Why does the constant fun
With measur'd steps his radiant journies run ?
Why does he order the diurnal hours,
To leave earth's other part, and rife in ours?
Why does he wake the correspondent moon,
And fill her willing lamp with liquid light,
Commanding her with delegated powers
To beautify the world, and bless the night?
Why does each animated star
Love the just limits of its proper sphere ?
Why does each consenting fign
With prudent harmony combine
In turns to move, and subsequent appear,
To gird the globe, and regulate the year?
Man does with dangerous curiofity
These unfathom'd wonders try :
With fancied rules and arbitrary laws
Matter and motion he restrains;
And ftudied lines and fictious circles draws:
Then with imagin'd fovereignty
Lord of his new hypothefis he reigns.
He reigns: how long? till fome ufurper rife;
And he too, mighty thoughtful, mighty wife,
Studies new lines, and other circles feigns.
From this last toil again what knowledge flows?
Juft as much, perhaps, as shows
That all his predecessor's rules
Were empty cant, all jargon of the schools;
That he on t'other's ruin rears his throne;
And shows his friend's mistake, and thence confirms hiss
On earth, in air, amidst the feas and skies,
Mountainous heaps of wonders rise;
Whose towering ftrength will ne'er fubmit
To reafon's batteries, or the mines of wit:
Yet ftill enquiring, still mistaken man,
Each hour repuls'd, each hour dares onward press;
And, leveling at God his wandering guess
(That feeble engine of his reasoning war,
Which guides his doubts, and combats his defpair),
Laws to his Maker the learn'd wretch can give :
Can bound that nature, and prescribe that will,
Whose 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 star.
Let cunning earth her fruitful wonders hide;
And only lift thy staggering reason up
To trembling Calvary's aftonish'd top;
Then mock thy knowledge, and confound thy pride,
Explaining how Perfection fuffer'd pain,
Almighty languish'd, and Eternal dyed :
How by her patient victor death was slain;
And earth prophan'd, yet bless'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 Reason's and thy body's eyes;.
Deject thyself, that thou mayst 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 shall fee,
That all the volumes of Philosophy,
With all their comments, never could invent,
So politic an inftrument,
To reach the Heaven of Heavens, the High Abode,
Where Mofes places his mysterious 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,
Accurst I am, while God rejects my cry.
O'erwhelm'd in darkness and defpair I groan;
And every place is hell; for God is gone.
O! Lord, arife, and let thy beams controul
Those horrid clouds, that press my frighted foul :
Save the poor wanderer from eternal night,
Thou that art the God of Light.
Downward I haften to my destin'd place;
There none obtain thy aid, or fing thy praife.
Soon I shall lie in death's deep ocean drown'd:
Is mercy there; or sweet forgiveness found?
O fave me yet, whilst on the brink I stand;
Rebuke the ftorm, and waft my foul to land.
O let her rest beneath thy wing fecure,
Thou that art the God of Power.
Behold the prodigal! to thee I come,
To hail my father, and to feek my home.
Nor refuge could I find, nor friend abroad,
Straying in vice, and destitute of God.
O let thy terrors, and my anguish end!
Be thou my refuge and be thou my friend:
Receive the fon thou didst so 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
F poets, ere they cloath'd their infant thought,
And the rude work to just perfection brought,
Did ftill fome god, or godlike man invoke,
Whose mighty name their facred filence broke :
Your goodness, Sir, will easily excufe,
The bold requests of an aspiring Muse;
Who, with your blessing would your aid implore,
And in her weakness justify your power.-
From your fair pattern she would strive to write,
And with unequal strength pursue your flight;
Yet hopes, she ne'er can err that follows you,
Led by your blest commands, and great example too.
Then smiling and aspiring influence give,
And make the Muse and her endeavours live;
Claim all her future labours as your due,
Let every fong begin and end with you :
So to the blest retreat she'll gladly go,
Where the Saints' palm and Muses' 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 shall she proudly press the tuneful string
And mighty things in mighty numbers fing;
Nor doubt to ftrike Prudentius' daring lyre,
And humbly bring the verse which you infpire.
A PASTORAL. To the Bishop of ELY; on his Departure from Cambridge.
TELL, dear Alexis, tell thy Damon, why
Doft thou in mournful shades obfcurely lie?
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