,
And morals rigidly maintain-no fact:
This is the pow'r that raises them to worth,
That calls their rip'ning excellencies forth.
Not ask for this?-May Heav'n forbid the vain,
The sad repose!-What virtue can remain?
What virtue wanting, if, within the breast,
This faith, productive of all virtue, rest,
That God is always present to impart
His light and spirit to the willing heart?

He, who can say my willing heart began
To learn this lesson, may be christen'd man;
Before, a son of elements and earth;
But now, a creature of another birth;
Whose true regenerated soul revives,
And life from him, that ever lives, derives;
Freed by compendious faith from all the pangs
Of long-fetch'd motives, and perplex'd harangues;
One word of promise stedfastly embrac'd,
His heart is fix'd, its whole dependence plac'd:
The hope is rais'd, that cannot but succeed,
And found infallibility indeed:

Then flows the love that no distinction knows
Of system, sect, or party, friends, or foes;
Nor loves by, halves; but, faithful to its call,
Stretches its whole benevolence to all;
It's universal wish, th' angelic scene,
That God within the heart of man may reign;
The true beginning to the final whole,
Of Heav'n, and heav'nly life, within the soul.
This faith, and this dependence, once destroy'd,
Mau is made helpless, and the gospel void.
He that is taught to seek elsewhere for aid,
Be who he will the teacher, is betray'd:
Be what it will the system, he's enslav'd;
Man by man's Maker only can be sav'd.
In this one fountain of all help to trust,
What is more easy, natural, and just?

Talk what we will of morals, and of bliss,
Our safety has no other source but this:
Led by this faith, when man forsakes his sin,
The gate stands open to his God within:
There, in the temple of his soul, is found,
Of inward central life, the holy ground;
The sacred scene of piety and peace,
Where new-born Christians feel the life's increase;
Blessing, and blest, revive to pristine youth,
And worship God in spirit, and in truth.

Had not the soul this origin, this root,
What else were man but a two-handed brute?
What but a devil, had he not possest
The seed of Heav'n, replanted in his breast?
The spark of potency, the ray of light,
His call, his help, his fitness to excite
The strength and vigour of celestial air,

Faith, and the breath of living Christians, pray'r:
Not the lip-service, nor the mouthing waste
Of heartless words, without an inward taste;
But the true kindling of desirous love,
That draws the willing graces from above;
The thirst of good that naturally pants
After that light and spirit which it wants;
In whose blest union quickly coincide,
To ask, and have, to want, and be supply'd.
Then does the faithful suppliant discern
More of true good, more of true nature learn,
Than from a thousand volumes on the shelf,
In one meek intercourse with truth itself.
All that the gospel ever could ordain,
All that the church's daily rites maintain,
Is to keep up, to strengthen, and employ,
This lively faith, this principle of joy;
This hope and this possession of the end,
Which all her pious institutes intend;
Fram'd to convey, when freed from wordy strife,
The truth, and spirit, of an inward life;
Wherein th' eternal Parent of all Good
By his own influence is understood,
That man may learn infallibly aright,
Blest in his presence, seeing in his light,
To gain the habit of a godlike mind,
To seek his holy spirit, and to find.

In this enthusiasm, advanc'd thus high,
'T is a true Christian wish, to live, and die.

A PARAPHRASE ON THE LORD'S
PRAYER.

Our Father which art in Heaven-
FATHER-to think of his paternal care

Is a most sweet encouragement to pray'r.
Our Father-all men's Father; to remind
That we should love, as brethren, all mankind.
Which art in Heaven-assures an heav'nly birth
To all his loving children upon Earth.

Hallowed be thy name.

Name-is expressive of a real thing.
With all the pow'rs of which it is the spring.
Thy name-is therefore to be understood
Thy blessed Self, thou Fountain of all Good.
Be hallowed-be lov'd, obey'd, ador'd,
By inward pray'r habitu'lly implor'd.

Thy kingdom come→→

Kingdom of grace, at present, seed and root Of future glory's everlasting fruit.

Thy kingdom-not the world's war-shifted scene, Of pomp and show, but love's all peaceful reign. Come-rule within our hearts, by grace divine, Till all the kingdoms of the world be thine.

