That he on t'other's ruin rears his throne;
And fhows his friend's mistake, and thence confirms his
On earth, in air, amidst the feas and skies,
Mountainous heaps of wonders rife ;
Whose towering ftrength will ne'er submit
To reafon's batteries, or the mines of wit:
Yet ftill enquiring, ftill miftaken man,
Each hour repuls'd, each hour dares onward prefs
And, leveling at God his wandering guess
(That feeble engine of his reafoning war,
Which guides his doubts, and combats his despair),
Laws to his Maker the learn'd wretch can give :
Can bound that nature, and prescribe that will,
Whofe pregnant word did either ocean fill:
Can tell us whence all beings are, and how they move
Through either ocean, foolish man !
That pregnant word fent forth again,
Might to a world extend each atom there ;
For every drop call forth a fea, a heaven for every ftar.
Let cunning earth her fruitful wonders hide
And only lift thy ftaggering reafon up
To trembling Calvary's astonish'd top;
Then mock thy knowledge, and confound thy pride,
Explaining how Perfection fuffer'd pain,
Almighty languifl'd, and Eternal dyed :
How by her patient victor death was flain ;
And earth prophan'd, yet blefs'd, with Deicide.
Then down with all thy boafted volumes, down;
Only referve the Sacred One:
Low, reverently low,
Make thy ftubborn knowledge bow;
Weep out thy Reafon's and thy body's eyes;
Deject thyfelf, that thou mayft rise;
To look to Heaven, be blind to all below.
Then Faith, for Reason's glimmering light, shall give, Her immortal perspective;
And Grace's prefence Nature's lofs retrieve:
Then thy enliven'd foul fhall fee,
That all the volumes of Philofophy,
With all their comments, never could invent,
So politic an inftrument,
To reach the Heaven of Heavens, the High Abode,
Where Mofes places his myfterious God,
As was the ladder which old Jacob rear'd,
When light divine had human darkness clear'd;
And his enlarg'd ideas found the road,
Which Faith had dictated, and Angels trod.
Confiderations on Part of the 88th PSALM.
A COLLEGE EXERCISE. 1690.
HEAVY, O Lord, on me thy judgements lie,
Accurft I am, while God rejects my cry.
O'erwhelm'd in darkness and despair I groan ;
And every place is hell; for God is gone.
O! Lord, arife, and let thy beams controul
Thofe horrid clouds, that prefs my frighted foul:
Save the poor wanderer from 'eternal night,
Thou that art the God of Light.
Downward I haften to my deftin'd place;
There none obtain thy aid, or fing thy praïfe.
Soon I fhall lie in death's deep ocean drown'd:
Is mercy there; or fweet forgiveness found?
O fave me yet, whilst on the brink I stand;
Rebuke the storm, and waft my foul to land.
O let her reft beneath thy wing fecure,
Thou that art the God of Power.
Behold the prodigal! to thee I come,
To hail my father, and to seek my home.
Nor refuge could I find, nor friend abroad,
Straying in vice, and deftitute of God.
O let thy terrors, and my anguifh end !
Be thou my refuge and be thou my friend :
Receive the fon thou didft fo long reprove,
Thou that art the God of Love.
To the Rev. Dr. F. TURNER, Bishop of ELY; who had advised a Tranflation of PRUDENTIUS.
IF poets, ere they cloath'd their infant thought,
And the rude work to just perfection brought,
Did still some god, or godlike man invoke,
Whofe mighty name their facred filence broke:
Your goodness, Sir, will eafily excufe,
The bold requests of an aspiring Mufe;
Who, with your bleffing would your aid implore,
And in her weakness justify your power.—
From your
fair pattern fhe would strive to write,
And with unequal strength pursue your flight;
Yet hopes, the ne'er can err that follows you,
Led by your bleft commands, and great example too.
Then smiling and afpiring influence give,
And make the Mufe and her endeavours live;
Claim all her future labours as your due,
Let every fong begin and end with
you: So to the bleft retreat she'll gladly go,
Where the Saints' palm and Mufes' laurel grow;
Where kindly both in glad embrace shall join,
And round your brow their mingled honours twine;
Both to the virtue due, which could excel,
As much in writing, as in living well.-
So fhall fhe proudly prefs the tuneful string,
And mighty things in mighty numbers fing;
Nor doubt to strike Prudentius' daring lyre,
And humbly bring the verfe which you infpire.
A PASTORA L. To the Bishop of ELY; on his Departure from Cambridge.
TELL, dear Alexis, tell thy Damon, why
Doft thou in mournful shades obfcurely lie?
Why doft thou figh, why strike thy panting breast?
And fteal from life the needful hours of reft?
Are thy kids ftarv'd by winter's early frost?
Are any of thy bleating stragglers lost ?
Have ftrangers' cattle trod thy new-plough'd ground?
Has great Joanna, or her greater fhepherd, frown'd?
ALEXIS.
See my kids browze, my lambs fecurely play :
(Ah! were their master unconcern'd as they !)
No beafts (at noon I look'd) had trod my ground;
Nor has Joanna, or her fhepherd, frown'd.
Then ftop the lavish fountain of your eyes,
Nor let thofe fighs from your fwoln bosom rise ;
Chafe fadnefs, friend, and folitude away;
And once again rejoice, and once again look gay.
ALEXIS.
Say what can more our tortur'd fouls annoy,
Than to behold, admire, and lofe our joy;
Whofe fate more hard than thofe who fadly run,
For the laft glimpfe of the departing fun?
Or what feverer fentence can be given,
Than, having feen, to be excluded heaven?
DAMON.
None, fhepherd, none
AL. Then ceafe to chide my cares !
And rather pity than restrain my tears;
Those tears, my Damon, which I justly fhed,
To think how great my joys; how foon they fled;
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