Life animal is nurtur'd by the fun;

Thrives on his bounties, triumphs in his beams. Life rational fubfifts on higher food,

Triumphant in His beams, who made the day. When we leave that fun, and are left by this, (The fate of all who die in stubborn guilt) 'Tis utter darkness; strictly double death. We fink by no judicial stroke of heaven, But nature's courfe; as fure as plumbets fall. Since GoD, or man, muft alter, ere they meet, (Since light and darkness blend not in one sphere) 'Tis manifeft, LORENZO! who must change.

If, then, that double death fhould prove thy lot,
Blame not the bowels of the DEITY;
Man fhall be bleft, as far as man permits.
Not man alone, all rationals, heav'n arms
With an illuftrious, but tremendous, power
To counter-act its own most gracious ends;
And this, of strict neceffity, not choice;
That pow'r deny'd, men, angels, were no more,
But paffive engines, void of praise, or blame.
A nature rational implies the power

Of being bleft, or wretched, as we please;
Elfe idle reafon would have nought to do;
And he that would be barr'd capacity
Of pain, courts incapacity of bliss.

Heav'n wills our happiness, allows our doom;
Invites us ardently, but not compels ;

Heav'n but perfuades, almighty man decrees ;

Man is the maker of immortal fates.

1

Man falls by man, if finally he falls;

And fall he muft, who learns from death alone,
The dreadful fecret,-That he lives for Ever.

Why this to Thee-Thee yet, perhaps, in doubt Of fecond life? But wherefore doubtful ftill?

Eternal life is nature's ardent wish:

What ardently we with, we foon believe:
Thy tardy faith declares that with deftroy'd:
What has destroy'd it ?-Shall I tell thee, what?
When fear d the future, tis no longer wifht;
And, when unwifht, we firive to disbelieve.
Thus infidelity our guilt betrays."

Nor that the fole detection! Blush, LORENZO !
Blush for hypocrify, if not for guilt.

The future fear'd?-An infidel, and fear?
Fear what? a dream? a fable ?-How thy dread,
Unwilling evidence, and therefore strong,
Affords my caufe an undefign'd fupport?
How disbelief affirms, what it denies?
"It, unawares, afferts immortal life.”.
Surprifing! infidelity turns out

A creed, and a confeffion of our fins:
Apoftates, thus, are orthodox divines.

LORENZO! with LORENZO clafh no more;
Nor longer a transparent vizor wear.
Think't thou, RELIGION only has her mask?
Our infidels are fatan's hypocrites,

Pretend the worst, and, at the bottom, fail.
When vifited by thought (thought will intrude),
Like him they serve, they tremble, and believe.

Is there hypocrify fo foul as this?

So fatal to the welfare of the world?
What deteftation, what contempt, their due!
And, if unpaid, be thank'd for their escape
That Chriflian candor they strive hard to fcorn.
If not for that afylum, they might find
A hell on earth; nor 'fcape a worse below.
With infolence, and impotence of thought,
Inftead of racking fancy, to refute,

Reform thy manners, and the truth enjoy.-
But fhall I dare confefs the dire refult?
Can thy proud reafon brook fo black a brand?
From parer manners, to fublimer faith,
Is nature's unavoidable afcent;

An honeft deift, where the gospel fhines,
Matur'd to nobler, in the Chriftian ends.
When that bleft change arrives, e'en caft afide
This fong fuperfluous; life immortal strikes
Conviction, in a flood of light divine.

A Chriftian dwells, like * URIEL, in the fun;
Meridian evidence puts doubt to flight;

And ardent hope anticipates the fkies.

Of that bright fun, LORENZO! fcale the fphere;

'Tis eafy; it invites thee; it defcends

From heav'n to wooe, and waft thee whence it came :

Read and revere the facred page; a page

Where triumphs immortality; a page

Which not the whole creation could produce;
Which not the conflagration shall destroy;

*Milton.

'Tis printed in the mind of gods for ever,

In nature's ruins not one letter loft.

In proud disdain of what e'en gods adore,
Doft fmile ?-Poor wretch ! thy guardian angel weeps.
Angels, and men, affent to what I fing;

Wits fmile, and thank me for my midnight dream.
How vicious hearts fume phrenfy to the brain!
Parts push us on to pride, and pride to shame;
Pert infidelity is wit's cockade,

To grace the brazen brow that braves the skies,
By lofs of being, dreadfully fecure.

LORENZO ! if thy doctrine wins the day,

And drives my dreams, defeated, from the field;
If This is All, if earth a final scene,

Take heed; ftand faft; be fure to be a krave ;
A knave in grain! ne'er deviate to the right:
Shouldst thou be good-How infinite thy lofs!
Guilt only makes annihilation gain.

Bleft scheme! which life deprives of comfort, death
Of hope; and which VICE only, recommends.
If fo; where, infidels! your bait thrown out
To catch weak converts? Where your lofty boaft
Of zeal for virtue, and of love to man?
ANNIHILATION! I confefs, in these.

What can reclaim you? Dare I hope profound
Philofophers the converts of a song?
Yet know, its title flatters you, not me;
Yours be the praife to make my title good;

Mine, to blefs heav'n, and triumph in your praife.

* The Infidel Reclaimed,

But fince fo peftilential your disease,
Tho' fov'reign is the med'cine I prescribe,
As yet, I'll neither triumph, nor despair:

But hope, ere long, my midnight dream will wake
Your hearts, and teach your wisdom-to be wise :
For why should fouls immortal, made for bliss,
E'er with (and wish in vain!) that fouls could die?
What ne'er can die, Oh! grant to live; and crown
The wish, and aim, and labour of the skies;
Increase, and enter on the joys of heaven:
Thus fhall my title pafs a facred feal,
Receive an imprimatur from Above,
While angels fhout-An Infidel Reclaim'd!

To clofe, LORENZO! Spite of all my pains,
Still feems it ftrange, that thou shouldst live for ever ?
Is it lefs ftrange, that thou fhouldft live at all?
This is a miracle; and That no more.

Who gave beginning, can exclude an end.
Deny thou art: Then, doubt if thou shalt be.
A miracle with miracles inclos'd,

Is man: And ftarts his faith at what is strange?
What less than wonders, from the wonderful;
What lefs than miracles, from GoD, can flow?
Admit a GOD-that mystery fupreme!
That Cause uncaus'd! all other wonders ceafe;
Nothing is marvellous for Him to do:
Deny Him-all is mystery befides;
Millions of myfteries! Each darker far,
Than that thy wisdom would, unwifely, fhun.
If weak thy faith, why chufe the harder fide?

We