Part 2 (2/2)
See next our several Sects,--but first behold The Church of Rome, who here is poor and old: Use not triumphant raillery, or, at least, Let not thy mother be a wh.o.r.e and beast; Great was her pride indeed in ancient times, Yet shall we think of nothing but her crimes?
Exalted high above all earthly things, She placed her foot upon the neck of kings; But some have deeply since avenged the crown, And thrown her glory and her honours down; Nor neck nor ear can she of kings command, Nor place a foot upon her own fair land.
Among her sons, with us a quiet few, Obscure themselves, her ancient state review, And fond and melancholy glances cast On power insulted, and on triumph past: They look, they can but look, with many a sigh, On sacred buildings doom'd in dust to lie; ”On seats,” they tell, ”where priests mid tapers dim Breathed the warm prayer, or tuned the midnight hymn; Where trembling penitents their guilt confessed, Where want had succour, and contrition rest; There weary men from trouble found relief, There men in sorrow found repose from grief.
To scenes like these the fainting soul retired; Revenge and anger in these cells expired; By Pity soothed, Remorse lost half her fears, And soften'd Pride dropp'd penitential tears.
”Then convent walls and nunnery spires arose, In pleasant spots which monk or abbot chose; When counts and barons saints devoted fed, And making cheap exchange, had pray'r for bread.
”Now all is lost, the earth where abbeys stood Is layman's land, the glebe, the stream, the wood: His oxen low where monks retired to eat, His cows repose upon the prior's seat: And wanton doves within the cloisters bill, Where the chaste votary warr'd with wanton will.”
Such is the change they mourn, but they restrain The rage of grief, and pa.s.sively complain.
We've Baptists old and new; forbear to ask What the distinction--I decline the task; This I perceive, that when a sect grows old, Converts are few, and the converted cold: First comes the hotbed heat, and while it glows The plants spring up, and each with vigour grows: Then comes the cooler day, and though awhile The verdure prospers and the blossoms smile, Yet poor the fruit, and form'd by long delay, Nor will the profits for the culture pay; The skilful gard'ner then no longer stops, But turns to other beds for bearing crops.
Some Swedenborgians in our streets are found, Those wandering walkers on enchanted ground, Who in our world can other worlds survey, And speak with spirits though confin'd in clay: Of Bible-mysteries they the keys possess, a.s.sured themselves, where wiser men but guess: 'Tis theirs to see around, about, above, - How spirits mingle thoughts, and angels move; Those whom our grosser views from us exclude, To them appear--a heavenly mult.i.tude; While the dark sayings, seal'd to men like us, Their priests interpret, and their flocks discuss.
But while these gifted men, a favour'd fold, New powers exhibit and new worlds behold; Is there not danger lest their minds confound The pure above them with the gross around?
May not these Phaetons, who thus contrive 'Twixt heaven above and earth beneath to drive, When from their flaming chariots they descend, The worlds they visit in their fancies blend?
Alas! too sure on both they bring disgrace, Their earth is crazy, and their heaven is base.
We have, it seems, who treat, and doubtless well, Of a chastising not awarding h.e.l.l; Who are a.s.sured that an offended G.o.d Will cease to use the thunder and the rod; A soul on earth, by crime and folly stain'd, When here corrected has improvement gain'd; In other state still more improved to grow, And n.o.bler powers in happier world to know; New strength to use in each divine employ, And more enjoying, looking to more joy.
A pleasing vision! could we thus be sure Polluted souls would be at length so pure; The view is happy, we may think it just, It may be true-- but who shall add, it must?
To the plain words and sense of Sacred Writ, With all my heart I reverently submit; But where it leaves me doubtful, I'm afraid To call conjecture to my reason's aid; Thy thoughts, thy ways, great G.o.d! are not as mine, And to thy mercy I my soul resign.
Jews are with us, but far unlike to those, Who, led by David, warr'd with Israels foes; Unlike to those whom his imperial son Taught truths divine--the Preacher Solomon; Nor war nor wisdom yield our Jews delight; They will not study, and they dare not fight.
These are, with us, a slavish, knavish crew, Shame and dishonour to the name of Jew; The poorest masters of the meanest arts, With cunning heads, and cold and cautious hearts; They grope their dirty way to petty gains, While poorly paid for their nefarious pains.
Amazing race! deprived of land and laws, A general language and a public cause; With a religion none can now obey, With a reproach that none can take away: A people still, whose common ties are gone; Who, mix'd with every race, are lost in none.
