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As with a Cherub's trump: and high upborne,
Yet thou more bright than all the Angel blaze,
Lovely was the Death
And first by fear uncharm’d the droused Soul,*
And bless'd are they,
Το Νοητον διηρηκασιν εις πολλων
+ See this demonstrated by Hartley, vol. 1. p. 114, and vol. 2, p. 329. See it likewise proved, and freed from the charge of Mysticism, by Pistorius in his Notes and Additions to part second of Hartley on Man. Addition the 18th, the 653d page of the third volume of Hartley, octavo edition.
Theirs too celestial courage, inly arm’d-
Who the Creator love, created might Dread not: within their tents no Terrors walk For they are Holy Things before the Lord Aye-unprofan'd, tho' Earth should league with Hell ! God's Altar grasping with an eager hand Fear, the wild-visag’d, pale, eye-starting wretch, *Sure-refug'd hears his hot pursuing fiends Yell at vain distance. Soon refresh'd from Heaven He calm's the throb and tempest of his heart. His countenance settles: a soft solemn bliss Swims in his eye: his swimming eye uprais'd And Faith's whole armour glitters on his limbs ! And thus transfigur’d with a dreadless awe, A solemn hush of soul, meek he beholds All things of terrible seeming: yea, unmov’d Views e’en th' immitigable ministers That shower down vengeance on these latter days. For kindling with intenser Deity From the celestial Mercy-seat they come, And at the renovating Wells of Love Have fill'd their Vials with salutary Wrath, To sickly Nature more medicinal Than what soft balm the weeping good man pours Into the lone despoiled trav’ller's wounds !
Thus from th' Elect, regenerate thro' faith,
* Our evil passions, under the influence of religion, become inno
Drink up the spirit and the dim regards
There is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind,
cent, and may be made to animate our virtue-in the same manner as the thick mist melted by the Sun, increases the light which it had before excluded. In the preceding paragraph, agreeably to this truth, we had allegorically narrated the transfiguration of fear into holy awe.
Unfeeling of our universal Sire,
'Tis the sublime of man, Our noontide Majesty, to know ourselves Parts and proportions of one wond'rous whole ! This fraternizes man, this constitutes Our charities and bearings. But 'tis God Diffus'd thro' all, that doth make all one whole ; This the worst superstition, him except* Aught to desire, Supreme Reality! The plenitude and permanence of bliss ! O Fiends of Superstition ! not that oft The erring Priest hath stain’d with Brother's blood Your grisly idols, not for this may Wrath Thunder against you from the Holy One! But o'er some plain that streameth to the Sun, Peopled with Death; or where more hideous Trade Loud-laughing packs his bales of human anguish; I will rise up a mourning, O ye Fiends!
* If to make aught but the Supreme Reality, the object of final pursuit, be Superstition; if the attributing of sublime properties to things or persons, which those things, or persons, neither do nor can possess, be Superstition-then Avarice and Ambition are Superstitions; and he, who wishes to estimate the evils of Superstition, should transport himself, not to the temple of the Mexican Deities, but to the plains of Flanders, or the coast of Africa.-Such is the sentiment conveyed in this and the subsequent lines.