As when o'erloaded branches bear

Large clusters big with wine,

We scarce regret one falling leaf

From the luxuriant vine.

My short advice to you may sound

Obscure or somewhat odd,

Though 'tis the best that man can give,—

"E'en be content with God."

Through love he gave you the deceas'd,

Through greater took him hence;

This reason fully could evince,

Though murmur'd at by sense.

This friend, far past the kindest kind,

Is past the greatest great;

His greatness let me touch in points

Not foreign to your state;

His eye, this instant, reads your heart;

A truth less obvious hear;

This instant its most secret thoughts

Are sounding in his ear:

And twice ten thousand hence, if you

Your temper reconcile

To reason's bound, will he behold

Your prudence with a smile;

A smile, which through eternity

Diffuses so bright rays,

The dimmest deifies e'en guilt,

If guilt, at last, obeys:

Your guilt (for guilt it is to mourn

When such a sovereign reigns),

Your guilt diminish; peace pursue;

How glorious peace in pains!

Here, then, your sorrows cease; if not,

Think how unhappy they,

Who guilt increase by streaming tears,

Which guilt should wash away;

Of tears that gush profuse restrain;

Whence burst those dismal sighs?

They from the throbbing breast of one

(Strange truth!) most happy rise;

Anxious for each, as if on each

His care for all was thrown;

For all his care as absolute,

As all had been but one.

And is he then so near! so kind!—

How little then, and great,

That riddle, man! O! let me gaze

At wonders in his fate;

His fate, who yesterday did crawl

A worm from darkness deep,

And shall, with brother worms, beneath

A turf, to-morrow sleep;

How mean!—And yet, if well obey'd

His mighty Master's call,

The whole creation for mean man

Is deem'd a boon too small:

Too small the whole creation deem'd

For emmets in the dust!

Account amazing! yet most true;

My song is bold, yet just:

Give him earth's empire (if no more)

He's beggar'd, and undone!

Imprison'd in unbounded space!

Benighted by the sun!

For what the sun's meridian blaze

To the most feeble ray

Which glimmers from the distant dawn

Of uncreated day?

'Tis not the poet's rapture feign'd

Swells here the vain to please;

The mind most sober kindles most

At truths sublime as these;

They warm e'en me.—I dare not say,

Divine ambition strove

Not to bless only, but confound,

Nay, fright us with its love;

And yet so frightful what, or kind,

As that the rending rock,

The darken'd sun, and rising dead,

So formidable spoke?

Yes, e'en in agonies forbear

To doubt almighty love;

Whate'er endears eternity,

Is mercy from above;

What most imbitters time, that most

Eternity endears,

And thus, by plunging in distress,

Exalts us to the spheres;

Joy's fountain head! where bliss o'er bliss,

O'er wonders wonders rise,

And an Omnipotence prepares

Its banquet for the wise:

Ambrosial banquet! rich in wines

Nectareous to the soul!

What transports sparkle from the stream,

As angels fill the bowl!

Fountain profuse of every bliss!

Good-will immense prevails;

Man's line can't fathom its profound

An angel's plummet fails.

Of thy exuberant good-will,

Offended Deity!

The thousandth part who comprehends,

A deity is he.

How yonder ample azure field

With radiant worlds is sown!

How tubes astonish us with those

More deep in ether thrown!

And those beyond of brighter worlds

Why not a million more?—

In lieu of answer, let us all

Fall prostrate, and adore.

Since thou art infinite in power,

Nor thy indulgence less;

Since man, quite impotent and blind,

Oft drops into distress;

Say, what is resignation? 'T is

Man's weakness understood;

And wisdom grasping, with a hand

Far stronger, every good.

For man to murmur, or repine

At what by thee is done,

No less absurd, than to complain

Of darkness in the sun.

Who would not, with a heart at ease,

Bright eye, unclouded brow,

Wisdom and goodness at the helm,

The roughest ocean plough?

What, though I'm swallow'd in the deep?

Though mountains o'er me roar?

Jehovah reigns! as Jonah safe,

I'm landed, and adore:

Thy will is welcome, let it wear

Its most tremendous form;

Roar, waves; rage, winds! I know that thou

Canst save me by a storm.

From the immortal spirits born,

To thee, their fountain, flow,

If wise; as curl'd around to theirs

Meandering streams below:

To thee aspiring they exult,

I feel my spirits rise,

I feel myself thy son, and pant

For patrimonial skies;

Since ardent thirst of future good,

And generous sense of past,

To thee man's prudence strongly ties,

And binds affection fast;

Since great thy love, and great our want,

And men the wisest blind,

And bliss our aim; pronounce us all

Distracted, or resigned;

Resign'd through duty, interest, shame;

Deep shame! dare I complain,

When (wondrous truth!) in heaven itself

Joy ow'd its birth to pain?

