« EelmineJätka »
Order is Heaven's first law; and tbis confest, Some are, and must be, greater than the rest.
More rich, more wise ; but who infers from hence
That such are happier, shocks all common fease.
Heaven to mankind impartial we confeís,
If all are equal in their happiness :
But mutual wants this happiness increase;
All nature's difference keeps all nature's peace.
Condition, circumstance is not the thing;
Bliss is the same in subject or in king,
In whom obtain defence, or who defend,
In him who is, or him who finds a friend :
Heaven breathes thro' every member of the whole
One common bleliing, as one common foul.
But fortune's gifts if each alike pofseft,
And each were equal, must not all contest?
If then to all men happiness was meant,
God in externals could not place content.
Fortune her gifts may variously dispose,
And these ve happy callid, unhappy those ;
But Heaven's juft balance equal will appear,
While thoie are plac'd in hope, and these in fear:
Not present good or ill, the joy or cure,
But future views of better, or worse.
Oh fons of earth ' attempt ye ftill to rise, By mountains pild on mountains, to the skies? Hcaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys, And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
Know, all the good that individuals find, Or God and Nature meant to mere mankind,
Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of fense,
Lie in three words, Health, Peace, and Competence.
But health consists with temperance alone ;
And peace, oh virtuc! peace is all thy own.
The good or bad the gifts of fortune gain,
But these less taste them, as they worie obtain.
Say, in pursuit of profit or delight,
Who risk the most, that take wrong means, or right?
Of vice or virtue, whether blest or cuilt,
Which meets contempt, or which compassion fift?
Count all th' advantage prosp'rous vice attains,
"Tis but what virtue Alies from and disdains :
And grant the bad what happiness they wou'd,
One they must want, which is, to pass for good.
Oh blind to truth, and God's whole scheme below,
Who fancy bliss to vice, to virtue woe;
Who sees and follows that great scheme the best,
Best knows the blessing and will most be blest.
But fools, the good alone, unhappy call,
For ills or accidents that chance to all.
See FALKLAND dies, the virtuous and the just!
See godlike Turenne prostrate on the dust!
See Sidney bleeds amid the martial strife!
Was this their virtue, or contempt of life?
Say, was it virtue, more tho’ heaven ne'er gave,
Lamented Digby ! funk thee to the grave ?
if virtue made the son expire,
Why, full of days and honour, lives the fire ?
Why drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath,
When nature sicken'd, and each gale was death!
Or why so long (in life if long can be)
Lent Heav'n a parent to the poor and me!
What makes all physical or moral ill ?
There deviates Nature, and here wanders Will,
God sends not ill; if rightly understood,
Or partial ill is universal Good,
Or Change admits, or nature lets it fall,
Short, and but rare, 'till Man improv'd it all.
We just as wisely might of Heav'n complain
That righteous Abel was destroy'd by Cain,
As that the virtuous son is ill at ease
When his lewd father gave the dire disease.
Think we, like some weak Prince, th’ Eternal Cause
Prone for his fav’rites to reverfe his laws ?
Shall burning Ætna, if a fage requires,
Forget to thunder, and recall her fires ?
On air or sea new motions be imprest,
Oh blameless Bethel! to relieve thy breast ?
When the loose mountain trembles from on high,
Shail gravitation cease, if you go by ?
Or some old temple, nodding to its fall,
For Chartres' head reserve the hanging wall !
But still this world (so fitted for the knave)
Contents us not. A better shall we have ?
- A kingdom of the just then let it be:
But first consider how those Just agree.
The good must me it God's peculiar care;
But who, but God, can tell us who they are?
One thinks on Calvin Heav'n's own Spirit fell ;
Another deems him instrument of hell:
If Calvin feel heav'n's blessing, or its rod,
This cries there is, and that, there is no GOD.
What shoćks one part will edify the rest,
Nor with one system can they all be blest.
The very best will variously incline,
And what rewards your virtue, punish mine.
WHATEVER 15, IS RIGHT.-- This world, 'tis true,
Was made for Caesar - but for Titus tco;
And which more blest? who chain'd his country, fay
Or he whose Virtue figh'd to lose a day?
« But sometimes Virtuc starves, while Vice is fed."
What then? Is the reward of Virtuc bread ?
That, Vice may merit, 'tis the price of toil;
The knave deserves it, when he tills the soil,
The knave deserves it, when he tempts the main,
Where folly fights for kings, or dives for gain.
The goodman may be weak, be indolent :
Nor in his claim to plenty, but content.
But grant him riches, your demand is o'er? [Pow'r?"
8 No- shall the good want Health, the good want
Add Health and Pow'r, and ev'ry earthly thing,
* Why hounded Pow'r ? why private ? why no king!
Nay, why external for internal giv'n?
Why is not Man a God, and Earth a Heaven?
Who aik and reason thus, will icarce conceive
God gives enough, while he has more to give :
Immense the pow'r, immense were the demand;
Say, at what part of nature will they stand ?
What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy. The loul's calm sun-line, and the hcart-felt joy,
Is virtue's prize : A better would you
Then give Humility a coach and fix,
Justice a Conqu’ror's sword, or Truth a gown,
Or Public Spirit its great cure, a Crown.
Weak, foolish man! will Heav'n reward us there
With the same trash mad moitals with for here?
The boy and man an individual makes,
Yet sigh’lt thou now for apples and for cakes?
Go, like the Indian, in another life
Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife;
As well as dream such trifles are aflign’d,
As toys and empires, for a god-like mind.
Rewards, that either would to Virtue bring
No joy, or be destructive of the thing :
How oft by these at sixty are undone
The virtues of a faint at tuenty-one!
To whom can Riches give Repute, or Tr ft,
Content, or pleasure, but the Good and juít?
Judges and Senates have been bought for gold,
Esteem and Love were never to be fold.
Oh fool! to think God hates the worthy mind,
The lover and the love of human-kind,
Whose life is healthful, and whose conscience clear,
Because he wants a thousand pounds a year.
Honour and Thame from no Condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
Fortune in Men has some small diff'rence made,
One Haunts in rags, one Autters in brocade ;
The cobler apron'd, and the parson gown'd,
The friar booded, and the monarch crowa'd,