From some superior point (where who can tell?
Suffice it, 'tis a point where gods reside)
How shall the stranger man's illumin'd eye,
In the vast ocean of unbounded space,
Behold an infinite of floating worlds
Divide the crystal waves of ether pure,

In endless voyage, without port? The least
Of these disseminated orbs, how great!
Great as they are, what numbers these surpass,
Huge, as Leviathan, to that small race,
Those twinkling multitudes of little life,
He swallows unperceiv'd! Stupendous these!
Yet what are these stupendous to the whole?
As particles, as atoms ill-perceiv'd;
As circulating globules in our veins;
So vast the plan; fecundity divine!

Exub'rant source! perhaps I wrong thee still.

"If admiration is a source of joy,

What transport hence! Yet this the least in heav'n.
What this to that illustrious robe he wears,
Who toss'd this mass of wonders from his hand,
A specimen, an earnest of his pow'r?

'Tis to that glory, whence all glory flows,

As the mead's meanest flow'ret to the sun,

Which gave it birth. But what, this sun of heav'n!
This bliss supreme of the supremely bless'd?
Death, only death, the question can resolve.
By death cheap-bought th' ideas of our joy;
The bare ideas! solid happiness

So distant from its shadow chac'd below.

"And chace we still the phantom through the fire, O'er bog, and brake, and precipice, till death? And toil we still for sublunary pay?

Defy the dangers of the field and flood,
Or, spider-like, spin out our precious all,
Our more than vitals spin (of no regard
To great futurity) in curious webs
Of subtile thought, and exquisite design,
(Fine net-work of the brain!) to catch a fly;
The momentary buz of vain renown!

A name, a mortal immortality!

"Or (meaner still!) instead of grasping air,
For sordid lucre plunge we in the mire?
Drudge, sweat through ev'ry shame, for ev'ry gain,
For vile contaminating trash; throw up

Our hope in heav'n, our dignity with men?
And deify the dirt, matur'd to gold?
Ambition, Av'rice? the two demons these,
Which goad through ev'ry slough or human herd,
Hard travell'd from the cradel to the grave.

How low the wretches stoop! how steep they climb!
These demons burn mankind; but most possess
Lorenzo's bosom, and turn out the skies.

"Is it in time to hide Eternity?"

Both Addison and Young have, in lifting their minds up to God, experienced the force of conviction as to the truth of religion, as well as in regard to the insignificancy of that GREAT PERSONAGE, man! who has made to himself graven images, denied for himself the truths

of holy writ, the existence of a God, the immortality of his own soul, the mission and mediation of Christ Jesus.

What is the reason why men will not believe? Do they fear death? Death is to be courted (courted with the tongue, with the actions of holiness:) not feared. The same, Young exclaims

"Art thou yet dull enough despair to dread,
And startle at destruction? if thou art,
Accept a buckler, take it to the field;
(A field of battle is this mortal life!)
When danger threatens, lay it on thy heart;
A single sentence proof against the world.
Soul, body, fortune! every good pertains
To one of these; but prize not all alike;
The goods of fortune to thy body's health,
Body to soul, and soul submit to God.'
Wouldst thou build lasting happiness? do this;
Th' inverted pyramid can never stand.

"Is this truth doubtful? it outshines the sun; Nay, the sun shines not, but to show us this, The single lesson of mankind on earth.

And yet-yet, what? no news! mankind is mad;
Such mighty numbers list against the right,
(And what can't numbers, when bewitch'd, achieve?)
They talk themselves to something like belief,
That all earth's joys are theirs: as Athen's fool
Grinn'd from the port on ev'ry sail his own.

"They grin; but wherefore? and how long they laugh? Half ignorance their mirth; and half a lie:

To cheat the world, and cheat themselves they smile. Hard either task! the most abandon'd own,

That others, if abandon'd, are undone :

Then, for themselves, the moment Reason wakes, (And providence denies it long repose,)

O how laborious is their gaiety!

They scarce can swallow their ebullient spleen,
Scarce muster patience to support the farce,
And pump sad laughter, till the curtain falls.
Scarce, did I say? some cannot sit it out;
Oft their own daring hands the curtain draw,
And show us what their joy, by their despair.

"The clotted hair! gor'd breast! blaspheming eye! Its impious fury still alive in death!Shut, shut the shocking scene.-But Heav'n denies A cover to such guilt; and so should man. Look round, Lorenzo! see the reeking blade; Th' invenom'd phial, and the fatal ball; The strangling cord, and suffocating stream; The loathsome rottenness, and foul decays From raging riot (flower suicides!) And pride in these, more execrable still! How horrid all to thought!-but horrors, these, That vouch the truth, and aid my feeble song. From vice, sense, fancy, no man can be bless'd: Bliss is too great, to lodge within an hour: When an immortal being aims at bliss, Duration is essential to the name.

O for a joy from Reason! joy from that,

Which makes man man; and exercis'd aright,
Will make him more: a bounteous joy! that gives,
And promises; that weaves, with art divine,
The richest prospect into present peace:

A joy ambitious! joy in common held
With thrones ethereal, and their greater far;
A joy high privileg'd, from chance, time, death!`
Crown'd higher, and still higher, at each stage,
Through bless'd Eternity's long day; yet still,
Not more remote from sorrow, than from him,
Whose lavish hand, whose love stupendous, pours
So much of Deity on guilty dust.

There, O my Lucia! may I meet thee there,
Where not thy presence can improve my bliss!

"Affects not this the sages of the world?
Can nought affect them, but what fools them too?
Eternity, depending on an hour,

Makes serious thought man's wisdom, joy, and praise.
Nor need you blush (though sometimes your designs
May shun the light) at your designs on heav'n;
Sole point! where over-bashful is your blame,
Are you not wise?—you know

you are: yet hear One truth, amid your num'rous schemes, mislaid, Or overlooked, or thrown aside, if seen;

Our schemes to plan by this world or the next,
Is the sole diff'rence between wise and fool.'

"All worthy men will weigh you in this scale; What wonder, then, if they pronounce you light? Is their esteem alone not worth your care;