Pensantur trutinâ.-HOR. Lib. ii. Ep. 1.
Error leads to destruction, 1-Grace conducts to righteousness and peace, 17Its offers despised, 32-The self-complacency of the Pharisee, 44-Humility of the true Christian, 66-Works of righteousness of the hermit and Brahmin alike condemned, 79-A sanctimonious prude, 131-Cheerfulness and freedom of true piety, 171-Willing obedience the test of love, 197-The gospel the sure refuge of the sinner, 238-False grounds of peace, 283 -Infidelity; Voltaire, 301-Simplicity of faith, 317-Not many rich called, 337-Offers of the gospel free to all, 345-Poverty the best soil for the gospel seed, 361-Sinfulness and weakness of man, 383-His pride and self-esteem, 403—Unbelief terminating in suicide, 429—Scripture the cure of woe, 451-Pride the greatest opponent of the truth, 463—The atonement not for the self-righteous, 503-Plea for the conscientious heathen, 515-Terrors of the law, 547—The last judgment, 563-Humility crowned, faith triumphant, 571.
MAN, on the dubious waves of error tost, His ship half founder'd and his compass lost, Sees, far as human optics may command, A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land; Spreads all his canvas, every sinew plies; Pants for❜t, aims at it, enters it, and dies! Then farewell all self-satisfying schemes, His well-built systems, philosophic dreams; Deceitful views of future bliss, farewell! He reads his sentence at the flames of Hell. Hard lot of man-to toil for the reward
Of virtue, and yet lose it! Wherefore hard ?— He that would win the race, must guide his horse Obedient to the customs of the course;
Else, though unequall'd to the goal he flies, A meaner than himself shall gain the prize. Grace leads the right way; if you choose the wrong, Take it and perish, but restrain your tongue; Charge not, with light sufficient and left free, Your wilful suicide on God's decree.
Oh how unlike the complex works of man, Heaven's easy, artless, unencumber'd plan! No meretricious graces to beguile,
No clustering ornaments to clog the pile; From ostentation as from weakness free, It stands like the cerulean arch we see, Majestic in its own simplicity. Inscribed above the portal, from afar Conspicuous as the brightness of a star,
Legible only by the light they give,
Stand the soul-quickening words-BELIEVE, and LIVE.
Too many, shock'd at what should charm them most, Despise the plain direction, and are lost.
Heaven on such terms! (they cry with proud disdain) — Incredible, impossible, and vain!—
Rebel because 'tis easy to obey,
And scorn, for its own sake, the gracious way. These are the sober, in whose cooler brains Some thought of immortality remains ; The rest too busy, or too gay, to wait On the sad theme, their everlasting state, Sport for a day, and perish in a night, The foam upon the waters not so light.
Who judged the Pharisee? What odious cause Exposed him to the vengeance of the laws? Had he seduced a virgin, wrong'd a friend, Or stabb'd a man to serve some private end? Was blasphemy his sin? or did he stray From the strict duties of the sacred day?
Sit long and late at the carousing board?
(Such were the sins with which he charged his Lord.) No-the man's morals were exact,-what then? "Twas his ambition to be seen of men ;
His virtues were his pride; and that one vice Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price; He wore them as fine trappings for a show, A praying, synagogue-frequenting beau. The self-applauding bird, the peacock, see- Mark what a sumptuous Pharisee is he! Meridian sunbeams tempt him to unfold His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold; He treads as if, some solemn music near, His measured step were govern'd by his ear, And seems to say, Ye meaner fowl, give place, I am all splendour, dignity, and grace!
Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes, Though he too has a glory in his plumes. He, Christian-like, retreats with modest mien, To the close copse or far sequester'd green, And shines without desiring to be seen. The plea of works, as arrogant and vain, Heaven turns from with abhorrence and disdain :
Not more affronted by avow'd neglect,
Than by the mere dissembler's feign'd respect.
What is all righteousness that men devise, What, but a sordid bargain for the skies? But Christ as soon would abdicate his own, As stoop from heaven to sell the proud a throne. His dwelling a recess in some rude rock; Book, beads, and maple-dish his meagre stock; In shirt of hair and weeds of canvas dress'd, Girt with a bell-rope that the Pope has bless'd; Adust with stripes told out for every crime, And sore tormented long before his time;
His prayer preferr'd to saints that cannot aid, His praise postponed, and never to be paid; See the sage hermit, by mankind admired, With all that bigotry adopts, inspired, Wearing out life in his religious whim, "Till his religious whimsy wears out him. His works, his abstinence, his zeal allow'd, You think him humble-God accounts him proud: High in demand, though lowly in pretence, Of all his conduct, this the genuine sense-
My penitential stripes, my streaming blood, Have purchased heaven, and prove my title good. Turn eastward now, and fancy shall apply To your weak sight her telescopic eye. The Brahmin kindles on his own bare head The sacred fire, self-torturing his trade; His voluntary pains, severe and long, Would give a barbarous air to British song; No grand inquisitor could worse invent, Than he contrives to suffer, well content.
Which is the saintlier worthy of the two? Past all dispute, yon anchorite, say you. Your sentence and mine differ. What's a name? I say the Brahmin has the fairer claim. If sufferings Scripture nowhere recommends, Devised by self, to answer selfish ends, Give saintship, then all Europe must agree, Ten starveling hermits suffer less than he.
The truth is (if the truth may suit your ear, And prejudice have left a passage clear), Pride has attain'd its most luxuriant growth, And poison'd every virtue in them both. Pride may be pamper'd while the flesh grows lean; Humility may clothe an English dean;
That grace was Cowper's-his confess'd by all- Though placed in golden Durham's second stall. Not all the plenty of a bishop's board,
His palace, and his lacqueys, and "My Lord," More nourish pride, that condescending vice, Than abstinence, and beggary, and lice. It thrives in misery, and abundant grows; In misery fools upon themselves impose. But why before us Protestants produce An Indian mystic or a French recluse ? Their sin is plain; but what have we to fear, Reform'd and well instructed? You shall hear.
Yon ancient prude, whose wither'd features show She might be young some forty years ago, Her elbows pinion'd close upon her hips, Her head erect, her fan upon her lips,
Her eyebrows arch'd, her eyes both gone astray To watch yon amorous couple in their play, With bony and unkerchief'd neck defies The rude inclemency of wintry skies, And sails with lappet-head and mincing airs Duly at clink of bell to morning prayers. To thrift and parsimony much inclined, She yet allows herself that boy behind; The shivering urchin,1 bending as he goes, With slipshod heels, and dewdrop at his nose; His predecessor's coat advanced to wear, Which future pages are yet doom'd to share ; Carries her Bible tuck'd beneath his arm, And hides his hands, to keep his fingers warm.
She, half an angel in her own account, Doubts not hereafter with the saints to mount,
1 'The shivering urchin:' a rendering into verse of Hogarth's print of 'Morning.'
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