Urged by the frantic folly of despair,
To drown in crime remembrance of his care?
Or tell of some whose suicidal will
Sought lawless freedom from allotted ill?
All these no more the argument advance,
That good and evil are dispens'd by chance,
Than yonder oak, just riven by the ball,
Which, else, had bade some nobler victim fall.
Here thou canst recognise the power divine,
And here perceive transcendent wisdom shine,
With rapturous eye the providence admire,
That gave direction to the livid fire,
And taught the forest to invite the dart
Which, winged at random, might have pierced thine heart;
Or laid, perhaps, at one consuming blow,
The ripening promise of the harvest low.
But is that Wisdom manifested less
When some, permitted, sink beneath distress?
Distress not greater than the mind might bear,
Nor gendering, of necessity, despair;
But made the woe "which worketh death" alone,
Thro' faults exclusively the sufferer's own.]
Sorrow, sin's first-born, heaven would fain employ
In righteous parricide, and sin destroy;
If man, rebellious, frustrate the intent,
"Tis just that man abide by the event;
Still undisturbed remains the genʼral plan,
That grief subserve the happiness of man;
Not less the ruler of the earth benign,
If men oppose, or bow to the design.
With sorrow's tears, God mingles peaceful seed,
And he who blights must answer for the deed;
Consulting, in His care, the good of all,
Some of the millions who resist Him, fall,
And, like scath'd branches of a tree, record
"The goodness and severity of God!"
But turn thee now to where that gentle mien,
That look so pensive and yet so serene,
Seem, like a flower beneath a peaceful sky,
The recent rain drop trembling in its eye.
List to his converse,-serious, yet free,
Where meekness, wisdom, truth and love agree.
Hear him advise the counsel that he brings
Clear as the nectar from the deepest springs.
Mark well his conduct-tho' it dare not claim
Perfection, yet perfection in its aim.
Upright, yet humble, modest, tho' sincere,
When others fall, reproving with a tear.
Laments some mourner o'er departed bliss,
Behold if there be sympathy like his?
A heart so warm, so sensitive to feel,
A hand so firm and yet so apt to heal.
When peace surrounds, and plenty's cup is given,
Whose heart so thankfully ascends to heaven?
Who tastes his pleasures with so true a joy?
Whose pleasures less embitter'd with alloy?
If sorrow darken round his earthly lot,
Behold him meekly bow, yet shrinking not!
Why thus collected? wherefore mov'd no more?
The elements have mingled o'er his head before.
This is the man whose early life the scene
Where sorrow's wildest revelry hath been,
And past in deepest fellowship with sighs,
Hath furnish'd lessons which have made him wise:
Now firm he stands, familiar with the blast,
Whose rough assaults before have fix'd his roots so fast.
"But is the picture true? Yet, if it were,
“Of what avails one specimen, tho' fair?
"Adduce as well the transient meteor's light,
"To prove how glorious each successive night; 220
"But no!-unless the counterpart I saw,
"I deem untrue the portraiture you draw;-
"Or true,-a product, like the meteor's rays,
"By some strange chance converging in a blaze,
Offspring of causes never to recur,
"It proves just nothing-therefore I demur."
Ah! so it is that truth is oft repelled,
And reason by her parasites expelled.
Philosophy that should be patient, mild,
Deep in research, yet docile as a child,
Becomes impatient, and research forsakes,
Soon as some fondly cherish'd dogma quakes.
Say, is it not so? Were a meteor seen
Once only, by the world, since time had been,
Would science fail its origin to ask,
Or waive the bold investigator's task?
And once its causes settled, should they prove
Such as its mightiest agencies could move,
Would then philosophy (were no great ill,
Risk'd by the trial of its curious skill,)
Inquire, "what good?" and, waiting for reply,
Bid bold experiment stand listless by?
But more suppose beneath that meteor's course," Its track attested some prolific force,
And marked a kindly influence to cheer
Wastes into gardens through its blest career,
Would not philanthropy lift up her voice,
Science give ear, and barrenness rejoice?
Yet here a bright phenomenon appears,
That charity might smile at through her tears;
Philanthropy, that weeps o'er human woe,
Contemplate till her tears forgot to flow;
And potent science, could she but create,
Had reached the affluence of full estate.
Yet proudly glancing with a frigid eye,
She coldly asks, and negatives reply,
"But is the picture true?" Believe, or no,
We answer yes! its prototypes we know.
But were there none, the fact would but reflect
To man's discredit for his worst neglect;
Neglect, not guilty of, his face should wear
Sweet peace where often now it speaks despair;
And heav'n that prodigy less rarely see,
Which now philosophy e'en doubts can be,-
True peace the tenant of a human breast,
The fruit of tears, the germ of endless rest!
Yes! were it true, peace seldom found a throne
In hearts where grief's wild warfare has been known,
The fact would only, to his shame, record
Proud man's rejection of his Maker's word—
That word, the Bible-destined to impart
Life to his soul, and solace to his heart.
The Bible-treasury of solid bliss,
Its truths and principles the springs of peace.
The Bible whose divinity believed,
Its author loved, its sentiments received,
Would arm in grief and fortify the mind
To bear and profit by the roughest wind,
And prove that evil, under heaven's controul,
Was oft-times heaven's best blessing to the soul. 280
Blest book of wonders! would thy pow'r were known
Wherever cares oppress, or mourners moan!
'Twas feigned that beauty from the ocean rose,
Sweet peace thou bringest from a flood of woes;
But how evok'd, and what its nature is,
And how convey'd, and how receiv'd the bliss,
So that the heart, ere while, involv'd in night,
Beams forth, relum'd, a heart more pure, more bright,
The spirit which had drooped, now breathes, renew'd,
Its thanks for sorrow, and esteems it "good,"
We say not yet-first pass we on to know
The bitter root whence human sorrows grow.
Suffice it here to hail, foreseen, the day,
When, where the poison spreads, the balm shall sway,
The tree of healing branch on ev'ry shore,
And all the sad, reviv'd, be sad no more!
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