Part 26 (2/2)

Of love divine the child; Love brought it forth; and, from its birth, Has o'er it fondly smil'd:

Now, and through periods distant far, Long ere the world began, Heaven is, and has in travail been, Its birth the good of man;

Man holds in constant service bound The bl.u.s.tering winds and seas; Nor suns disdain to travel hard Their master, man, to please:

To final good the worst events Through secret channels run; Finish for man their destin'd course, As 'twas for man begun.

One point (observ'd, perhaps, by few) Has often smote, and smites My mind, as demonstration strong; That heaven in man delights:

What's known to man of things unseen, Of future worlds, or fates?

So much, nor more, than what to man's Sublime affairs relates;

What's revelation then? a list, An inventory just Of that poor insect's goods, so late Call'd out of night and dust.

What various motives to rejoice!

To render joy sincere, Has this no weight? our joy is felt Beyond this narrow sphere:

Would we in heaven new heaven create, And double its delight?

A smiling world, when heaven looks down, How pleasing in its sight!

Angels stoop forward from their thrones To hear its joyful lays; As incense sweet enjoy, and join, Its aromatic praise:

Have we no cause to fear the stroke Of heaven's avenging rod, When we presume to counteract A sympathetic G.o.d?

If we resign, our patience makes His rod an armless wand; If not, it darts a serpent's sting, Like that in Moses' hand;

Like that, it swallows up whate'er Earth's vain magicians bring, Whose baffled arts would boast below Of joys a rival spring.

Consummate love! the list how large Of blessings from thy hand!

To banish sorrow, and be blest, Is thy supreme command.

Are such commands but ill obey'd?

Of bliss, shall we complain?

The man, who dares to be a wretch, Deserves still greater pain.

Joy is our duty, glory, health; The suns.h.i.+ne of the soul; Our best encomium on the power Who sweetly plans the whole:

Joy is our Eden still possess'd: Begone, ign.o.ble grief!

'Tis joy makes G.o.ds, and men exalts, Their nature, our relief;

Relief, for man to that must stoop, And his due distance know; Transport's the language of the sides, Content the style below.

Content is joy, and joy in pain Is joy and virtue too; Thus, whilst good present we possess, More precious we pursue:

Of joy the more we have in hand, The more have we to come; Joy, like our money, interest bears, Which daily swells the sum.

<script>