Young's Night Thoughts Part 9

How is night's sable mantle labour'd o'er, How richly wrought with attributes divine!

What wisdom s.h.i.+nes! what love! This midnight pomp, This gorgeous arch, with golden worlds inlaid!

Built with divine ambition! nought to thee; For others this profusion: Thou, apart, 390 Above! beyond! O tell me, mighty Mind!

Where art thou? Shall I dive into the deep, Call to the sun, or ask the roaring winds, 393 For their Creator? Shall I question loud The thunder, if in that th' Almighty dwells?

Or holds He furious storms in straiten'd reins, And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car?

What mean these questions?--Trembling I retract; My prostrate soul adores the present G.o.d: Praise I a distant deity? He tunes 400 My voice (if tuned); the nerve, that writes, sustains: Wrapp'd in his being, I resound his praise: But though past all diffused, without a sh.o.r.e, His essence; local is his throne (as meet), To gather the dispersed (as standards call The listed from afar): to fix a point, A central point, collective of his sons, Since finite every nature but his own.

The nameless He, whose nod is nature's birth; And nature's s.h.i.+eld, the shadow of his hand; 410 Her dissolution, his suspended smile!

The great First-Last! pavilion'd high he sits, In darkness from excessive splendour borne, By G.o.ds unseen, unless through l.u.s.tre lost.

His glory, to created glory, bright, As that to central horrors; he looks down On all that soars; and spans immensity.

Though night unnumber'd worlds unfolds to view, Boundless creation! what art thou? A beam, A mere effluvium of his majesty: 420 And shall an atom of this atom-world Mutter, in dust and sin, the theme of heaven?

Down to the centre should I send my thought Through beds of glittering ore, and glowing gems, Their beggar'd blaze wants l.u.s.tre for my lay; Goes out in darkness: if, on towering wing, I send it through the boundless vault of stars! 427 The stars, though rich, what dross their gold to thee, Great, good, wise, wonderful, eternal King!

If to those conscious stars thy throne around, Praise ever-pouring, and imbibing bliss; And ask their strain; they want it, more they want, Poor their abundance, humble their sublime, 433 Languid their energy, their ardour cold, Indebted still, their highest rapture burns; Short of its mark, defective, though divine.

Still more--this theme is man's, and man's alone; Their vast appointments reach it not: they see On earth a bounty not indulged on high; And downward look for heaven's superior praise! 440 First-born of ether! high in fields of light!

View man, to see the glory of your G.o.d!

Could angels envy, they had envied here; And some did envy; and the rest, though G.o.ds, Yet still G.o.ds unredeem'd (their triumphs man, Tempted to weigh the dust against the skies), They less would feel, though more adorn, my theme.

They sung creation (for in that they shared); How rose in melody, that child of love!

Creation's great superior, man! is thine; 450 Thine is redemption; they just gave the key: 'Tis thine to raise, and eternize, the song; Though human, yet divine; for should not this Raise man o'er man, and kindle seraphs here?

Redemption! 'twas creation more sublime; Redemption! 'twas the labour of the skies; Far more than labour--it was death in heaven.

A truth so strange! 'twere bold to think it true; If not far bolder still to disbelieve. 459 Here pause, and ponder--Was there death in heaven?

What then on earth? on earth, which struck the blow?

Who struck it? Who?--O how is man enlarged, 462 Seen through this medium! How the pigmy towers!

How counterpoised his origin from dust!

How counterpoised to dust his sad return!

How voided his vast distance from the skies!

How near he presses on the seraph's wing!

Which is the seraph? Which the born of clay?

How this demonstrates, through the thickest cloud Of guilt, and clay condensed, the son of heaven! 470 The double son; the made, and the re-made!

And shall heaven's double property be lost?

Man's double madness only can destroy.

To man the bleeding cross has promised all; The bleeding cross has sworn eternal grace; Who gave his life, what grace shall he deny?

O ye who, from this Rock of Ages, leap, Apostates, plunging headlong in the deep!

What cordial joy, what consolation strong, Whatever winds arise, or billows roll, 480 Our interest in the Master of the storm!

Cling there, and in wreck'd nature's ruins smile; While vile apostates tremble in a calm.

Man! know thyself. All wisdom centres there; To none man seems ign.o.ble, but to man; Angels that grandeur, men o'erlook, admire: How long shall human nature be their book, Degenerate mortal! and unread by thee?

