Look how the fair one weeps! the conscious tears Stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flow'rs: Honest effusion! the swoln heart in vain Works hard to put a gloss on its distress.
Strength too! thou surly, and less gentle boast
Of those that laugh loud at the village ring!
A fit of common sickness pulls thee down,
With greater ease than e'er thou didst the stripling
That rashly dar'd thee to th' unequal fight.
What groan was that I heard? deep groan indeed!
With anguish heavy laden! let me trace it:
From yonder bed it comes, where the strong man
By stronger arm belabour'd, gasps for breath
Like a hard-hunted beast. How his great heart
Beats thick! his roomy chest by far too scant
To give the lungs full play! what now avail
The strong-built sinewy limbs, and well-spread
shoulders!
See how he tugs for life, and lays about him,
Mad with his pain! eager he catches hold
Of what comes next to hand, and grasps it hard,
Just like a creature drowning! hideous sight!
Oh! how his eyes stand out and stare full ghastly!
Whilst the distemper's rank and deadly venom
Shoots like a burning arrow cross his bowels,
And drinks his marrow up. Heard you that
groan?
It was his last. See how the great Goliah,
Just like a child that brawl'd itself to rest,
Lies still. What mean'st thou then, O mighty
boaster!
To vaunt of nerves of thine? What means the bull,
Unconscious of his strength, to play the coward,
And flee before a feeble thing like man;
That, knowing well the slackness of his arm,
Trusts only in the well-invented knife!
With study pale, and midnight vigils spent,
The star-surveying sage close to his eye
Applies the sight-invigorating tube;
And trav'lling thro' the boundless length of space,
Marks well the courses of the far-seen orbs,
That roll with regular confusion there,
In ecstasy of thought. But ah! proud man!
Great heights are hazardous to the weak head!
Soon, very soon, thy firmest footing fails; [place,
And down thou dropp'st into that darksome
Where nor device nor knowledge ever came.
Here the tongue-warrior lies! disabled now, Disarm'd, dishonor'd, like a wretch that's gagg'd, And cannot tell his ail to passers-by. [change? Great man of language, whence this mighty This dumb despair, and drooping of the head? Though strong persuasion hung upon thy lip, And sly insinuation's softer arts
In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue:
Alas! how chop-fall'n now! thick mists and
Rest, like a weary cloud, upon thy breast [silence
Unceasing. Ah! where is the lifted arm,
The strength of action, and the force of words,
The well-turn'd period, and the well-tun'd voice,
With all the lesser ornaments of phrase?
Ah! fled for ever, as they ne'er had been!
Raz'd from the book of fame, or, more provoking,
Perhaps some hackney, hunger-bitten scribbler
Insults thy memory, and blots thy tomb
With long flat narratives, or duller rhymes
With heavy halting pace that drawl along;
Enough to rouse a dead man into rage,
And warm with red resentment the wan cheek.
Here the great masters of the healing art,
These mighty mock-defrauders of the tomb!
Spite of their jalaps and catholicons,
Resign to fate. Proud Esculapius' son,
Where are thy boasted implements of art,
And all thy well-cramm'd magazines of health?
Nor hill, nor vale, as far as ship could go,
Nor margin of the gravel-bottom'd brook,
Escap'd thy rifling hands: from stubborn shrubs
Thou wrung'st their shy retiring virtues out,
And vex'd them in the fire: nor fly, nor insect,
Nor writhy snake, escap'd thy deep research.-
But why this apparatus? why this cost?
Tell us thou doughty keeper from the grave!
Where are thy recipes and cordials now,
With the long list of vouch rs for thy cures ?
Alas! thou speakest not. The bold impostor
Looks not more silly when the cheat's found out.
Here, the lank-sided miser, worst of felons!
Who meanly stole, discreditable shift!
From back and belly too, their proper cheer;
Eas'd of a tax it irk'd the wretch to pay
To his own carcase, now lies cheaply lodg'd,
By clam'rous appetites no longer teas'd,
Nor tedious bills of charges and repairs.
But, ah! where are his rents, his comings in?
Ay! now you've made the rich man poor indeed:
Robb'd of his gods, what has he left behind?
O cursed lust of gold! when for thy sake
The fool throws up his int'rest in both worlds,
First starv'd in this, then damn'd in that to come.
