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His wrath inflamed ? his tenderness on fire ;
Like soft, smooth oil, outblazing other fires ?
Can prayer, can praise avert it ?—THOU ! my all,
My theme, my inspiration, and my crown !
My strength in age, my rise in low estate !
My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth !—my world !
My light in darkness, and my life in death !
My boast through time ! bliss through eternity—
Eternity, too short to speak thy praise !
Or fathom thy profound of love to man—
To man of men the meanest, even to me !
My sacrifice ! my GOD ! what things are these !
What then art THOU ? by what name shall I call THEE ?
Knew I the name devout archangels use,
Devout archangels should the name enjoy
By me unrivall'd; thousands more sublime,
None half so dear as that, which, though unspoke
Still glows at heart: O how omnipotence
* Is lost in love ! thou great PHILANTHROPIST !
Father of angels ! but the friend of man !
Like Jacob, fondest of the younger born !
THOU ! who didst save him, snatch the smoking brand
From out the flames, and quench it in thy blood ;
How art thou pleased by bounty to distress !
To make us groan beneath our gratitude,
Too big for birth ! to favour and confound ;
To challenge, and to distance all return !
Lavish of love, stupendous heights to soar
And leave praise panting in the distant vale !
Thy right too great defrauds THEE of thy due ;

Supporter sole of man above himself;
Even in this night of frailty, change, and death,
She gives the soul a soul that acts a God.
Religion ! providence ! an after-state !
Here is firm footing—here is solid rock—
This can support us—all is sea besides—
Sinks under us—bestorms, and then devours.
* His hand the good man fastens on the skies,
And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl.

As when a wretch, from thick polluted air,
Darkness and stench, and suffocating damps,
And dungeon-horrors by kind fate discharged,
Climbs some fair eminence, where ether pure
Surrounds him, and elysian prospects rise;
His heart exults, his spirits cast their load;
As if new-born he triumphs in the change;
So joys the soul, when, from inglorious aims
And sordid sweets, from feculence and froth
Of ties terrestrial set at large, she mounts
To reason's region, her own element,
Breathees hopes immortal and affects the skies.

Religion ! thou the soul of happiness;
And, groaning Calvary, of thee ! there shine
The noblest truths; there strongest motives sting:
There sacred violence assaults the soul;
There nothing but compulsion is forborn.
Can love allure us ? or can terror awe?
HE weeps !—the falling drop puts out the sun;
HE sighs !—the sigh earth's deep foundation shakes:
If in his love so terrible, what then

His wrath inflamed ? his tenderness on fire;
Like soft, smooth oil, outblazing other fires ?
Can prayer, can praise avert it ?—THOU ! my all,
My theme, my inspiration, and my crown !
My strength in age, my rise in low estate !
My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth !—my world !
My light in darkness, and my life in death !
My boast through time ! bliss through eternity—
Eternity, too short to speak thy praise !
Or fathom thy profound of love to man—
To man of men the meanest, even to me !
My sacrifice ! my GOD ! what things are these !

What then art THOU ? by what name shall I call THEE?
Knew I the name devout archangels use,
Devout archangels should the name enjoy
By me unrivall'd; thousands more sublime,
None half so dear as that, which, though unspoke
Still glows at heart: O how omnipotence
* Is lost in love ! thou great PHILANTHROPIST !
Father of angels ! but the friend of man !
Like Jacob, fondest of the younger born !
THOU ! who didst save him, snatch the smoking brand
From out the flames, and quench it in thy blood ;
How art thou pleased by bounty to distress !
To make us groan beneath our gratitude,
Too big for birth ! to favour and confound ;
To challenge, and to distance all return !
Lavish of love, stupendous heights to soar
And leave praise panting in the distant vale !
Thy right too great defrauds THEE of thy due ;

recto B1978.43.1375 ba-obj-2296 -0001

Yale Center for British Art, 2010

88

And sacrilegious our sublimest song :
But since the naked will obtains thy smile,
Beneath this monument of praise unpaid,
And future life symphonious to my strain,
That noblest hymn to heaven ! for ever lie
Intomb'd my fear of death ! and every fear,
The dread of every evil, but thy frown.

Whom see I yonder, so demurely smile ?
Laughter a labour, and might break their rest.
Ye quietists, in homage to the skies !
Serene ! of soft address ! who mildly make
An unobtrusive tender of your hearts,
Abhorring violence ! who halt indeed,
* But for the blessing wrestle not with heaven !
Think you my song too turbulent ? too warm ?
Are passions then the pagans of the soul ?
Reason alone baptized—alone ordain'd
To touch things sacred ?—oh for warmer still !
Guilt chills my zeal, and age benumbs my powers ;
Oh for an humbler heart, and prouder song !
THOU ! my much-injured theme ! with that soft eye
Which melted o'er doom'd Salem, deign to look
Compassion to the coldness of my breast ;
And pardon to the winter in my strain !
Oh ye cold-hearted, frozen formalists !
On such a theme 'tis impious to be calm ;
Passion is reason, transport temper, here.
Shall heaven, which gave us ardour, and has shewn
Her own for man so strongly, not disdain
What smooth emollients in theology,

Pub'd. June 2, 1797, by R. Edwards, Stage New Bond Street