Thy will be done in Earth as it is in Heaven.

Thy will-to ev'ry good that boundless pow'rs Can raise, if we conform to it with ours. Be done in Earth-where doing of his will Promotes all good, and overcomes all ill. As 't is in Heav'n-where all the blest above Serve, with one will, the living source of love.

Give us this day our daily bread.
Give us-implies dependence, whilst we live,
Not on ourselves, but what he wills to give.
This day-cuts off all covetous desire

Of more and more, than real wants require.
Our daily bread-whatever we shall need,
And rightly use, to make it ours indeed.

And forgive us our trespasses-
Forgivebetokens penitential sense,
And hope for pardon, of confess'd offence.
Us-takes in all, but hints the special part
Of ev'ry one, to look to his own heart.
Our trespasses-which the forgiving grace,
By our sincere conversion, must efface.

As we forgive them that trespass against us.
As we forgive-because the fairest claim
To mercy pray'd for is to show the same.
And we who pray should all be minded thus,
To pardon them, that trespass against us.
Without forgiving, Christ was pleas'd to add,
Our own forgiveness never can be had.

And lead us not into temptation.
Temptation rises in this world, the field
Of good and evil, and incites to yield.
Lead us not into it becomes the voice
Of all, who would not go to it by choice.
Whose resignation, mix'd with meek distrust
Of their own strength, is more securely just.

But deliver us from evil

But-when temptation will, of course, arise, The Hand that leads can minister supplies. Deliver us-instructs the soul to place Its firm reliance on protecting Grace. From evil-from the greatest evil, sin;

The only one not to be safely in.

Amen.

Amen is truth, in Hebrew, and consent To truth received, by its long use, is meant. Jesus, himself the truth, the living way, The faithful witness, teaches thus to pray. Again should we be learning, and again, Till life becomes a practical amen.

A DIVINE PASTORAL.

THE Lord is my shepherd, my guardian, and guide;

Whatsoever I want he will kindly provide:
Ever since I was born, it is he that hath crown'd
The life that he gave me with blessings all round:
While yet on the breast a poor infant I hung,
E'er time had unloosen'd the strings of my tongue,
He gave me the help which I could not then ask;
Now therefore to thank him shall be my tongue's
task.

Thro' my tenderest years, with as tender a care,
My soul, like a lamb, in his bosom he bare;
To the brook he would lead me, whene'er I had
need,

And point out the pasture where best I might feed: No harm could approach me; for he was my shield From the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the field;

The wolf, to devour me, would oftentimes prowl, But the Lord was my shepherd, and guarded my soul.

How oft in my youth have I wander'd astray? And still he hath brought me back to the right way!

When, lost in dark errour, no path I could meet, His word, like a lantern, hath guided my feet: What wond'rous escapes to his kindness I owe! When, rash and unthinking, I sought my own woe: My soul had, long since, been gone down to the deep,

If the Lord had not watched, when I was asleep.

Whensoe'er, at a distance, he sees me afraid, He skips o'er the mountain, and comes to my aid; Then leads me back gently, and bids me abide In the midst of his flock, and feed close by his side: How safe in his keeping, how happy and free, Could I always remain where he bids me to be! Yea blest are the people, and happy thrice told,

glory.

Thine is the kingdom-the essential right To sov'reign rule, and majesty, and might. Thine is the pow'r-to bless, and to redeem; All else is weak whatever it may seem. Thine is the glory---manifestly found In all thy works, the whole creation round.

For ever and ever.

For ever---from an unbeginning source,
Almighty Love pursues its endless course.
Through all its scenes, Eternity displays
New wonders to our heav'nly Father's praise.
King, Father, Leader, Judge, his hallow'd name
Was, is, and ever will be, still the same.

While blest with his presence, the valleys beneath
A sweet smelling savour incessantly breathe:
The delight is renew'd of each sensible thing;
And behold in their bloom all the beauty of spring.

Or, if a quite different scene he prepare, And we march thro' the wilderness, barren and bare;

By his wonderful works we see plainly enough, That the Earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof:

If we hunger, and thirst, and are ready to faint, A relief in due season prevents our complaint; The rain, at his word, brings us food from the sky,

And rocks become rivers when we are adry.

