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Sensible Appearances affect most men much more than abstract reasonings; and we daily fee Bodies drop around us, but the Soul is invifible. The power which Inclination has over the Judgment, is greater than can be well conceived by thofe that have not had an experience of it; ard of what numbers is it the fad intereft, that fouls fhould not furvive! The Heathen world confefs'd, that they rather Hoped than firmly Believed immortality; and how many Heathens have we still amongst us? The fa

cred page affures us, that life and immortality is brought

to light by the gospel: but by how many is the gospel rejected, or overlook'd! From thefe confiderations, and from my being, accidently, privy to the fentiments of fome particular perfons, I have been long perfuaded, that moft, if not all, our Infidels (whatever name the take, and whatever scheme for argument's fake, and to keep themselves in countenance they patronize) are fupported in their deplorable error, by fome doubt of their Immortality, at the bottom. And I am fatisfied, that men once thoroughly convinced of their immortality, are not far from being Chriftians. For it is hard to conceive, that a man fully conscious eternal pain or happinefs will certainly be his lot, thould not earnestly' and impartially, inquire after the fureft means of escaping the one, and fecuring the other. And of such an earnest and impartial enquiry, I well know the confequence.

Here, therefore, in proof of this moft fundamental truth, fome p'ain arguments are offer'd; arguments derived from principles which infidels admit in common with believers; arguments, which appear to me altogether irrefiftible; and fuch as I am fatisfied will have great weight with all who give themselves the small trouble of looking seriously into their own bofoms, and of obferving, without any tolerable degree of attention, what daily paffes, round about them in the world. If fome arguments fhall, Here, occur, which others have declined, they are fubmitted, with all deference, to better judgments in this, of all points, the Moft important. For, as to the being of a God, that is ro longer difputed; but it is undifputed, for this reafon only, viz. becaufe, where the leaft pretence to reason is admitted, it must for ever be indisputable. And, of

confequence, no man can he betray'd into a dispute of that nature by Vanity, which has a principal fhare in animating our modern combatants against other articles of our belief.

SH

HE (for I know not yet her name in heaven)
Not early, like Narciffa, left the scene;
Nor fudden, like Philander. What avail?
This feeming mitigation but inflames;
This fancy'd med'cine heightens the difeafe.
The longer known, the clofer ftill she grew ;
And gradual parting is a gradual death.
'Tis the grim tyrant's engine, which extorts
By tardy preffure's still-increafing weight,
From hardeft hearts, confeffion of distress.

O the long, dark approach thro' years of pain,
Death's gall'ry! (might I dare to call it fo)
With dismal Doubt, and fable I error, hung;
Sick Hope's pale lamp, its only glimm'ring ray:
There, fate my melancholy walk ordain'd,
Forbid SELF LOVE itself to flatter, there,
How oft I gaz'd, prophetically fad ?

How oft I saw her dead, while yet in fmiles!
In fmiles the funk HER grief, to leffen Mine,
She spoke me comfort, and increas'd my pain,
Like pow'rful armies trenching at a town,
By flow, and filent, but refiftlefs fap,
In his pale progress gently gaining ground,
Death urg'd his deadly fiege; in fpite of art,
Of all the balmy bleffings nature lends
To fuccour frail humanity. Ye stars!
(Not now FIRST made familiar to my fight)
And thou, O moon! bear witness; many a night
He tore the pillow from beneath my head,
Ty'd down my fore attention to the shock,
By ceaseless depredations on a life
Dearer than that he left me. Dreadful poft
Of obfervation! darker ev'ry hour!

* Referring to Night the Fifth,

Lefs dread the day that drove me to the brink,
And pointed at eternity below;

When my foul fhudder'd at futurity ;

When, on a moment's point, th' important dye
Of life and death fpun coubtful, ere it fell,
And turn'd up life; my title to more woe.

But why more woe? more comfort let it be. Nothing is dead, but that which with'd to die; Nothing is dead, but wretchedness and pain;Nothing is dead, but what encumber'd, gail'd, Bleck'd up the pafs, and barr'd from Real life. Where dwells THAT with moft ardent of the wife? Too dark the fun to fee it; highest stars

Too low to reach it; DEATH, great DEATH alone,. O'er ftars and fan triumphant, lands us there.

Nor dreadful our Tranfition; tho' the mind.
An artist at creating felf alarms,

Rich in expedients for inquietude,
I's prone to paint it dreadful.

