Take every creature in, of every kind;
Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest,
And Heav'n beholds its image in his breast.
Come then, my friend, my genius, come along,
O master of the poet, and the song!
And while the muse now stoops, or now ascends,
To man's low passions, or their glorious ends,
Teach me, like thee, in various nature wise,
To fall with dignity, with temper rise;
Form'd by thy converse, happily to steer
From grave to gay, from lively to severe;
Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease,
Intent to reason, or polite to please.
O! while along the stream of time thy name
Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame;
Say, shall my little bark attendant sail,
Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale?
When statesmen, heroes, kings, in dust repose,
Whose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes,
Shall then this verse to future age pretend
Thou wert my guide, philosopher and friend!
That, urg'd by thee, I turn'd the tuneful art,
From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart;
For wit's false mirror held up nature's light;
Show'd erring pride, whatever is, is right;
That reason, passion, answer one great aim;
That true self-love and social are the same ;
That virtue only makes our bliss below;
And all our knowledge is, ourselves to know ?
FATHER of All! in ev'ry age,
In ev'ry clime ador'd,
By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
• Thou Great First Cause, least understood: Who all my sense confin'd
To know but this, that Thou art good,
And that myself am blind;
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
And, binding nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,
This, teach me more than hell to shun,
That, more than heav'n pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away;
For God is paid when man receives,
T' enjoy, is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span,
Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think Thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the iand,
On each I judge thy foe:
If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, O teach my heart
To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has deny'd,
Or taught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's wo;
To hide the fault I see:
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Mean though I am, not wholly so,
Since quicken'd by thy breath;
O lead me, wheresoe'er I go,
Through this day's life or death.
This day be bread and peace my lot:
All else beneath the sun,
Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not,
And let thy will be done.
To Thee, whose temple is all space,
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies!
One chorus let all being raise!
All nature's incense rise!
ODE ON SOLITUDE.*
HAPPY the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire :
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter, fire.
Bless'd, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day;
Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
Together mix'd; sweet recreation ;
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
* This was a very early production of Mr. Pope, written when he was about twelve years old.
THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.
VITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.
Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite!
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath!
Tell me, my soul, can this be Death?
The world recedes! it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring :
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?
* This ode was written in imitation of the famous Sonnet of Hadrian to his departing soul. See Hadrian's Sonnet, let. 4, of Letters to and from Mr. Steele, &c. Vol. iv.
|