So weak's our judgment, and so short's our fight,
We cannot level our own wifhes right:
And if fometimes we make a wife advance,
T'ourselves we little owe, but much to chance.
So that when providence, for secret ends,
Corroding cares, or sharp affliction fends,
We must conclude it beft it should be fo,
And not defponding, or impatient grow;
For he that will his confidence remove
From boundless wisdom, and eternal love,
To place it on himself, or human aid,
Will meet thofe woes he labours to evade :
But in the keenest agonies of grief,
Content's a cordial that ftill gives relief.
Heav'n is not always angry when he strikes,
But most chastises thofe whom most he likes;
And if with humble fpirits they complain,
Relieves the anguish, or rewards the pain.
To another FRIEND under AFFLICTION. By the fame Hand.
INCE the firft man by disobedience fell,
An eafy conqueft to the pow'rs of hell,
There's none in ev'ry stage of life can be
From the infults of bold affliction free.
If a short respite gives us fome relief,
And interrupts the feries of our grief,
So quick the pangs of mifery return,
We joy by minutes, but by years we mourn.
Reafon refin'd and to perfection brought
By wife philofophy, and ferious thought,
Supports the foul beneath the pond'rous weight
Of angry stars, and unpropitious fate:
Then is the time she should exert her pow'r,
And make us practice what she taught before,
For why are fuch volum'nous authors read,
The learn'd labours of the famous dead,
But to prepare the mind for its defence,
By fage refults, and well digefted fenfe?
That when the storm of mifery appears,
With all its real or fantastic fears,
We either may the rolling danger fly,
Or ftem the tide before it fwells too high.
But tho' the theory of wisdom's known
With ease, what should, and what should not be done;
Yet all the labour in the practice lyes,
To be in more than words, and notion, wise.
The facred truth of found philofophy
We study early, but we late apply.
When stubborn anguifh feizes on the foul,
Right reafon would its haughty rage controul;
But if it mayn't be fuffer'd, to endure
The pain is juft, when we reject the cure.
For many men, close observation finds,
Of copious learning, and exalted minds,
Who tremble at the fight of daring woes,
And stoop ignobly to the vileft foes;
As if they understood not how to be
Or wife, or brave, but in felicity;
And by fome action, fervile, or unjust,
Lay all their former glories in the dust.
For wisdom firft the wretched mortal flies,
And leaves him naked to his enemies:
So that when moft his prudence fhould be shown,
The most imprudent giddy things are done:
For when the mind's furrounded with diftrefs,
Fear, or inconftancy, the judgment press,
And render it incapable to make
Wife refolutions, or good counfels take.
Yet there's a steadiness of foul, and thought,
By reafon bred, and by religion taught,
Which, like a rock amidst the stormy waves,
Unmov'd remains, and all affliction braves.
In fharp misfortunes fome will fearch too deep
What heav'n prohibits, and would fecret keep:
But thofe events 'tis better not to know,
Which, known, ferve only to increase our woe.
Knowledge forbid ('tis dang'rous to purfue)
With guilt begins, and ends with ruin too.
For had our earliest parents been content
Not to know more, than to be innocent,
Their ignorance of evil had preferv'd
Their joys entire, for then they had not swerv'd.
But they imagin'd (their defires were fuch)
They knew too little, till they knew too much.
E'er fince by folly most to wisdom rise,
And few are, but by fad experience, wise.
Confider, friend! who all your bleffings gave,
What are recall'd again, and what you have;
And do not murmur, when you are bereft
Of little, if you have abundance left.
Confider too, how many thousands are
Under the worst of miseries, despair;
And don't repine at what you now endure,
Custom will give you eafe, or time will cure.
Once more confider, that the present ill,
Tho' it be great, may yet be greater still;
And be not anxious, for to undergo
One grief is nothing to a num'rous woe.
But fince it is impossible to be
Human, and not expos'd to mifery,
Bear it, my friend, as bravely as you can;
You are not more, and be not less than man!
Afflictions paft can no existence find,
But in the wild ideas of the mind:
And why should we for thofe misfortunes mourn,
Which have been fuffer'd, and can ne'er return?
Those that have weather'd a tempeftuous night,
And find a calm approaching with the light,
Will not, unless their reason they disown,
Still make thofe dangers present that are gone.
What is behind the curtain none can see.
It may be joy, fuppose it misery;
'Tis future ftill, and that which is not here,
May never come, or we may never bear.
Therefore the present ill alone we ought
To view, in reason, with a troubled thought:
But, if we may the facred pages truft,
He's always happy, that is always juft.
On the general CONFLAGRATION and enfuing JUDGMENT. A Pindaric Effay. By the fame Hand.
Effe quoque in fatis reminiscitur affore tempus
Quo mare, quo tellus, correptaque regia cali
Ardeat, et mundi moles operofa laboret.
WOW the black days of universal doom,
Which wond'rous prophecies foretold, are come; What strong convulfions, what ftupendous woe
Muft finking nature undergo,
Amidst the dreadful wreck and final overthrow!
Methinks I hear her, confcious of her fate,
With fearful groans and hideous cries
Fill the prefaging skies,
Unable to fupport the weight,
Or of the present, or approaching miseries.
Methinks I hear her fummon all
Her guilty off-spring, raving with despair,
And trembling cry aloud, Prepare,
Ye fublunary pow'rs, t' attend my funeral!
II.
See, fee the tragical portents,
Those dismal harbingers of dire events!
Loud thunders rore, and darting light'nings fly
Thro' the dark concave of the troubled sky:
The fiery ravage is begun, the end is nigh.
See how the glaring meteors blaze!
Like baleful torches, O they come,
To light diffolving nature to her tomb!
And scatt'ring round their peftilential rays,
Strike the affrighted nations with a wild amaze.
Vast sheets of flame, and globes of fire,
By an impetuous wind are driven,
Thro' all the regions of th' inferior heav'n,
Till hid in fulph'rous fmoak, they feemingly expire.
Sad and amazing 'tis to fee,
What mad confufion rages over all
This fcorching ball!
No country is exempt, no nation free, But each partakes the epidemic mifery. What difmal havock of mankind is made By wars, and peftilence, and dearth,
Thro' the whole mournful earth! Which with a murdering fury they invade, Forfook by providence, and all-propitious aid. Whilft fiends let lofe, their utmoft rage employ To ruin all things here below;
Their malice and revenge no limits know, But, in the univerfal tumult, all destroy.
Distracted mortals from their cities fly
For fafety to their champain ground,
But there no fafety can be found;
The vengeance of an angry Deity,
With unrelenting fury, does enclose them round:
And whilft for mercy fome aloud implore
The God they ridicul'd before;
And others raving with their woe,
(For hunger, thirst, despair they undergo)
Blafpheme and curfe the power they should adore.
The earth, parch'd up with drought, her jaws extends,
And opening wide a dreadful tomb,
The howling multitude at once defcends
Together all into her burning womb.
The trembling Alps abfcond their aged heads
In mighty pillars of infernal fmoke,
Which from their bellowing caverns broke,
And fuffocates whole nations where it fpreads.
Sometimes the fire within divides
The maffy rivers of those secret chains,
Which hold together their prodigious fides,
And hurls the shatter'd rocks o'er all the plains;
While towns and cities, ev'ry thing below
Is overwhelm'd with the fame burst of woe.
No fhow'rs defcend from the malignant sky,
To cool the burning of the thirsty field;
The trees no leaves, no grafs the meadows yield,
But all is barren, all is dry.
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