How shocking must thy summons be, O Death!
To him that is at ease in his possessions;
Who, counting on long years of pleasure here,
Is quite unfurnish'd for that world to come!
In that dread moment, how the frantic soul
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement,
Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help,
But shrieks in vain! how wishfully she looks
On all she's leaving, now no longer hers!
A little longer, yet a little longer,
O might she stay to wash away her stains,
And fit her for her passage! mournful sight!
Her very eyes weep blood; and every groan
She heaves is big with horror: but the foe,
Like a staunch murd' rer steady to his purpose,
Pursues her close through ev'ry lane of life,
Nor misses once the track, but presses on;
Till, forc'd at last to the tremendous verge,
At once she sinks to everlasting ruin.
Sure, 'tis a serious thing to die! my soul! What a strange moment must it be, when near Thy journey's end thou hast the gulph in view! That awful gulph no mortal e'er repass'd To tell what's doing on the other side! Nature runs back, and shudders at the sight, [ing? And ev'ry life-string bleeds at thoughts of partFor part they must: body and soul must part;
Fond couple! link'd more close than wedded pair. | That does its work by halves. Why might you not
This wings its way to its Almighty Source,
The witness of its actions, now its judge;
That drops into the dark and noisome grave,
Like a disabled pitcher, of no use.
If death was nothing, and nought after death;
If, when men died, at once they ceas'd to be,
Returning to the barren womb of nothing [chee
Whence first they sprung; then might the debau-
Untrembling mouth the heav'ns; then might
the drunkard
Reel over his full bowl, and when 'tis drain'd
Fill up another to the brim, and laugh [wretch
At the poor bug-bear Death; then might the
That's weary of the world, and tir'd of life,
At once give each inquietude the slip,
By stealing out of being when he pleas'd,
And by what way; whether by hemp or steel:
Death's thousand doors stand open. Who could
The ill-pleas'd guest to sit out his full time, [force
Or blame him if he goes? Sure! he does well
That helps himself as timely as he can,
When able. But if there is an hereafter,
And that there is, conscience uninfluenc'd,
And suffer'd to speak out, tells ev'ry man,
Then must it be an awful thing to die;
More horrid yet to die by one's own hand.
Self-murder! name it not; our island's shame,
That makes her the reproach of neighb'ring states.
Shall nature, swerving from her earliest dictate,
Self-preservation, fall by her own act?
Forbid it, Heav'n! let not, upon disgust,
The shameless hand be foully crimson'd o'er
With blood of its own lord. Dreadful attempt!
Just reeking from self-slaughter, in a rage
To rush into the presence of our Judge!
As if we challeng'd him to do his worst,
And matter'd not his wrath. Unheard-of tortures
Must be reserv'd for such: these herd together;
The common damn'd shun their society,
And look upon themselves as fiends less foul.
Our time is fix'd; and all our days are number'd;
How long, how short, we know not: this we
know,
Duty requires we calmly wait the summons,
Nor dare to stir till Heav'n shall give permission;
Like sentries that must keep their destin'd stand,
And wait th' appointed hour, till they're reliev'd.
Those only are the brave who keep their ground,
And keep it to the last. To run away
Is but a coward's trick: to run away
From this world's ills, that at the very worst
Will soon blow o'er, thinking to mend ourselves
By boldly vent'ring on a world unknown,
And plunging headlong in the dark; 'tis mad;
No frenzy half so desperate as this.
Tell us, ye dead! will none of you in pity
To those you left behind disclose the secret?
O! that some courteous ghost would blab it out,
What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be.
I've heard that soals departed have sometimes
Forewarn'd men of their death: 'twas kindly done
To knock and give th' alarm. But what means
This stinted charity? 'tis but lame kindness
Tell us what 'tis to die? Do the strict laws
Of your society forbid your speaking
Upon a point so nice? I'll ask no more;
Sullen like lamps in sepulchres, your shine
Enlightens but yourselves: well-'tis no matter:
A very little time will clear up all,
And make us learn'd as you are, and as close.
Death's shafts fly thick! Here falls the village
swain,
[round,
And there his pamper'd lord! The cup goes
And who so artful as to put it by?
Tis long since death had the majority;
Yet, strange! the living lay it not to heart.
