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See, a long Race thy fpacious Courts adorn;
See future Sons and Daughters yet unborn
In crouding Ranks on ev'ry Side arise,
Demanding Life, impatient for the Skies!
See barb'rous Nations at thy Gates attend,
Walk in thy Light, and in thy Temple bend ;
See thy bright Altars throng'd with proftrate Kings,
And heap'd with Products of Sabœan Springs!
For thee Idume's spicy Forests blow,
And Seeds of Gold in Ophyr's Mountains glow.
See Heav'n its fparkling Portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a Flood of Day!
No more the rifing Sun fhall gild the Morn,
Nor Evening Cynthia fill her filver Horn,
But loft, diffolv'd in thy fuperior Rays,
One Tide of Glory, one unclouded Blaze
O'erflow thy Courts: The Light himself shall shine
Reveal'd, and GoD's eternal Day be thine!
The Seas fhall wafte, the Skies in Smoke decay,
Rocks fall to Duft, and Mountains melt away;
But fix'd his Word, his faving Pow'r remains,

Thy Realm for ever lafts, thy own Meffiah reigns.

The Knowledge of Futurity wifely concealed. POPE.

EAV'N from all Creatures hides the Book of

HEAV

Fate,

All but the Page prefcrib'd, their prefent State; From Brutes what Men, from Men what Spirits know; Or who could fuffer Being here below?

The Lamb thy Riot dooms to bleed To-day,
Had he thy Reason, would he skip and play?

Pleas'd

Pleas'd to the laft, he crops the flow'ry Food,
And licks the Hand juft rais'd to fhed his Blood.
Oh Blindness to the future kindly giv❜n,
That each may fill the Circle mark'd by Heav'n,
Who fees with equal Eye, as GoD of all,
A Hero perish, or a Sparrow fall,
Atoms, or Systems, into Ruin hurl'd,
And now a Bubble burst, and now a World!

On HAPPINESS.

POPE.

End and Aim!

our Good, Pleafure, Eafe, Content, whate'er thy Name :

That fomething ftill which prompts th' eternal Sigh, For which we bear to live, nor fear to die; Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies, O'erlook'd, feen double, by the Fool-and Wife, Plant of celeftial Seed! if dropt below, Say, in what mortal Soil thou deign'st to grow? Fair-opening to fome Court's propitious Shrine, Or deep with Diamonds in the flaming Mine, Twin'd with the Wreaths Parnaffian Laurels yield, Or reap'd in Iron Harvests of the Field? Where grows where grows it not?—If vain our Toil, We ought to blame the Culture, not the Soil. Fix'd to no Spot is Happiness fincere ; 'Tis no where to be found, or ev'ry where.

Ask of the Learn'd the Way, the Learn'd are blind, This bids to ferve, and that to fhun Mankind: Some place the Blifs in Action, fome in Ease, Those call it Pleasure, and Contentment these

Take

Take Nature's Path, and mad Opinions leave, All States can reach it, and all Heads conceive; Obvious her Goods, in no extreme they dwell, There needs but thinking right, and meaning well, And mourn our various Portions as we please, Equal is common Senfe, and common Eafe.

Order is Heav'ns firft Law; and this confeft, Some are, and must be, greater than the Rest, More rich, more wife: But who infers from hence, That fuch are happier, fhocks all common Sense: Heav'n to Mankind impartial we confess, If all were equal in their Happiness : But mutual Wants their Happiness increase, All Nature's Diff'rence keeps all Nature's Peace. Condition, Circumstance, is not the Thing; Bliss is the fame, in fubject or in King; In who obtain Defence, or who defend ; In him who is, or him who finds a Friend. Heav'n breathes thro' ev'ry Member of the Whole One common Bleffing, has one common Soul.

Know, all the Good that Individuals find, Or GoD and Nature meant to mere Mankind, Reason's whole Pleasure, all the Joys of Sense, Lie in three Words, Health, Peace, and Competence.

The MAN of ROSS. POPE.

B

UT all our Praises why should Lords engross? Rife honest Muse! and fing the MAN of Ross: Pleas'd Vaga echoes thro' her winding Bounds, And rapid Severn hoarfe Applaufe refounds,

Who

Who hang with Woods yon Mountains fultry Brow
From the dry Rock who bade the Waters flow?
Nor to the Skies in useless Columns toft,
Or in proud Falls magnificently lost,

any

But clear and artless pouring thro' the Plain
Health to the Sick, and Solace to the Swain.
Whole Causeway parts the Vale with fhady Rows?
Whofe Seats the weary Traveller repofe?
Who feeds
yon Alms-houfe, neat, but void of State,
Where Age and Want fit fmiling at the Gate?
Who taught that Heav'n-directed Spire to rife?
The MAN of Ross each lifping Babe replies.
Behold the Market-place with Poor o'erfpread!
The MAN of Ross divides the weekly Bread:
Him portion'd Maids, apprentic'd Orphans bleft,
The Young who labour'd, and the Old who rest.
Is fick? The MAN of Ross relieves,
Prescribes, attends, the Med'cine takes and gives.
Is there a Variance! Enter but his Door,
Baulk'd are the Courts, and Contest is no more.
Defpairing Quacks with Curfes fled the Place,
And vile Attornies, now an useless Race.
"Thrice happy Man! enabled to pursue
"What all fo wish, but want the Pow'r to do.
"Oh fay, what Sums that gen'rous Hand fupply?
"What Mines to fwell that boundless Charity?
Of Debts and Taxes, Wife or Children clear,
This Man poffeft-five hundred Pounds a Year.
Blush Grandeur, blufh; proud Courts withdraw your
Ye little Stars! hide your diminish'd Rays. [Blaze.

"And what? No Monument, Infcription, Stone? "His Race, his Form, his Name almost unknown?

с

Who

Who builds a Church to GoD, and not to Fame,
Will never mark the Marble with his Name.

The Omniprefence of GOD, and Submission to his
Providence.

POPE.

A

LL are but Parts of one ftupendous Whole,
Whofe Body Nature is, and God the Soul:
'That, chang'd thro' all, and yet in all the fame;
Great in the Earth, as in th' æthereal Frame;
Warms in the Sun, refreshes in the Breeze,
Glows in the Stars, and bloffoms in the Trees;
Lives thro' all Life, extends thro' all Extent,
Spreads undivided, operates unfpent;
Breathes in our Soul, informs our mortal Part;
As full, as perfect, in a Hair as Heart;
As full, as perfect, in vile Man that mourns,
As the rapt Seraph, that adores and burns ;
To him no high, no low, no great, no small;
He fills, he bounds, connects, and measures all.

Ceafe then, nor ORDER Imperfection name:
Our proper Bliss depends on what we blame.
Know thy own Point; This kind, this due Degree,
Of Blindness, Weaknefs, Heav'n beftows on thee,
Submit.—In this, or any other Sphere,
Secure to be as bleft as thou canst bear :
Safe in the Hand of one difpofing Pow'r,
Or in the natal, or the mortal Hour.
All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;
All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not fee;

All Discord, Harmony, not understood;

All partial Evil, univerfal Good:

And,

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