Virtue, alas! is vain; and mental power
But beats against the flood it's little hour,
And bends at last; till, spent the healthful force,
It's very vigor aids the sweeping course.
And that same force of thought, which truth might claim, But turns to ranker vice, and grosser shame.
Then, as the system, with delusive guise,
So near perfection, dazzles common eyes,
The individual energies of one
Confirms the fiction, and the work is dous.
Yes! there are those, whose well directed mind
Might Truth's and Reason's farmost regions find;
Who, blest with eloquence, with living skill,
To paint each virtue, and convince at will,
Descend with venal and corrupted thought
To sell the truths they freely might have taught;
Who, false to Nature, stifle at it's birth
The strong and buoyant form of conscious worth;
Stop in the straight career, and smiling round,
In secret stab, and while saluting wound.
Should such a one--his former state forgot,
Subdued and harden'd to his shameless lot,
Confront the honest, and insult the wise,
With empty boastings and deceptive lies;
Give, like an artful tyrant, fancied power
To his poor satellites to rule their hour:
But hold himself with an unloosen'd hand,
The rod and reins of empire and command--
Should he, when honest indignation calls.
And truth is heard within the servile walls,
Elude with skill enquiry's fair debate,
Or (fore'd to hear what most his mind must hate
To daunt the foe with fierce invective try,
Or meet the danger which he dare not fly;
Assume to think, what others think, that he
May more securely--act the contrary.
Should such a man (and such we oft must find,
Springing from systems form'd to check the mind-
Should such appear, 'twere but the honest part
To check his rage, and counteract his art
His windings follow, bid his talents live---
His failings censure-pity-and forgive!
But such for ever has not been your fate,
More grateful tasks your pleasing hours await:
To follow truth, to paint the ways of heaven;
To speak of sorrow fled, of sin forgiven.
To shew that virtue, happiness, are one;
That, plung'd in vice, each hope of bliss is gone.
The truths of peace and wisdom to explore;
Humbly to praise, and silently adore;
These were your themes, Religion stood display'd—
In all her native purity array'd.
Mild were her tenets; peaceful was her song;
Fled was each sorrow, and redress'd each wrong;
High were her dictates; lofty as the skies
Th' exalted minds of her admirers rise.
Freely they praise, and fairly wield the rod
Justly they deal with man, and humbly walk with God.
Honest the task, in these degenerate days,
Each saintly vice to lash, each virtue praise.
That task achiev'd, the blest reward receive,
Which only truth, without alloy can give.
And in some distant, yet approaching day,
When pure religion shall assert her sway,
Then shall your humble pages proudly stand
Among the saving records of the land;
Rise into being, vindicate your fame,
And priesteraft, now triumphaut, sink in shame!
Soon may that hour approach! from shore to shore,
May Truth's bright sun arise, to set no more.
May all who Reason's track have dared oppose--
Religion's erring, weak, mistaken foes--
Forget their errors! heaven their crimes forgive!
Reclaim'd, in Virtue's annals may they live!
Soon may the joyous and uprising day
See every mortal own Religion's sway!
May JESUS' kingdom flourish on the earth; .
To every virtue, every bliss give birth!
May all the nations bow before his nod!
And the whole peopled earth but form the CHURCH OF GOD!
To our Correspondents we have only room to say, FAREWELL! Of
pur opponents also we take our leave in peace and good will.
MITCHAM, PRINTER, 67, WHITECHAPEL.
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