See yonder maker of the dead man's bed,
The sexton, hoary-headed chronicle!
Of hard unmeaning face, down which ne'er stole
A gentle tear; with mattock in his hand [ance
Digs thro' whole rows of kindred and acquaint-
By far his juniors! scarce a scull's cast up,
But well he knew its owner, and can tell
Some passage of his life. Thus hand in hand
The sot has walked with death twice twenty
years;
And yet ne'er younker on the green laughs louder,
Orclubs a smuttier tale; when drunkards meet,
None sings a merrier catch, or lends a hand [not
More willing to his cup. Poor wretch! he minds
That soon some trusty brother of the trade
Shall do for him what he has done for thousands.
On this side, and on that, men see their friends
Drop off, like leaves in autumn; yet launch out
Into fantastic schemes, which three long livers
In the world's hale and undegen'rate days
Could scarce have leisure for. Fools that we are!
Never to think of death and of ourselves
At the same time! as if to learn to die
Were no concern of ours. O more than sottish!
For creatures of a day, in gamesome mood
To frolic on eternity's dread brink,
Unapprehensive; when for aught we know,
The very first swoln surge shall sweep us in.
Think we, or think we not, time hurries on
With a resistless unremitting stream,
Yet treads more soft than e'er did midnight thief,
That slides his hand under the miser's pillow,
And carries off his prize. What is this world?
What but a spacious burial-field unwall'd,
Strew'd with death's spoils, the spoils of animals,
Savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones?
The very turf on which we tread once liv'd;
And we that live must lend our carcasses
To cover our own offspring: in their turns
They too must cover theirs. 'Tis here all meet!
The shiv'ring Icelander, and sun-burnt Moor;
Men of all climes, that never met before;
And of all creeds, the Jew, the Turk, the Chris-
tian.
Here the proud prince, and favourite yet prouder,
His sov'reign's keeper, and the people's scourge,
Are huddled out of sight, Here lie abash'd
The great negociators of the earth,
And celebrated masters of the balance,
Deep read in stratagems, and wiles of courts:
Now vain their treaty-skill; Death scorns to
Here the o'erloaded slave flings down his burthen From his gall'd shoulders; and when the cruel tyrant,
With all his guards and tools of pow'r about him,
Is meditating new unheard-of hardships,
Mocks his short arm, and quick as thought
Where tyrants vex not, and the weary rest.
Here the warm lover, leaving the cool shade,
The tell-tale echo, and the bubbling stream,
Time out of mind the fav'rite seats of love,
Fast by his gentle mistress lays him down
Unblasted by foul tongue. Here friends and foes
Lie close, unmindful of their former feuds.
The lawn-rob'd prelate, and plain presbyter,
Ere while that stood aloof, as shy to meet,
Familiar mingle here, like sister-streams
That some rude interposing rock had split.
Here is the large-limb'd peasant; here the child
Of a span long, that never saw the sun,
Nor press'd the nipple, strangled in life's porch:
Here is the mother with her sons and daughters;
The barren wife; the long-demurring maid,
Whose lonely unappropriated sweets
Smil'd like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff,
Not to be come at by the willing hand.
Here are the prude severe, and gay coquette,
The sober widow, and the young green virgin,
Cropp'd like a rose before 'tis fully blown,
Or half its worth disclos'd. Strange medley here!
Here garrulous old age winds up his tale;
And jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart,
Whose ev'ry day was made of melody, [shrew,
Hears not the voice of mirth; the shrill-tongued
Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding.
Here are the wise, the gen'rous, and the brave;
The just, the good, the worthless, the profane;
The downright clown, and perfectly well-bred,
The fool, the churl, the scoundrel, and the
The supple statesman, and the patriot stern; The wrecks of nations, and the spoils of time, With all the lumber of six thousand years.
Poor man! how happy once in thy first state! When yet but warn from thy great Maker's hand,
He stamp'd thee with his image, and well pleas'd
Smil'd on his last fair work! Then all was well.
Sound was the body, and the soul serene;
Like two sweet instruments ne'er out of tune,
That play their several parts. Nor head, nor heart,
Offer'd to ache; nor was there cause they should,
For all was pure within: no fell remorse,
Nor anxious castings up of what may be,
Alarm'd his peaceful bosom: summer seas
Show not more smooth when kiss'd by southern
winds,
Just ready to expire. Scarce importun'd,
The gen'rous soil with a luxuriant hand
Offer'd the various produce of the year,
And ev'ry thing most perfect in its kind.