From the fruitfullest hill to the barrenest rock, The Lord hath made all for the sake of his flock; And the flock, in return, the Lord always confess In plenty their joy, and their hope in distress: He beholds in our welfare his glory display'd, And we find ourselves blest in obedience repay'd; With a cheerful regard we attend to his ways; Our attention is pray'r, and our cheerfulness praise.

The Lord is my shepherd; what then shall I fear?

What danger can frighten me whilst he is near? Not, when the time calls me to walk thro' the vale Of the Shadow of Death, shall my heart ever fail; Tho' afraid, of myself, to pursue the dark way, Thy rod, and thy staff, be my comfort and stay; For I know, by thy guidance, when once it is past, To a fountain of life it will bring me at last.

The Lord is become my salvation and song, His blessing shall follow me all my life long: Whatsoever condition he places me in,

I am sure 't is the best it could ever have been: For the Lord he is good, and his mercies are sure; He only afflicts us in order to cure:

The Lord will I praise while I have any breath; Be content all my life, and resign'd at my death.

A THANKSGIVING HYMN.

O COME let us sing to the Lord a new song,
And praise him to whom all our praises belong;
While we enter his temple, with gladness and
joy,

Let a psalm of thanksgiving our voices employ:
O come, to his name, let us joyfully sing;
For the Lord is a great and omnipotent king:
By his word were the Heav'ns, and the host of
them made,
[laid.

And of all the round world the foundation he

He plac'd, in the centre, yon beautiful Sun; And the orbs that, about him, due distances run; To receive, as they haste their vast rounds to complete,

Of a lustre so dazzling, the light and the heat. What language of men can the brightness unfold Of his presence, whose creature they cannot be

hold?

What a light is his light! of its infinite day

The Sun, by his splendour, can paint but a ray,

The Sun, in the evening, is out of our sight, And the Moon is enlighten'd to govern the night: His power we behold, in yon high arched roof, When the stars, in their order, shine forth in its proof: [see,

While the works, so immense, of thy fingers we And reflect on our littleness, Lord, what are we? Yet, while 't is our glory thy Name to adore, Even angels of Heav'n cannot boast any more.

Praise the Lord, upon earth, all ye nations and

lands,

Ye seasons and times, that fulfill his commands; Let his works, in all places, his goodness proclaim, And the people, who see them, give thanks to his [brings

name:

For the good, which he wills to communicate, Into visible form his invisible things: [ordain, Their appearance may change, as his law shall But the goodness that forms will for ever remain.

What a world of good things does all nature

produce, [use? Which the Lord, in his mercy, hath made for our The Earth, by his blessing bestow'd on its soil, By his rain, and his sunshine, gives corn, wine, and oil:

Let men to adore him then thankfully join, When fill'd with his bread, or made glad by his wine;

As in wealth, so in gratitude, let them abound, And the voice of his praise be heard all the world round.

They, that o'er the wide ocean their bus'ness

pursue,

Can tell to his wonders what praises are due:
When tost, to and fro, by the huge swelling wave,
They rise up to Heav'n, or sink down to the grave;
Dismay'd with the tempest, that mocks at their
skill,

They cry to the Lord, and he maketh it still:
His works in remembrance ye mariners keep,
And praise him whose judgments are like the
great deep.

He stilleth the waves of the boisterous sea, And the tumults of men, more outrageous than they:

Thy goodness, O Lord, let the people confess, Whom wars do not waste, nor proud tyrants op

press;

And devoutly contemplate thy wonderful ways, Thou that turnest the fierceness of men to thy praise: [crease,

Then lands, in due season, shall yield their inAnd the Lord give his people the blessings of peace.

The Lord he is high, far above all our thought→→ How then shall we worship him so as we ought? What tongue can express, or what words can show forth

The praise which is due to his excellent worth?
Ye righteous, and ye that in virtue excell,
Begin the glad task which becomes you so well;
The Lord shall be pleas'd when he heareth your
voice,

And in his own works shall th' Almighty rejoice.

The Lord hath his dwelling far out of our view, And yet humbleth himself to behold what we do;