Page images
PDF
EPUB

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.

The soul of man, a native of the skies
High-born and free, her freedom should maintain
Unsold, unmortgaged for earth's little bribes.
Th' illustrious stranger in this foreign land,
Like strangers, jealous of her dignity,
Studious of home, and ardent to return,

Of earth suspicious, earth's enchanted cup

With cool reserve light touching, should indulge

On immortality her godlike taste,

There take large draughts; make her chief banquet there.

Why is a wish far dearer than a crown?

That wish accomplished, why, the grave of bliss?
Because, in the great future buried deep,
Beyond our plans of empire and renown,
Lies all that man with ardor should pursue,
And He who made him bent him to the right.
Man's heart th' Almighty to the future sets,
By secret and inviolable springs;

And makes his hope his sublunary joy.

Why happiness pursued, though never found?

Man's thirst of happiness declares it is,
(For Nature never gravitates to nought);
That thirst unquenched declares it is not here.

"Tis immortality deciphers man,

And opens all the mysteries of his make.
Without it half his instincts are a riddle :
Without it all his virtues are a dream.
His very crimes attest his dignity;

His sateless thirst of pleasure, gold and fame,
Declares him born for blessings infinite:
What less than infinite makes un-absurd
Passions, which all on earth but more inflames?

Fierce passions, so mismeasured to this scene,
Stretched out, like eagles' wings, beyond our nest,
Far, far beyond the worth of all below,

For Earth too large,

presage a nobler flight, And evidence our title to the skies!

Nothing is dead; nay, nothing sleeps; each soul,
That ever animated human clay,

Now wakes; is on the wing: and where, O where
Will the swarm settle? When the trumpet's call,
As sounding brass, collects us, round Heaven's throne
Conglobed, we bask in everlasting day,
(Paternal splendor!) and adhere forever.
Had not the soul this outlet to the skies,
In this vast vessel of the universe,

How should we gasp, as in an empty void!
How in the pangs of famished hope expire!

Who tells me he denies his soul immortal,
Whate'er his boast, has told me, he's a knave.
His duty 'tis to love himself alone;

Nor care, though mankind perish, if he smiles.
Who thinks, ere long the man shall wholly die,
Is dead already; nought but brute survives.

A Deity believed, is joy begun ;
A Deity adored, is joy advanced;

A Deity beloved, is joy matured.

Each branch of piety delight inspires;

Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next,

O'er death's dark gulf, and all its horror hides;

Praise, the sweet exhalation of our joy,
That joy exalts, and makes it sweeter still;
Prayer ardent opens Heaven, lets down a stream
Of glory on the consecrated hour

Of man, in audience with the Deity.

Who worships the Great God, that instant joins The first in Heaven, and sets his foot on Hell.

The soul of man was made to walk the skies;
Delightful outlet of her prison here!
There, disencumbered from her chains, the ties
Of joys terrestrial, she can rove at large;

There, freely can respire, dilate, extend,
In full proportion let loose all her powers;
And, undeluded, grasp at something great.
Nor, as a stranger, does she wander there;
But, wonderful herself, through wonder strays;
Contemplating their grandeur, finds her own;
Dives deep in their economy divine,

Sits high in judgment on their various laws,
And, like a master, judges not amiss.
Hence, greatly pleased, and justly proud, the soul
Grows conscious of her birth celestial; breathes
More life, more vigor, in her native air;
And feels herself at home among the stars!

Leopold Scheffer.

1784.

CAPACITY OF MAN FOR PROGRESS.

"THIS dull, dark strife with unillumined souls,
Ending not with the day, but every morn
Afresh returning for another day-

Such warfare makes at last the noblest mind
Heavy and hopeless. Earnestly I wish

'Twere done, that I might rest and silent be!
So speak you. But distinguish well the truth.
The conflict is not gloomy. Grieved you see
Around you but a dull distracted house,

The old false world with evil deeds, wrong words,
Heavily pressing on all noble minds.

The conflict is right clear, in daylight waged,
With brightness ever pressing on the gloom!
Nor is your conflict with irrationals

« PreviousContinue »