Because the deed, by which his love confirms
The largess he bestows, prescribes the terins.
Compliance with his will your lot ensuies,
Accept it only, and the boon is yours.
And sure it is as kind to smile and give,

325

As with a frown to say, Do this, and live.

Love is not pedler's trump'ry, bought and sold ·

330

He will give freely, or he will withhold;

His soul abhors a mercenary thought,
And him as deeply who abhors it not;
He stipulates, indeed, but merely this,
That man will freely take an unbought bliss,
Will trust him for a faithful gen'rous part,
Nor set a price upon a willing heart.

335

Of all the ways that seem to promise fair,

To place you where his saints his presence share.
This only can; for this plain cause, express'd
In terms as plain-Himself has shut the rest.
But oh the strife, the bick'ring, and debate,
The tidings of unpurchas'd Heav'n create!
The flirted fan, the bridle, and the toss,
All speakers, yet all language at a loss.

340

315

From stucco'd walls smart arguments rebound;

And beaux, adepts in ev'ry thing profound,

Die of disdain, or whistle off the sound.

Such is the clamour of rooks, daws, and kites,

Th' explosion of the levell'd tube excites,

350

Where mould'ring abbey walls o'erhang the glado,
And oaks coeval spread a mournful shade,

The screaming nations, hov'ring in mid air,

Loudly resent the stranger's freedom there,
And seem to warn him never to repeat
His bold intrusion on their dark retreat.

355

Adieu, Vinosa cries, ere yet he sius

The purple bumper trembling at his lips-

Adieu to all morality! if Grace

Make works a vain ingredient in the case.

360

The Christian hcpe is-Waiter, draw the cork-
If I mistake not-Blockhead! with a fork!
Without good works, whatever some may boast,
Mere folly and delusion-Sir, your toast.

My firin persuasion is, at least sometimes,

365

That Heav'n will weigh man's virtues and his crimes With nice attention, in a righteous scale,

And save or damn as these or those prevail.
I plant my foot upon this ground of trust,
And silence ev'ry fear with-God is just.
But if, perchance, on some dull, drizzling day,
A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say,
If thus th' important cause is to be tried,
Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side;
I soon recover from these needless frights,
And God is merciful-sets all to rights.
Thus between justice, as my prime support,
And mercy, fled to as the last resort,

I glide and steal along with Heav'n in view,
And-pardon me, the bottle stands with you.
I never will believe, the colonel cries,
The sanguinary schemes that some devise,
Who make the good Creator on their plan,
A being of less equity than man.

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375

380

If appetite, or what divines call lust,

385

Which men comply with, e'en because they must,

Be punish'd with perdition, who is pure?

Then theirs, no doubt, as well as mine, is sure.

If sentence of eternal pain belong

To ev'ry sudden slip and transient wrong,

390

Then Heav'n enjoins the fallible and frail

A hopeless task, and damns them if they fail.

My creed, (whatever some creed-makers mean
By Athanasian nonsense, or Nicene,)
My creed is, he is safe, that does his best,
And death's a doom sufficient for the rest.

395

Right, says an ensign; and for aught I see Your faith and mine substantially agree;

The best of ev'ry man's performance here
Is to discharge the duties of his sphere.
A Jawyer's dealings should be just and fair,
Honesty shines with great advantage there.
Fasting and pray'r sit well upon a priest,
A decent caution and reserve at least.
A soldier's best is courage in the field,

400

405

With nothing here that wants to be conceal'd.
Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay;

A hand as lib'ral as the light of day.

The soldier thus endow'd who never shrinks,

Nor closets up his thoughts, whate'er he thinks
Who scorns to do an injury by stealth.

410

Must go to Heav'n-and I must drink his health
Sir Smug, he cries, (for lowest at the board,

Just made fifth chaplain of his patron lord,
His shoulders witnessing by many a shrug

415

How much his feelings suffer'd, sat Sir Smug,,

Your office is to winnow false from true;
Come, Prophet, drink, and tell us, What think «?
Sighing and smiling as he takes his glass,

Which they that woo preferment rarely pass,

420

Fallible man, the church-bred youth replies,

Is still found fallible, however wise;

And diff'ring judgments serve but to declare,

That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where
Of all it ever was my lot to read,

125

Of criticks now alive, or long since dead,

The book of all the world that charm'd me most

Was-well-a-day-the title page was lost;

The writer well remarks, a heart that knows

To take with gratitude what Heav'n bestows,

430

With prudence always ready at our call,

To guide our use of it, is all in all.

Doubtless it is-To which, of my own store,

I superadd a few essentials more ;

But these, excuse the liberty I take,

435

I wave just now, for conversation's sake.

Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim,

And add Right Rev'rend to Sinug's honour'd name.

And yet our lot is giv'n us in a land,

Where busy arts are never at a stand;
Where Science points her telescopick eye.,

440

Familiar with the wonders of the sky;

Where bold inquiry, diving out of sight,

Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light;

Where naught eludes the persevering quest,

445

That fashion, taste, or luxury, suggest.

But above all, in her own light array'd,
See Mercy's grand apocalypse display'd'
The sacred book no longer suffers wrong,
Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue;
But speaks with plainness, art could never mend,
What simplest minds can soonest comprehend.
God gives the word, the preachers throng around,
Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound;
That sound bespeaks Salvation on her way,
The trumpet of a life-restoring day;

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455

'Tis heard where England's eastern glory shines, And in the gulfs of her Cornubian mines,

And still it spreads. See Germany send forth

Her sons* to pour it on the farthest north:

460

Fir'd with a zeal peculiar, they defy

The rage and rigour of a polar sky,

And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose

On icy plains, and in eternal snows.

O bless'd within th' enclosure of your rocks,
Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks;
No fertilizing streams your fields divide,
That show revers'd the villas on their side ;

465

No groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird,

Or voice of turtle in your land is heard;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell

470

Of those that walk at ev'ning where ye dwell;

* The Moravian Missionaries in Greenland. See Krantz

Vor.. I.

9

But winter, arm'd with terrours here unknown,
Sits absolute on his unshaken throne;

Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste,

475

And bids the mountains he has built stand fast :
Beckons the legions of his storms away

From happier scenes, to make your land a prey;
Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won,
And scorns to share it with the distant Sun.
-Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle!
And Peace, the genuine offspring of her smile;
The pride of letter'd Ignorance that binds
In chains of errour our accomplish'd minds,
That decks with all the splendour of the true,
A false religion is unknown to you.
Nature, indeed, vouchsafes for our delight
The sweet vicissitudes of day and night :
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here ;
But brighter beams than his who fires the skies,
Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes,
That shoot into your darkest caves the day,

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485

490

From which our nicer opticks turn away.

Here see the encouragement Grace gives to vice,

The dire effect of mercy without price!

496

What were they? what some fools are made by art,
They were by nature, atheists head and heart.
The gross idolatry blind heathens teach,
Was too refin'd for them, beyond their reach.
Not e'en the glorious Sun, though men revere
The monarch most, that seldom will appear,
And tho' his beams, that quicken where they shine,
May claim some right to be esteem'd divine,

500

Not e'en the Sun, desirable as rare,

505

Could bend one knee, engage one votary there ;

They were, what base Credulity believes

True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, thieves : The full-gorg'd savage, at his nauseous feast

Spent half the darkness, and snor'd out the rest,

510