The beam dim reason sheds shows wonders there; What high contents! ill.u.s.trious faculties! 490 But the grand comment, which displays at full Our human height, scarce sever'd from divine, By heaven composed, was publish'd on the Cross.

Who looks on that, and sees not in himself An awful stranger, a terrestrial G.o.d? 495 A glorious partner with the Deity In that high attribute, immortal life?

If a G.o.d bleeds, he bleeds not for a worm: I gaze, and, as I gaze, my mounting soul Catches strange fire, eternity! at thee; And drops the world--or rather, more enjoys: How changed the face of nature! how improved! 502 What seem'd a chaos, s.h.i.+nes a glorious world, Or, what a world, an Eden; heighten'd all!

It is another scene! another self!

And still another, as time rolls along; And that a self far more ill.u.s.trious still.

Beyond long ages, yet roll'd up in shades Unpierced by bold conjecture's keenest ray, What evolutions of surprising fate! 510 How nature opens, and receives my soul In boundless walks of raptured thought! where G.o.ds Encounter and embrace me! What new births Of strange adventure, foreign to the sun, Where what now charms, perhaps, whate'er exists, Old time, and fair creation, are forgot!

Is this extravagant? Of man we form Extravagant conception, to be just: Conception unconfined wants wings to reach him: Beyond its reach, the G.o.dhead only, more. 520 He, the great Father! kindled at one flame The world of rationals; one spirit pour'd From spirit's awful fountain; pour'd himself Through all their souls; but not in equal stream, Profuse, or frugal, of th' inspiring G.o.d, As his wise plan demanded; and when past Their various trials, in their various spheres, If they continue rational, as made, Resorbs them all into himself again; 529 His throne their centre, and his smile their crown.

Why doubt we, then, the glorious truth to sing, Though yet unsung, as deem'd, perhaps, too bold?

Angels are men of a superior kind; Angels are men in lighter habit clad, High o'er celestial mountains wing'd in flight; And men are angels, loaded for an hour, Who wade this miry vale, and climb with pain, And slippery step, the bottom of the steep.

Angels their failings, mortals have their praise; While here, of corps ethereal, such enroll'd, 540 And summon'd to the glorious standard soon, Which flames eternal crimson through the skies.

Nor are our brothers thoughtless of their kin, Yet absent; but not absent from their love.

Michael has fought our battles; Raphael sung Our triumphs; Gabriel on our errands flown, Sent by the Sovereign: and are these, O Man!

Thy friends, thy warm allies? and thou (shame burn The cheek to cinder!) rival to the brute?

Religion's all. Descending from the skies 550 To wretched man, the G.o.ddess, in her left, Holds out this world, and, in her right, the next; Religion! the sole voucher man is man; Supporter sole of man above himself; Even in this night of frailty, change, and death, She gives the soul a soul that acts a G.o.d.

Religion! Providence! an After-state!

Here is firm footing; here is solid rock!

This can support us; all is sea besides; Sinks under us; bestorms, and then devours. 560 His hand the good man fastens on the skies, And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl.

As when a wretch, from thick polluted air, 563 Darkness, and stench, and suffocating damps, And dungeon horrors, by kind fate, discharged, Climbs some fair eminence, where ether pure Surrounds him, and Elysian prospects rise, His heart exults, his spirits cast their load; As if new-born, he triumphs in the change; So joys the soul, when, from inglorious aims, And sordid sweets, from feculence and froth 571 Of ties terrestrial, set at large, she mounts To reason's region, her own element, Breathes hopes immortal, and affects the skies.

Religion! thou the soul of happiness; And, groaning Calvary, of thee! there s.h.i.+ne The n.o.blest truths; there strongest motives sting; There sacred violence a.s.saults the soul; There, nothing but compulsion is forborne.

Can love allure us? or can terror awe? 580 He weeps!--the falling drop puts out the sun; He sighs--the sigh earth's deep foundation shakes.

If in his love so terrible, what then His wrath inflamed? his tenderness on fire?

Like soft, smooth oil, outblazing other fires?

Can prayer, can praise avert it?--Thou, my all!

My theme! my inspiration! and my crown!

My strength in age! my rise in low estate!

My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth!--my world!

My light in darkness! and my life in death! 590 My boast through time! bliss through eternity!

Eternity, too short to speak thy praise!

Or fathom thy profound of love to man!

To man of men the meanest, even to me; My sacrifice! my G.o.d!--what things are these!

What then art Thou? by what name shall I call thee?-- Knew I the name devout archangels use, 597 Devout archangels should the name enjoy, By me unrivall'd; thousands more sublime, None half so dear as that which, though unspoke, Still glows at heart: O how omnipotence Is lost in love! Thou great Philanthropist!