Bless'd, thrice blessed days! but ah, how short!
Bless'd as the pleasing dreams of holy men,
But fugitive, like those, and quickly gone.
O slippery state of things! What sudden turns,
What strange vicissitudes, in the first leaf
Of man's sad history! To-day most happy;
And, ere to-morrow's sun has set, most abject!
How scant the space between these vast extremes!
Thus far'd it with our sire: not long he enjoy'd
His paradise! Scarce had the happy tenant
Of the fair spot due time to prove its sweets,
Or sum them up, when straight he must be gone,
Ne'er to return again. And must he go?
Can nought compound for the first dire offence
Oferring man? Like one that is condemn'd,
Fain would he trifle time with idle talk,
And parley with his fate. But 'tis in vain.
Not all the lavish odours of the place,
Offer'd in incense, can procure his pardon,
Or mitigate his doom. A mighty angel
With flaming sword forbids his longer stay,
And drives the loit'rer forth; nor must he take
One last and farewell round. At once he lost
His glory and his God. If mortal now,
And sorely maim'd, no wonder! Man has sinn'd.
Sick of his bliss, and bent on new adventures,
Evil he would needs try: nor tried in vain.
(Dreadful experiment! destructive measure!
Where the worst thing could happen, is suc
cess.)
Alas! too well he sped: the good he scorn'd
Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-us'd ghost,
Not to return; or, if it did, its visits
Like those of angels short, and far between:
Whilst the black dæmon, with his hell-scap'd
Admitted once into its better room, [train,
Grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone;
Lording it o'er the man, who now too late
Saw the rash error which he could not mend;
An error fatal not to him alone,
But to his future sons, his fortune's heirs.
Inglorious bondage! human nature groans
Beneath a vassalage so vile and cruel,
And its vast body bleeds through ev'ry vein.
What havock hast thou made, foul monster,
Greatest and first of ills! the fruitful parent
Of woes of all dimensions! But for thee,
Sorrow had never been. All noxious things
Of vilest nature, other sorts of evils,
Are kindly circumscrib'd, and have their bounds.
The fierce volcano, from its burning entrails
That belches molten stone and globes of fire,
Involv'd in pitchy clouds of smoke and stench,
Mars the adjacent fields for some leagues round,
And there it stops. The big-swoln inundation,
Of mischief more diffusive, raving loud,
Buries whole tracts of country, threat'ning more;
But that too has its shore it cannot pass.
More dreadful far than these, Sin has laid waste,
Not here and there a country, but a world;
Dispatching at a wide-extended blow
Entire mankind, and for their sakes defacing
A whole creation's beauty with rude hands;
Blasting the fruitful grain, the loaded branches,
And marking all along its way with ruin.
Accursed thing! O where shall fancy find
A proper name to call thee by, expressive
Of all thy horrors? pregnant womb of ills!
Of temper so transcendently malign,
That toads and serpents of most deadly kind
Compar'd to thee are harmless. Sicknesses
Of ev'ry size and symptom, racking pains,
And bluest plagues are thine! See how the fiend
Profusely scatters the contagion round! [heels,
Whilst deep-mouth'd slaughter, bellowing at her
Wades deep in blood new spilt; yet for to-morrow
Shapes out new work of great uncommon daring,
And inly pines till the dread blow is struck.
But hold! I've gone too far; too much dis-
cover'd
Disabled quite, and jaded with pursuing.
Heaven's portals wide expand to let him in ;
Nor are his friends shut out: as some great prince
Not for himself alone procures admission,
But for his train; it was his royal will,
That where he is, there should his followers be.
Death only lies between! a gloomy path!
Made yet more gloomy by our coward fears!
But not untrod, nor tedious: the fatigue
Will soon go off. Besides, there's no by-road
To bliss. Then why, like ill-conditioned chil-
Start we at transient hardships in the way [dren,
That leads to purer air and softer skies,
And a ne'er-setting sun? Fools that we are!
We wish to be where sweets unwith ring bloom;
But straight our wish revoke, and will not go.
