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Assists me here:) Compare it to the moon;
Dark in herself, and indigent; but rich
In borrow'd lustre from a higher sphere.
When gross guilt interposes, lab'ring earth,
O'ershadow'd, mourns a deep eclipse of joy;
Her joys, at brightest, pallid, to that font
Of full effulgent glory, whence they flow.
Nor is that glory distant: Oh LORENZO!
A good man, and an angel!-these between
How thin the barrier!-What divides their fate?
Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year;
Or, if an age, it is a moment still;

A moment, or eternity's forgot.

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430

435

Then be, what once they were, who now are gods;
Be what PHILANDER was, and claim the skies.
Starts timid Nature at the gloomy pass?

The soft transition call it, and be cheer'd:
Such it is often, and why not to thee?
To hope the best is pious, brave, and wise;
And may itself procure what it presumes.

Life is much flatter'd, Death is much traduc'd:
Compare the rivals, and the kinder crown.

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"Strange competition!"-True, LORENZO! Strange! So little life can cast into the scale.

Life makes the soul dependent on the dust;
Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres.
Through chinks, styl'd organs, dim Life peeps at light;
Death bursts th' involving cloud, and all is day; 451
All eye, all ear, the disembody'd pow'r.

Death has feign'd evils, Nature shall not feel;
Life, ills substantial, Wisdom cannot shun.
Is not the mighty Mind, that son of heav'n,

455

By tyrant Life dethron'd, imprison'd, pain'd?
By Death enlarg'd, ennobled, deify'd?
Death but intombs the body; life, the soul.

"Is Death then guiltless? How he marks his way "With dreadful waste of what deserves to shine! 460 "Art, genius, fortune, elevated pow'r! "With various lustres these light up the world, "Which Death puts out, and darkens human race.” I grant, LORENZO! this indictment just: The sage, peer, potentate, king, conqueror,

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Death humbles these; more barb'rous Life, the Man.
Life is the triumph of our mould'ring clay;
Death, of the spirit infinite, divine!

Death has no dread, but what frail Life imparts;

Nor Life true joy, but what kind Death improves. 470
No bliss has Life to boast, till Death can give

Far greater; Life's a debtor to the grave,
Dark lattice! letting in eternal day.

LORENZO! blush at fondness for a life,
Which sends celestial souls on errands vile,
To cater for the sense; and serve at boards,
Where ev'ry ranger of the wilds, perhaps
Each reptile, justly claims our upper hand.
Luxurious feast! a soul, a soul immortal,
In all the dainties of a brute bemir'd!
LORENZO! blush at terror for a death,
Which gives thee to repose in festive bow'rs,

Where nectars sparkle, angels minister,

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And more than angels share, and raise, and crown, And eternize, the birth, bloom, bursts of bliss. What need I more? O Death, the palm is thine!

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Then welcome, Death! thy dreaded harbingers,

Age, and Disease; Disease, though long my guest;
That plucks my nerves, those tender strings of life;
Which, pluck'd a little more, will toll the bell, 490
That calls my few friends to my funeral;

Where feeble Nature drops, perhaps, a tear,
While Reason and Religion, better taught,
Congratulate the dead, and crown his tomb
With wreath triumphant. Death is victory;
It binds in chains the raging ills of life:
Lust and Ambition, Wrath and Avarice,
Dragg'd at his chariot-wheel, applaud his pow'r.
That ills corrosive, cares importunate,

Are not immortal too, O Death! is thine.
Our day of dissolution!-Name it right;

'Tis our great pay-day; 'tis our harvest, rich

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And ripe: What though the sickle, sometimes keen,
Just scars us as we reap the golden grain;

More than thy balm, O Gilead! heals the wound. 505
Birth's feeble cry, and Death's deep dismal groan,
Are slender tributes low-taxt Nature pays
For mighty gain: The gain of each, a life!

But O! the last, the former so transcends,

Life dies, compar'd! Life lives beyond the grave. 510
And feel I, Death! no joy from thought of thee?
Death, the great counsellor, who Man inspires
With nobler thought, and fairer deed!

Death, the deliverer, who rescues Man!

Death, the rewarder, who the rescu'd crowns! 515
Death, that absolves my birth; a curse without it!
Rich Death, that realizes all my cares,

Toils, virtues, hopes; without it a chimera!
Death, of all pain the period, not of joy;

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Joy's source, and subject, still subsist unhurt;
One, in my soul; and one, in her great Sire;
Though the four winds were warring for my dust.
Yes, and from winds, and waves, and central night,
Though prison'd there, my dust too I reclaim
(To dust when drop proud Nature's proudest spheres,)
And live entire. Death is the crown of life: 526
Were Death deny'd, poor Man would live in vain;
Were Death deny'd, to live would not be life;
Were Death deny'd, ev'n fools would wish to die.
Death wounds to cure: We fall; we rise; we reign!
Spring from our fetters; fasten in the skies;

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Where blooming Eden withers in our sight.

Death gives us more than was in Eden lost;
This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
When shall I die to vanity, pain, death?

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When shall I die?-When shall I live for ever?

THE

COMPLAINT.

NIGHT IV.

THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH.

CONTAINING

OUR ONLY CURE FOR THE FEAR OF DEATH;

AND

PROPER SENTIMENTS OF HEART ON THAT INESTIMABLE BLESSING.

A Much-indebted Muse, O YORKE! intrudes.

Amid the smiles of Fortune, and of Youth,
Thine ear is patient of a serious song.
How deep implanted in the breast of Man
The dread of Death! I sing its sov'reign cure.
Why start at Death? Where is he? Death arriv'd,
Is past; not come, or gone, he's never here.
Ere hope, sensation fails; black-boding Man
Receives, not suffers, Death's tremendous blow.

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