What said their Prophet?--”Shouldst thou disobey, The Lord shall take thee from thy land away; Thou shalt a by-word and a proverb be, And all shall wonder at thy woes and thee; Daughter and son, shalt thou, while captive, have, And see them made the bond-maid and the slave; He, whom thou leav'st, the Lord thy G.o.d, shall bring War to thy country on an eagle-wing.
A people strong and dreadful to behold, Stern to the young, remorseless to the old; Masters whose speech thou canst not understand By cruel signs shall give the harsh command: Doubtful of life shalt thou by night, by day, For grief, and dread, and trouble pine away; Thy evening wish,--Would G.o.d I saw the sun Thy morning sigh,--Would G.o.d the day were done!
Thus shalt thou suffer, and to distant times Regret thy misery, and lament thy crimes.”
A part there are, whom doubtless man might trust, Worthy as wealthy, pure, religious, just; They who with patience, yet with rapture, look On the strong promise of the Sacred Book: As unfulfill'd th' endearing words they view, And blind to truth, yet own their prophets true; Well pleased they look for Sion's coming state, Nor think of Julian's boast and Julian's fate.
More might I add: I might describe the flocks Made by Seceders from the ancient stocks; Those who will not to any guide submit, Nor find one creed to their conceptions fit - Each sect, they judge, in something goes astray, And every church has lost the certain way!
Then for themselves they carve out creed and laws, And weigh their atoms, and divide their straws.
A Sect remains, which, though divided long In hostile parties, both are fierce and strong, And into each enlists a warm and zealous throng.
Soon as they rose in fame, the strife arose, The Calvinistic these, th' Arminian those; With Wesley some remain'd, the remnant Whitfield chose.
Now various leaders both the parties take, And the divided hosts their new divisions make.
See yonder Preacher! to his people pa.s.s, Borne up and swell'd by tabernacle-gas: Much he discourses, and of various points, All unconnected, void of limbs and joints; He rails, persuades, explains, and moves the will By fierce bold words, and strong mechanic skill.
”That Gospel, Paul with zeal and love maintain'd, To others lost, to you is now explain'd; No worldly learning can these points discuss, Books teach them not as they are taught to us.
Illiterate call us!--let their wisest man Draw forth his thousands as your Teacher can: They give their moral precepts: so, they say, Did Epictetus once, and Seneca; One was a slave, and slaves we all must be, Until the Spirit comes and sets us free.
Yet hear you nothing from such man but works; They make the Christian service like the Turks.
”Hark to the Churchman: day by day he cries, 'Children of Men, be virtuous and be wise: Seek patience, justice, temp'rance, meekness, truth; In age be courteous, be sedate in youth.' - So they advise, and when such things be read, How can we wonder that their flocks are dead?
The Heathens wrote of Virtue: they could dwell On such light points: in them it might be well; They might for virtue strive; but I maintain, Our strife for virtue would be proud and vain.
When Samson carried Gaza's gates so far, Lack'd he a helping hand to bear the bar?
Thus the most virtuous must in bondage groan: Samson is grace, and carries all alone.
”Hear you not priests their feeble spirits spend, In bidding Sinners turn to G.o.d, and mend; To check their pa.s.sions and to walk aright, To run the Race, and fight the glorious Fight?
Nay more--to pray, to study, to improve, To grow in goodness, to advance in love?
”Oh! Babes and Sucklings, dull of heart and slow, Can Grace be gradual? Can Conversion grow?
The work is done by instantaneous call; Converts at once are made, or not at all; Nothing is left to grow, reform, amend, The first emotion is the Movement's end: If once forgiven, Debt can be no more; If once adopted, will the heir be poor?
The man who gains the twenty-thousand prize, Does he by little and by little rise?
There can no fortune for the Soul be made, By peddling cares and savings in her trade.
”Why are our sins forgiven?--Priests reply, - Because by Faith on Mercy we rely; 'Because, believing, we repent and pray.'
Is this their doctrine?--then they go astray; We're pardon'd neither for belief nor deed, For faith nor practice, principle nor creed; Nor for our sorrow for our former sin, Nor for our fears when better thoughts begin; Nor prayers nor penance in the cause avail, All strong remorse, all soft contrition fail: It is the Call! till that proclaims us free, In darkness, doubt, and bondage we must be; Till that a.s.sures us, we've in vain endured, And all is over when we're once a.s.sured.
”This is Conversion: --First there comes a cry Which utters, 'Sinner, thou'rt condemned to die;'
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