So have I seen, upon a summer's even,
Fast by a riv'let's brink a youngster play!
How wishfully he looks to stem the tide!
This moment resolute, next unresolv'd,
At last he dips his foot; but as he dips
His fears redouble, and he runs away
From th' inoffensive stream, unmindful now
Of all the flow'rs that paint the further bank,
And smil'd so sweet of late. Thrice welcome
That, after many a painful bleeding step, [Death!
My father's nakedness, and nature's shame.
Here let me pause! and drop an honest tear,
One burst of filial duty, and condolence,
O'er all those ample deserts Death has spread,
This chaos of mankind. O great man-eater !
Whose ev'ry day is carnival: not sated yet!
Unheard-of epicure! without a fellow!
The veriest gluttons do not always cram ;
Some intervals of abstinence are sought
To edge the appetite: thou seekest none.
Methinks the countless swarms thou hast de- Conducts us to our home, and lands us safe
And thousands that each hour thou gobblest up,
This, less than this, might gorge thee to the full.
But, ah! rapacious still, thou gap'st for more:
Like one, whole days defrauded of his meals,
On whom lank hunger lays his skinny hand,
And whets to keenest eagerness his cravings
(As if Diseases, Massacres, and Poison
Famine, and War, were not thy caterers)!
But know that thou must render up the dead,
And with high interest too! they are not thine;
But only in thy keeping for a season,
Till the great promis'd day of restitution ;
When loud diffusive sound from brazen trump
Of strong-lung'd cherub shall alarm thy captives,
And rouse the long, long sleepers into life,
Day-light, and liberty.-
Then must thy gates fly open, and reveal
The mines that lay long forming under ground,
In their dark cells immur'd; but now full ripe,
And pure as silver from the crucible,
That twice has stood the torture of the fire,
And inquisition of the forge. We know,
Th' Illustrious Deliv'rer of mankind,
The Son of God, thee foil'd. Him in thy pow'r
Thou couldst not hold: self-vigorous he rose
And, shaking off thy fetters, soon retook
Those spoils his voluntary yielding lent,
(Sure pledge of our releasement from thy thrall!)
Twice twenty days he sojourn'd here on earth,
And show'd himself alive to chosen witnesses
By proofs so strong, that the most slow assenting
Had not a scruple left. This having done,
He mounted up to heav'n. Methinks I see him
Climb the aërial heights, and glide along
Athwart the severing clouds: but the faint eye,
Flung backward in the chace, soon drops its hold,
On the long-wish'd-for shore. Prodigious
Our bane turn'd to a blessing! Death disarm'd
Loses his fellness quite! all thanks to Him
Who scourg'd the venom out! Sure the last end
Of the good man is peace. How calm his exit!
Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground,
Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft.
Behold him in the ev'ning tide of life,
A life well-spent, whose early care it was,
His riper years should not upbraid his green:
By unperceiv'd degrees he wears away;
Yet like the sun seems larger at his setting!
High in his faith and hopes, look! how he reaches
After the prize in view! and, like a bird
That's haimper'd, struggles hard to get away!
Whilst the glad gates of sight are wide expanded
To let new glories in, the first fair fruits
Of the fast-coming harvest! Then! O then!
Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears,
Shrunk to a thing of nought. O how he longs
To have his passport signed, and be dismiss'd !
'Tis done, and now he's happy! The glad soul
Has not a wish uncrown'd. ́ ́Ev'n the lag flesh
Rests too in hope of meeting once again
Its better half, never to sunder more.
Nor shall it hope in vain: the time draws on
When not a single spot of burial carth,
Whether on land, or in the spacious sea,
But must give back its long committed dust
Inviolate and faithfully shall these
Make up the full account; not the least atom
Embezzled, or mislaid, of the whole tale.
Each soul shall have a body ready furnished;
And each shall have his own. Hence, ye pro-
phane!
Ask not, how this can be? Sure the same pow'r
That rear'd the piece at first, and took it down,
Can re-assemble the loose scatter'd parts,
And put them as they were. Almighty God
Has done much more; nor is his arm impair'd
Thro' length of days; and what he can he will;
His faithfulness stands bound to see it done.
