Could we forbear dispute, and practise love,
We should agree as angels do above.
Where love presides, not vice alone does find
No entrance there, but virtues stay behind;
Both faith, and hope, and all the meaner train
Of mortal virtues, at the door remain.
Love only enters as a native there,
For, born in heaven, it does but sojourn here.
He that alone would wise and mighty be,
Commands that others love as well as he.
Love as he loved!-How can we soar so high?—
He can add wings, when he commands to fly.
Nor should we be with this command dismayed;
He that examples gives, will give his aid;
For he took flesh, that where his precepts fail,
His practice, as a pattern, may prevail.
His love, at once, and dread, instruct our thought;
As man he suffered, and as God he taught.
Will for the deed he takes; we may with ease
Obedient be, for if we love we please.
Weak though we are, to love is no hard task,
And love for love is all that Heaven does ask.
Love! that would all men just and temperate make,
Kind to themselves, and others, for his sake.
'Tis with our minds as with a fertile ground, Wanting this love they must with weeds abound, (Unruly passions) whose effects are worse Than thorns and thistles springing from the curse.
TO glory man, or misery, is born,
Of his proud foe the envy, or the scorn;
Wretched he is, or happy, in extreme;
Base in himself, but great in Heaven's esteem;
With love, of all created things the best;
Without it, more pernicious than the rest;
For greedy wolves unguarded sheep devour
But while their hunger lasts, and then give o'er;
Man's boundless avarice his wants exceeds,
And on his neighbours round about him feeds.
His pride and vain ambition are so vast,
That, deluge-like, they lay whole nations waste.
Debauches and excess (though with less noise)
As great a portion of mankind destroys.
The beasts and monsters Hercules oppressed,
Might in that age some provinces infest;
These more destructive monsters are the bane
Of every age, and in all nations reign;
But soon would vanish, if the world were blessed
With sacred love, by which they are repressed.
Impendent death, and guilt that threatens hell,
Are dreadful guests, which here with mortals dwell;
And a vexed conscience, mingling with their joy
Thoughts of despair, does their whole life annoy;
But love appearing, all those terrors fly;
We live contented, and contented die.
They in whose breast this sacred love has place,
Death, as a passage to their joy, embrace.
Clouds and thick vapours, which obscure the day,
The sun's victorious beams may chase away;
Those which our life corrupt and darken, love
(The nobler star!) must from the soul remove.
Spots are observed in that which bounds the year;
This brighter sun moves in a boundless sphere;
Of heaven the joy, the glory, and the light,
Shines among angels, and admits no night.
HIS Iron Age (so fraudulent and bold!)
Touched with this love, would be an Age of Gold; Not, as they feigned, that oaks should honey drop, Or land neglected bear an unsown crop;
Love would make all things easy, safe, and cheap;
None for himself would either sow or reap;
Our ready help, and mutual love, would yield
A nobler harvest than the richest field.
Famine and death, confined to certain parts,
Extended are by barrenness of hearts.
Some pine for want where others surfeit now;
But then we should the use of plenty know.
Love would betwixt the rich and needy stand,
And spread heaven's bounty with an equal hand;
At once the givers and receivers bless,
Increase their joy, and make their suffering less.
Who for himself no miracle would make,
Dispensed with several for the people's sake;
He that, long fasting, would no wonder show,
Made loaves and fishes, as they ate them, grow,
Of all his power, which boundless was above,
Here he used none but to express
his love;
And such a love would make our joy exceed,
Not when our own, but other mouths we feed.
Laws would be useless which rude nature awe; Love, changing nature, would prevent the law; Tigers and lions into dens we thrust,
But milder creatures with their freedom trust.
Devils are chained, and tremble; but the Spouse
No force but love, nor bond but bounty, knows.
Men (whom we now so fierce and dangerous see)
Would guardian angels to each other be;
Such wonders can this mighty love perform,
Vultures to doves, wolves into lambs transform!
Love what Isaiah prophesied can do,*
Exalt the valleys, lay the mountains low,
Humble the lofty, the dejected raise,
Smooth and make straight our rough and crooked
Love, strong as death, and like it, levels all;
With that possessed, the great in title fall;
Themselves esteem but equal to the least,
Whom Heaven with that high character has blessed.
This love, the centre of our union, can
Alone bestow complete repose on man;
Tame his wild appetite, make inward peace,
And foreign strife among the nations cease.
No martial trumpet should disturb our rest,
Nor princes arm, though to subdue the East;
Where for the tomb so many
heroes (taught
By those that guided their devotion) fought.
Thrice happy we, could we like ardour have
To gain his love, as they to win his grave!
Love as he loved! A love so unconfined,
With arms extended, would embrace mankind.
Self-love would cease, or be dilated, when
We should behold as many selfs as men;
All of one family, in blood allied,
His precious blood, that for our ransom died.
HOUGH the creation (so divinely taught!)
Prints such a lively image on our thought,
That the first spark of new-created light,
From Chaos struck, affects our present sight;
Yet the first Christians did esteem more blessed
The day of rising, than the day of rest,
That every week might new occasion give,
To make his triumph in their memory live.
Then let our Muse compose a sacred charm,
To keep his blood among us ever warm,
And singing as the blessèd do above,
With our last breath dilate this flame of love.
But on so vast a subject who can find
Words that may reach the idea of his mind?
Our language fails; or, if it could supply,
What mortal thought can raise itself so high?
Despairing here, we might abandon art,
And only hope to have it in our heart.
But though we find this sacred task too hard
Yet the design, the endeavour, brings reward.
The contemplation does suspend our woe,
And makes a truce with all the ills we know.
As Saul's afflicted spirit, from the sound
Of David's harp, a present solace found;
So on this theme while we our Muse engage,
No wounds are felt, of fortune or of age.
On divine love to meditate is peace,
And makes all care of meaner things to cease.
Amazed at once, and comforted, to find
A boundless power so infinitely kind,
The soul contending to that light to flee
From her dark cell, we practise how to die;
Employing thus the poet's winged art,
To reach this love, and grave it in our heart.
Joy so complete, so solid, and severe,
Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there;
Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone,
When from the East the rising sun comes on.
HE fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace, And makes all ills that vex us here to cease. Though the word fear, some men may ill endure, 'Tis such a fear as only makes secure.
Ask of no angel to reveal thy fate;
Look in thy heart, the mirror of thy state.
He that invites will not the invited mock,
Opening to all that do in earnest knock.
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