Thought I, for any thing I know,
What we have ftamp'd for Science here,
Does only the Appearance of it wear
And will not pafs above, tho Current here below;
Perhaps they've other Rules to Reafon by,
And what's Truth here, with them's Abfurdity.
We Truth by a Refracted Ray
View, like the Sun at Ebb of Day:
Whom the grofs, treacherous Atmosphere
Makes where it is not, to appear.
IV.
Why then fhall I with Sweat and Pain
Dig Mines of disputable Oar?
My Labour's certain, fo is not my Store,
1 may hereafter unlearn all again.
Why then for Truth do I my Spirits wafte,
When after all I may be gull'd at last?
So when the honeft Patriarch thought
With Seven Years Labour he had bought
His Rachels Love, by Morning Light
He found the Errour of the Night.
Or grant fome Knowledge dwells below,
'Tis but for fome few Years to stay
Till I'm fet loofe from this dark House of Clay,
And in an Inftant I fhall all things know.
Then shall I learn t' Accumulate Degrees,
And be at once made Master of all Sciences.
What need I then great Sums lay out,
And that Estate with care forest all,
Which when few Years are come about,
Into my Hands of Courfe will fall?
The 63 Chapter of Ifaiah Paraphrafed to the 6 Verfe.
Trange Scene of Glory! am I well awake?
Or is't my Fancy's wild miftake?
It cannot be a Dream, bright Beams of Light Flow from the Vifion's Face, and pierce my tender Sight. No common Vifion this, I fee
Some Marks of more than Human Majefy.
Who is this mighty Hero, who?
With Glories round his Head, and Terrour in his Brow?
From Bozrah lo he comes, a Scarlet Die
O'refpreads his Cloaths, and does outvy
The Blushes of the Morning Sky.
Triumphant and Victorious he appears,
And Honour in his looks and habit wears:
How ftrong he treads, how ftately does he go!
Pompous and Solemn is his pace,
And full of Majefty, as is his Face.
Who is this mighty Hero, who?
'Tis I who to my Promife faithful ftand,
I who the Powers of Death, Hell, and the Grave,
Have foil'd with this all conquering Hand,
I who most ready am, and mighty too to fave.
II.
Why wear'st thou then this Scarlet Die?
Say mighty Hero, why?
Why do thy Garments look all Red
Like them that in the Wine-fat tread?
The Wine-prefs I alone have trod,
That vaft unweildy Frame, which long did ftand
Unmov'd, and which no mortal Force could e're com
That ponderous Mais I ply'd alone
And with je to affilt were none;
A mighty task it was, worthy the Son of God.
Angels flood trembling at the dreadful fight,
Concern'd with what Succefs I fhould go through
The Work I undertook to do;
Inrag'd I put forth all my might
And down the Engine prefs'd, the violent Force
Disturb'd the Univerfe, put Nature out of Course.
The Blood gufh'd out in Streams, and checquer'd o're
My Garments with its deepest Gore;
With Ornamental Drops bedeck'd I flood,
And writ my Victory with my Enemy's Blood..
HII.
The Day, the Signal Day is come
When of my Enemies I muft Vengeance take;
The Day when Death fhall have its doom,
And the Dark Kingdom with its Powers fhall shake.
Fate in her Kalender mark'd out this Day with Red,
She folded down the Iron Leaf, and thus fhe faid,
This Day, if ought I can Divine be true,
Shall for a Signal Victory
Be Celebrated to Pofterity:
Then fhall the Prince of Light defcend
And rescue Mortals from th' Infernal Fiend,
Break through his ftrongest Forrs, and all his Hoft fub-
This faid, fhe fhut the Adamantin Volume Clofe (due.
And wifh'd the might the Crouding Years tranfpofe;
So much the long'd to have the Scene difplay,.
And fee the vast event of this important Day.
And now in midft of the revolving Years,
This great, this mighty one appears:
The faithful Traveller the Sun
Has number'd out the Days, and the fet Period run.
I lookt, and to affift was none,
My Angelick Guards ftood trembling by,
But durft not venture nigh:
In vain too from my Father did I look
For help, my Father me forfook.
Amaz'd I was to fee
How all deferted me.
I took my fury for my fole fupport
And with my fingle Arm the Conquest won,
Loud Acclamations fill'd all Heavens Court,
The Hymning Guards above
Strain'd to an higher pitch of Joy and Love,
The great Jehovah prais'd, and his Victorious Son.
Ake wing (my Soul) and upwards bend thy flight,
Fo thy Originary Fields of Light.
Here's nothing, nothing here below
That can deserve thy longer stay;
A fecret whisper bids thee go
To purer Air, and Beams of native Day.
The ambition of the towring Lark out-vy,
And like him Sing as thou dost upward fly.
How all things leffen which my Soul before
Did with the groveling Multitude adore!
Thofe Pageant Glories difappear,
Which charm and dazzle mortals Eyes :
How do I in this higher Sphere,
How do I Mortals, with their Joys defpife!
Pure, uncorrupted Element I breath,
And pity their grofs Atmosphere beneath.
How vile, how fordid here thofe Trifles fhew
That pleafe the Tenants of that Ball below!
But ha! I've loft the little fight,
The Scene's remov'd, and all I fee
Is one confus'd dark mafs of Night.
What nothing was, now nothing feems to be :
How calm this Region, how Serene, how Clear!
Sure I fome ftrains of Heavenly Mufick hear.
On, on, the Task is eafie now and light,
No teams of Earth can here retard thy flight.
Thou need it not now thy ftrokes renew,
'Tis but to spread thy Pinions wide,
And thou with eafe thy Seat wilt view,
Drawn by the Bent of the Ethereal tide.
'Tis fo I find; How fweetly on I move,
Not let by things below, and help'd by thofe above!
But fee, to what new Region am I come?
I know it well, it is my native Home.
Here led I once a Life Divine,
Which did all good, no evil know:
Ah! who wou'd fuch fweet Blifs refign
For thofe vain fhews which Fools admire below?
'Tis true, but don't of Folly paft complain,
But joy to see these bleft abodes again.
A good retrieve: But lo, while thus I fpeak,
With piercing Rays th' eternal Day does break.
The Beauties of the Face Divine
Strike ftrongly on my feeble fight:
With what bright Glories does it fhine!
'Tis one immenfe and ever-flowing Light. Stop here my Soul; thou canst not bear more Blifs, Nor can thy now rais'd Palate ever relifh lefs.
HE general Defign of the precedent Poem is to reprefent the gradual Afcent of the Soul by Contemplation to the Supreme Good, together with its firm Adherency to it, and its full Acquiefcence in it. All which is done Figuratively, under the Allegory of a Local Elevation from the Feculent Regions of this lower World.
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