When the dread trumpet sounds, the slumb'ring
Not unattentive to the call, shall wake; [dust,
And ev'ry joint possess its proper place,
With a new elegance of form, unknown
To its first state. Nor shall the conscious soul
Mistake its partner; but amidst the crowd,
Singling its other half, into its arms
Shall rush, with all the impatience of a man
That's new come home, who, having long been
absent,
With haste runs over ev'ry different room,
In pain to see the whole. Thrice happy meeting!
Nor time, nor death, shall ever part them more.
"Tis but a night; a long and moonless night;
We make the grave our bed, and then are gone.
Thus, at the shut of even, the weary bird
Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely break
Cow'rs down, and doses till the dawn of day;
Then claps his well-fledg'd wings, and bears
away.
§ 27. Happiness to be found in Virtue alone. Pope.
KNOW then this truth (enough for man to "Virtue alone is Happiness below." [know) The only point where human bliss stands still, And takes the good without the fall to ill; Where only merit constant pay receives, Is blest in what it takes, and what it gives; The joy unequal'd if its end it gain, And, if it lose, attended with no pain: Without satiety, though e'er so bless'd, And but more relish'd as the more distress'd. The broadest mirth unfeeling Folly wears, Less pleasing far than Virtue's very tears: Good from each object, from each place acquir'd, For ever exercis'd, yet never tir'd; Never elated while one man's oppress'd; Never dejected while another's bless'd; And where no wants, no wishes can remain, Since but to wish more Virtue is to gain.
See! the sole bliss Heav'n could on all bestow, Which who but feels can taste; but thinks, can know:
Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind, The bad must miss; the good, untaught, will find;
Slave to no sect, who takes no private road,
But looks through Nature up to Nature's God;
Pursues that chain which links th' immense de-
sign,
Joins heav'n and earth, and mortal and divine;
Sees, that no being any bliss can know,
But touches some above, and some below;
Learns from this union of the rising whole,
The first, last purpose, of the human soul;
And knows where Faith, Law, Morals, all began,
All end in Love of God, and Love of Man.
For him alone, Hope leads from goal to goal' And opens still, and opens on his soul: Till lengthen'd on to Faith, and unconfin'd, It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind. He sees why Nature plants in Man alone Hope of known bliss, and faith in bliss unknown (Nature, whose dictates to no other kind Are giv'n in vain, but what they seek they find). Wise is her present; she connects in this His greatest Virtue with his greatest Bliss; At once his own bright prospect to be blest, And strongest motive to assist the rest.
Self-love, thus push'd to social, to divine, Gives thee to make thy neighbour's blessing Is this too little for the boundless heart? [thine. Extend it, let thy enemies have part: Grasp the whole worlds of Reason, Life, and In one close system of Bevevolence: [Sense, Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree, And height of Bliss but height of Charity. God loves from Whole to Parts: but human soul Must rise from Individual to the Whole. Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; The centre mov'd, a circle straight succeeds, Another still, and still another spreads; Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace; His country next; and next all human race: Wide, and more wide, th' o'erflowings of the Take ev'ry creature in, of ev'ry kind; [mind Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest,
And Heav'n beholds its image in his breast.
$ 28. On the Eternity of the Supreme Being.
HAIL, wond'rous Being, who in pow'r su.preme
Exists from everlasting! whose great name
Deep in the human heart, and ev'ry atom
The Air, the Earth, or azure Main contains,
In undecipher'd characters is wrote-
Incomprehensible !—O what can words,
The weak interpreters of mortal thoughts, [rove
Or what can thoughts (tho' wild of wing they
Thro' the vast concave of th' æthereal round)?
If to the Heav'n of Heav'ns they wing their way
Advent'rous, like the birds of night they're lost,
And delug'd in the flood of dazzling day
May then the youthful, uninspired Bard Presume to hymn th' Eternal? may he soar Where Seraph and where Cherubim on high Resound th' unceasing plaudits, and with them In the grand chorus mix his feeble voice?
He may-if thou, who from the witless babe Ordainest honor, glory, strength, and praise, Uplift th' unpinion'd Muse, and deign'st to Great Poet of the Universe! his song. [assist,
Before this earthly Planet wound her course Round Light's perennial fountain; before Light Herself 'gan shine, and at th' inspiring word Shot to existence in a blaze of day; Before "the Morning Stars together sang." And hail'd Thee architect of countless worlds,
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