And equity; not jealous more to guard
A worthless form, than to decide aright :-
Where fashion shall not fanctify abuse,
Nor smooth good-breeding (fupplemental grace)
With lean performance ape the work of love!
Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth, Thou who alone art worthy! It was thine By ancient covenant, ere nature's birth; And thou haft made it thine by purchase fince, And overpaid its value with thy blood.
Thy faints proclaim thee king, and in their hearts
Thy title is engraven with a pen
Dipt in the fountain of eternal love.
Thy faints proclaim thee king, and thy delay
Gives courage to their foes, who, could they fee
The dawn of thy laft advent, long-defir'd,
Would creep into the bowels of the hills,
And flee for fafety to the falling rocks.
The very fpirit of the world is tir'd
Of its own taunting question, afk'd fo long, "Where is the promise of your Lord's approach ?" The infidel has fhot his bolts away,
Till his exhausted quiver yielding none,
He gleans the blunted shafts that have recoil'd,
And aims them at the shield of truth again.
The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands,
That hides divinity from mortal eyes;
And all the myfteries to faith propos'd,
Infulted and traduc'd, are caft afide,
As ufelefs, to the moles and to the bats.
They now are deem'd the faithful, and are prais'd,
Who, conftant only in rejecting thee,
Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal,
And quit their office for their error's fake.
Blind, and in love with darkness! yet ev❜n these
Worthy, compar'd with fycophants, who knee
Thy name adoring, and then preach thee man!
So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare
The world takes little thought. Who will may preach,
And what they will. All paftors are alike
To wand'ring theep, refolv'd to follow none.
Two gods divide them all-Pleasure and Gain:
For these they live, they facrifice to these,
And in their service wage perpetual war
With confcience and with thee. Luft in their hearts,
And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth
To prey upon each other: ftubborn, fierce,
High-minded, foaming out their own difgrace.
Thy prophets fpeak of fuch; and, noting down
The features of the laft degen'rate times,
Exhibit ev'ry lineament of thefe.
Come then, and, added to thy many crowns,
Receive yet one, as radiant as the reft,
Due to thy last and most effectual work,
Thy word fulfill'd, the conqueft of a world!
He is the happy man, whofe life ev'n now Shows fomewhat of that happier life to come; Who, doom'd to an obfcure but tranquil ftate, Is pleas'd with it, and, were he free to choose, Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one Content indeed to fojourn while he must Below the skies, but having there his home. The world o'erlooks him in her busy fearch Of objects, more illuftrious in her view; And, occupied as earneftly as fhe, Though more fublimely, he o'erlooks the world. She fcorns his pleasures, for she knows them not; He seeks not her's, for he has prov'd them vain. He cannot skim the ground like fummer birds Purfuing gilded flies; and fuch he deems Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. Therefore in contemplation is his bliss,
Whofe pow'r is fuch, that whom the lifts from earth
She makes familiar with a heav'n unfeen,
And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd.
Not flothful he, though feeming unemploy'd,
And cenfur'd oft as useless. Stilleft ftreams
Oft water faireft meadows, and the bird
That flutters leaft is longeft on the wing.
Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has rais'd,
Or what achievements of immortal fame
He purposes, and he fhall anfwer-None.
His warfare is within.
His fervent spirit labours. There he fights,
And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself,
And never with'ring wreaths, compar'd with which
The laurels that a Cæfar reaps are weeds.
Perhaps the felf-approving haughty world,
That as the fweeps him with her whistling filks
Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see,
Deems him a cypher in the works of God,
Receives advantage from his noiseless hours,
Of which the little dreams. Perhaps the owes
Her funshine and her rain, her blooming spring
And plenteous harveft, to the pray'r he makes,
When, Ifaac like, the folitary faint
Walks forth to meditate at even-tide,
And think on her, who thinks not for herself.
Forgive him, then, thou buftler in concerns
Of little worth, an idler in the best,
If, author of no mischief and some good,
He feek his proper happiness by means
That may advance, but cannot hinder, thine.
Nor, though he tread the secret path of life,
Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease,
Account him an incumbrance on the state,
Receiving benefits, and rend'ring none.
His fphere though humble, if that humble fphere
Shine with his fair example, and though small
His influence, if that influence all be spent
In foothing forrow and in quenching strife,
In aiding helpless indigence, in works
From which at least a grateful few derive
Some taste of comfort in a world of wo,
Then let the fupercilious great confess
He ferves his country, recompenfes well
The ftate, beneath the shadow of whose vine
He fits fecure, and in the scale of life
Holds no ignoble, though a flighted, place.
The man, whofe virtues are more felt than seen,
Muft drop indeed the hope of public praise;
But he may boaft what few that win it can-
That, if his country stand not by his skill,
At least his follies have not wrought her fall.
Polite refinement offers him in vain
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