Who can take

Death's portrait true? the tyrant never SAT.
Our sketch, all random ftrokes, conjecture all;.
Clofe fhuts the grave, nor tells one fingle tale.
Death and his image rifing in the brain,
Bear faint resemblance: never are alike;
Fear shakes the pencil, Fancy loves excess,
Dark Ignorance is lavish of her thades ;
And THESE the formidable picture draw.

But grant the worst; 'tis paft; new profpects rife; And drop a veil eternal o'er her tomb.

Far other views our comtemplation claim,
Views that o'erpay the rigours of our life;.
Views that fufpend our agonies in death.
Wrapt in the thought of Immortallity,
Wrapt in the fingle, the triumph at thought!
Long life might lapfe, age unperceiv'd come on;..
And find the foul unfated with her theme.
Its Nature, Proof, Importance, fire my fong.
O that my fong could emulate my foul !
Like her, immortal. No!-the foul difdains
A mark fo mean; far nobler hope inflames ;
If endless ages can outweigh an hour,
Let not the Laurel, but the Palm, inspire,

Thy Nature, immortallity? who knows?
And who knows it not? it is but life
In ftronger thread of brighter colour fpun,
And fpun for ever; dipt by cruel fate

In Stygian die, how Black, how Brittle here !
How fhort our correfpondence with the fun!
And while it lafts, inglorious! our beft deeds,
How wonting in their weight! our highest joys
Small cordials to fupport us in our pain,
And give us ftrength to fuffer. But how Great
To mingle int'refts, converfe, amities,
With all the fons of Reafon, fcatter'd wide
Through habitable space, where-ever born,
Howe'er endow'd! to live free citizens
Of universal nature! to lay hold

By more than feeble FAITH on the Supreme!
To call heav'n's rich unfathomable mines
(Mines, which support archangels in their state)
Our own! to rife in fcience, as in blifs,
Initiate in the fecrets of the skies!
To read creation; read its mighty plan
In the bare bofom of the Deity!

The plan, and execution, to collate !

To fee, before each glance of peircing thought,
All cloud, all fhadow, blown remote; and leave
No myftery-but that love of divine,
Which lifts us on the Seraph's flaming wing,
From earth's Aceldama, this field of b.ood,
Of inward anguish and of outward ill,

From darkness, and from duft, to SUCH a fcene!
Love's element! true joys illuftrious home!

From earth's fad contraft (now deplor'd) more fa!r What exquifite viciffitude of fate!

Bleft abfolution of our blackest hour!

Lorenzo! these are thoughts that make man man, The wife illumine, aggrandize the great,

How great (while yet we tread the kindred clod, And ev'ry moment fear to fink beneath

The clod we tread; fon trodden by our fons) How great, in the wild whirl of TIME's pursuits To ftop, and paufe, involv'd in high presage Through the long vifto of a thousand years,

To ftand contemplating our diftant selves,

As in a magnifying mirror feen,

Enlarg'd, ennobled, elevate divine!

To prophefy our own futurities!

To gaze in thought on what all thought trar fcends!
To talk, with fellow candidates of joys

As far beyond conception, as defert,

Ourselves th' aftonish'd talkers, and the tale!
Lorenzo! fwells thy bofom at the thought?
The fwell becomes thee: 'tis an honeft pride..
Revere thyself;—and yet thy felf defpif.
His Nature no man can o'er-rate; and none-
Can under-rate his Merit. Take good heed,
Nor there be modeft, where thou should't be proud
That almoft univerfal error fhun.

How Juft our pride, when we behold THOSE heights!
Not thofe Ambition paints in air, but those
Reafon points out, and ardent Virtue gains;
And angels emulate; our pride how juft!
When mount we; when the fe fhackles cafl? when quit
This cell of the creation; this finall neft,
Stuck in the corner of the universe,

Wrapt up in fleecy cloud, and fine-fpun air?
Fine fpun to fenfe; but grof, and feculent
To fouls celeftial; fouls ordain'd to breathe
Ambr. fial gales, and drink a purer sky;
Greatly triumphant on TIME's farther thore,
Where Virtue reigns, enrich d with full arrears;
While Pomp imperial begs an alms of peace.
In empire high, or in proud fcience deep,
Ye born of earth! on what can you confer,
With half the dignity, with half the gain,
The guft, the glow of rational delight,

As on this theme, which angels praife, and fhare ?
Man's fates and favours are a theme in heaven.
What wretched repetition cloys us HERE!

What periodic potions for the fick !

Distemper'd bodies! and diftemper'd minds!
In an Eternity, what fcenes fhall Atrike!
Adventures thicken! novelties surprise !
What webs of wonder shall unravel, THERE!
What full day pour on all the paths of heaven,

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