So he, who seeks a mansion in the sky,
Must watch his purpose with a stedfast eye;
That prize belongs to none but the sincere,
The least obliquity is fatal here.

With caution taste the sweet Circean cup: He that sips often, at last drinks it up. Habits are soon assum'd; but, when we strive To strip them off, 'tis being flay'd alive. Call'd to the temple of impure delight, He that abstains, and he alone, does right. If a wish wander that way, call it home; He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam. But, if you pass the threshold, you are caught; Die then, if pow'r Almighty save you not. There, hard'ning by degrees, till double steel'd, Take leave of nature's God, and God reveal'd; Then laugh at all you trembled at before; And, joining the free-thinkers brutal roar, Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense

That scripture lies, and blasphemy is sense.

If clemency revolted by abuse

Be damnable, then damn'd without excuse.

Some dream that they can silence when they

will

The storm of passion, and say, Peace, be still; But "Thus far and no farther," when address'd To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, Implies authority that never can,

That never ought to be the lot of man.

But, muse, forbear; long flights forebode a fall;

Strike on the deep-ton'd chord the sum of all.

Hear the just law-the judgment of the skies! He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies: And he that will be cheated to the last, Delusions, strong as hell, shall bind him fast. But, if the wand'rer his mistake discern, Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return, Bewilder'd once, must he bewail his loss

For ever and for ever? No-the cross!

There, and there only (though the deist rave,
And atheist, if earth bear so base a slave);

There, and there only, is the pow'r to save.
There no delusive hope invites despair;

No mock'ry meets you, no deception, there.
The spells and charms, that blinded you before,
All vanish there, and fascinate no more.

I am no preacher, let this hint sufficeThe cross, once seen, is death to ev'ry vice: Else he that hung there suffer'd all his pain,

Bled, groan'd, and agoniz'd, and died, in vain.

TRUT H.

Pensantur trutiná. HOR. Lib. II. Epist. 1.

MAN, on the dubious waves of error toss'd,
His ship half founder'd, and his compass lost,
Sees, far as human optics may command,
A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land:
Spreads all his canvass, ev'ry sinew plies;
Pants for't, aims at it, enters it, and dies!
Then farewell all self-satisfying schemes,
His well-built systems, philosophic dreams;
Deceitful views of future bliss, farewell!
He reads his sentence at the flames of hell.
Hard lot of man-to toil for the reward

Of virtue, and yet lose it! Wherefore hard?—
He that would win the race must guide his horse
Obedient to the customs of the course;