Even yet between his helpless servants stand
-A glorious day, O Philo,
When persecution low'rs! I call it sunshine,
Which quickens the dull bosom of the church
To bold productions, and a bloom of virtues.
Yes, such a worthy juncture I much long for,
When Christian zeal, benumbed and dead thro' ease,
Glows with young life, feels the more copious flow
Of ghostly aids; and, as the dangers rise,
Heightens its pulse, and fills up all its greatness.
Then is the time of crowns; of grants profuse
(Complete remission, open Paradise,
With power to intercede for common souls,)
To generous motives of intenser duty,
Which, while the sufferer sees, serene and glad
He thanks the impious hand that helped him forward.
Even there, methinks, there's something to deject me.
Must I obtain my glory by the guilt
Of other men, of no less lovely make
Original, and offspring of one God!
This thought may damp whom death itself invites:
Besides, I wish not trials, since I know not
Whoever hath contemplated the cross,
And felt the death of Christ through all its meaning:
Through all its benefits, through all its charms,—
He, reconciled to pain, and far removed
From this world's foreign false felicities,
Carries devoted blood, which, more than ready,
Pants to be spilt upon its Master's grave.
The hypocrite will shrink: but highly welcome
That edge of danger which pares off such members.
I think the love of Christ need not imply
Such blunt importunate desire of death.
Recall the unworthy thought! and search thy heart,
My Philo; for I fear these sober minds
Have worldly lusts at bottom. Haply fame
And popular favour make thy lot too sweet?
I own 'tis sweet to love, and to be lov'd
By all Christ's people; it may richly comfort
This mortal state; and could it rise so high,
That, from this source, irregular attachment
To life should spring, I'd argue back and say
'Twas not irregular, for here 'twas heaven.
Fame, if it shone, my frailties keep me cool.
Does not the specious luxury detain thee
Of worldly peace and soft unruffled ease?
No: I still see all my concerns below
Hang by a dubious thread. Am I call'd forth
To action or to suffering, I can meet
From no enervate rest the stronger shakings
Of this rough world.
Once more; perhaps the cause Is woman; powerful to bring back to earth Even towering souls, and kindle up afresh The light, the taste, the system of old nature.
In vain you seek the cause, my jealous friend,
Why I love life. A thing you little guess
How far I am from loving! Who indeed
Whose soul has any fire, can take delight
In such a blind existence; which ties down
These seraph minds t'attend a dull machine,
To feed and doze, rejoice and fret the same
With animals? which now by sanguine hope,
Ideas gay, illuminates all o'er
The credulous heart; and then with strange surmise
And grief mysterious so envelopes all,
That wisdom doubts, though 'tis indeed one thing, Or to despise, or use, and balance both.
I have so little footing in this life
Firm to my thoughts, that it could not support me
To live out one day more, did I not look
To reasons in the depths of providence;
For I must own, Agathopus, I think,
These things are not in vain: Our Maker's hand
Hath placed some virtue in this earthly process,
To work us in the end surprising good.
O Philo, from the cross of Christ alone
Derive thy good! His church is a new world,
Where all thy fate and all thy business lie.
And since thou'rt cold about a speedy passage
Into thy Master's joy, I must at least
Question thy Christian hope. Feel'st thou the pledge
Of blessed resurrection? Does thy heart
Within thee leap to meet the last great scenes?
Though well persuaded that these sins of mine,
Incumbrances so massy to the zeal
Of a whole mortal life, will ne'er resist
When the great Father shall one day shine forth,
Restoring exiled man; yet scarce I dare
Connect myself and glory in one thought:
I do but cast me in the crowd of beings
On God's broad mercy, as a mighty tide
Bearing its peevish offspring safe to harbour.
I understand thee, Philo, and mayest thou
Now understand how far below the gospel
Thy soul consents to dwell. The friends of Christ
Don't strive with sin, but trample under foot
It's poor exploded antiquated strength.
They don't rely on some benign event
From the wide wheel of things, but pierce directly
Where Jesus now admits them, and ordains
Their thrones in bliss: Hence they in spirit stand,
Free from all spot, amidst the train of heaven,
And see God's face, whose full and constant smile
Doth so attend them through the wilds of life,
That natural dejection, flitting fears
And all vicissitude is swallowed up
In one still dawn of that eternal day—
But see the reverend bishop coming forth.
I hope, my sons, at this important season
No idle talk employed you: Learn betimes
With tender sense to bear the church's burden.
But I must praise the place where you have chose
Your morning stand. From hence we look around
And see so many roofs, where prayer incessant,
With mighty thoughts of heart and fervent faith,
Is offered up to heaven. Hear Thou, my Lord,
Thy people's voice, and give them peace this day!
Our meditations, father, were the same
With yours, about th' impending persecution.
And don't you think it strange, Agathopus,
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