And pain for me! for me was drain'd

Gall's overflowing bowl;

And shall one drop to murmur bold

Provoke my guilty soul?

And when to praise the man shall cease,

Or sun to strike the view;

A cloud dishonors both; but man's

The blacker of the two:

For oh! ingratitude how black!

With most profound amaze

At love, which man belov'd o'erlooks,

Astonish'd angels gaze.

Praise cheers, and warms, like generous wine;

Praise, more divine than prayer;

Prayer points our ready path to heaven;

Praise is already there.

Let plausive resignation rise,

And banish all complaint;

All virtues thronging into one,

It finishes the saint;

Makes the man bless'd, as man can be;

Life's labours renders light;

Darts beams through fate's incumbent gloom,

And lights our sun by night;

Nay, peace beyond, no small degree

Of rapture 't will impart;

Know, madam! when your heart's in heaven,

"All heaven is in your heart."

But who to heaven their hearts can raise?

Denied divine support,

All virtue dies; support divine

The wise with ardour court:

When prayer partakes the seraph's fire,

'T is mounted on his wing,

Bursts thro' heaven's crystal gates, and

Sure audience of its king:

The labouring soul from sore distress

That bless'd expedient frees;

I see you far advanc'd in peace;

I see you on your knees:

Such honour how shall we repay?

How treat our guest divine?

The sacrifice supreme be slain!

Let self-will die: resign.

Thus far, at large, on our disease;

Now let the cause be shown,

Whence rises, and will ever rise,

The dismal human groan:

What our sole fountain of distress?

Strong passion for this scene;

That trifles make important, things

Of mighty moment mean:

When earth's dark maxims poison shed

On our polluted souls,

Our hearts and interests fly as far

Asunder, as the poles.

Like princes in a cottage nurs'd,

Unknown their royal race,

With abject aims, and sordid joys,

Our grandeur we disgrace;

No small advantage may be reap'd

From thought whence we descend;

From weighing well, and prizing weigh'd

Our origin, and end:

From far above the glorious sun

To this dim scene we came:

And may, if wise, for ever bask

In great Jehovah's beam:

Let that bright beam on reason rous'd

In awful lustre rise,

Earth's giant ills are dwarf'd at once,

And all disquiet dies.

Earth's glories too their splendour lose,

Those phantoms charm no more;

Empire's a feather for a fool,

And Indian mines are poor:

Then levell'd quite, whilst yet alive,

The monarch and his slave;

Not wait enlighten'd minds to learn

That lesson from the grave:

When human glory rises high

As human glory can;

When, though the king is truly great,

Still greater is the man;

The man is dead, where virtue fails;

And though the monarch proud

In grandeur shines, his gorgeous robe

Is but a gaudy shroud.

Wisdom! where art thou? None on earth,

Though grasping wealth, fame, power,

But what, O death! through thy approach,

Is wiser every hour;

Approach how swift, how unconfin'd!

Worms feast on viands rare,

Those little epicures have kings

To grace their bill of fare:

From kings what resignation due

To that almighty will,

Which thrones bestows, and, when they fail,

Can throne them higher still!

Madam! if that may give it weight,

The trifle you receive

Is dated from a solemn scene,

The border of the grave;

Where strongly strikes the trembling soul

Eternity's dread power,

As bursting on it through the thin

Partition of an hour;

Hear this, Voltaire! but this, from me,

Runs hazard of your frown;

However, spare it; ere you die,

Such thoughts will be your own.

In mercy to yourself forbear

My notions to chastise,

Lest unawares the gay Voltaire

Should blame Voltaire the wise:

Fame's trumpet rattling in your ear,

Now, makes us disagree;

When a far louder trumpet sounds,

Voltaire will close with me:

Assaulting truths, of which in all

Is sown the sacred seed!

Our constitution's orthodox,

And closes with our creed:

What then are they, whose proud conceits

Superior wisdom boast?

Wretches, who fight their own belief,

And labour to be lost!

Though vice by no superior joys

Her heroes keeps in pay;

Through pure disinterested love

Of ruin they obey!

Strict their devotion to the wrong,

Though tempted by no prize;

Hard their commandments, and their creed

A magazine of lies

From fancy's forge: gay fancy smiles

At reason plain, and cool;

Fancy, whose curious trade it is

To make the finest fool.