Father of angels! but the friend of man! 603 Like Jacob, fondest of the younger born!

Thou, who didst save him, s.n.a.t.c.h the smoking brand From out the flames, and quench it in thy blood!

How art thou pleased, by bounty to distress!

To make us groan beneath our grat.i.tude, Too big for birth! to favour, and confound; To challenge, and to distance all return! 610 Of lavish love stupendous heights to soar, And leave praise panting in the distant vale!

Thy right, too great, defrauds thee of thy due; And sacrilegious our sublimest song.

But since the naked will obtains thy smile, Beneath this monument of praise unpaid, And future life symphonious to my strain, (That n.o.blest hymn to heaven!) for ever lie Entomb'd my fear of death! and every fear, The dread of every evil, but thy frown. 620 Whom see I yonder, so demurely smile?

Laughter a labour, and might break their rest.

Ye quietists, in homage to the skies!

Serene! of soft address! who mildly make An un.o.btrusive tender of your hearts, Abhorring violence! who halt indeed; But, for the blessing, wrestle not with Heaven!

Think you my song too turbulent? too warm?

Are pa.s.sions, then, the Pagans of the soul?

Reason alone baptized? alone ordain'd 630 To touch things sacred? Oh for warmer still! 631 Guilt chills my zeal, and age benumbs my powers; Oh for an humbler heart, and prouder song!

Thou, my much-injured theme! with that soft eye, Which melted o'er doom'd Salem, deign to look Compa.s.sion to the coldness of my breast; And pardon to the winter in my strain.

O ye cold-hearted, frozen, formalists!

On such a theme, 'tis impious to be calm; Pa.s.sion is reason, transport temper, here. 640 Shall Heaven, which gave us ardour, and has shown Her own for man so strongly, not disdain What smooth emollients in theology, Rec.u.mbent virtue's downy doctors preach, That prose of piety, a lukewarm praise?

Rise odours sweet from incense uninflamed?

Devotion, when lukewarm, is undevout; But when it glows, its heat is struck to heaven; To human hearts her golden harps are strung; High heaven's orchestra chants amen to man. 650 Hear I, or dream I hear, their distant strain, Sweet to the soul, and tasting strong of heaven, Soft-wafted on celestial pity's plume, Through the vast s.p.a.ces of the universe, To cheer me in this melancholy gloom?

Oh, when will death (now stingless), like a friend, Admit me of their choir? Oh, when will death This mouldering, old, part.i.tion-wall throw down?

Give beings, one in nature, one abode?

O Death divine! that givest us to the skies! 660 Great future! glorious patron of the past, And present! when shall I thy shrine adore?

From nature's continent, immensely wide, Immensely bless'd, this little isle of life, This dark, incarcerating colony, 665 Divides us. Happy day! that breaks our chain; That manumits;[15] that calls from exile home; That leads to nature's great metropolis, And re-admits us, through the guardian hand Of elder brothers, to our Father's throne; Who hears our Advocate, and, through his wounds Beholding man, allows that tender name. 672 'Tis this makes Christian triumph a command: 'Tis this makes joy a duty to the wise; 'Tis impious in a good man to be sad.

See thou, Lorenzo! where hangs all our hope?

Touch'd by the Cross, we live; or, more than die; That touch which touch'd not angels; more divine Than that which touch'd confusion into form, And darkness into glory; partial touch! 680 Ineffably pre-eminent regard!

Sacred to man, and sovereign through the whole Long golden chain of miracles, which hangs From heaven through all duration, and supports In one ill.u.s.trious and amazing plan, Thy welfare, nature! and thy G.o.d's renown.

That touch, with charm celestial, heals the soul Diseased, drives pain from guilt, lights life in death, Turns earth to heaven, to heavenly thrones transforms The ghastly ruins of the mouldering tomb. 690 Dost ask me when? When He who died returns; Returns, how changed! Where then the man of woe?

In glory's terrors all the G.o.dhead burns; And all his courts, exhausted by the tide Of deities triumphant in his train, Leave a stupendous solitude in heaven; Replenish'd soon, replenish'd with increase Of pomp, and mult.i.tude; a radiant band 698 Of angels new; of angels from the tomb.

Is this by fancy thrown remote? and rise Dark doubts between the promise and event?

I send thee not to volumes for thy cure; Read nature; nature is a friend to truth; Nature is Christian; preaches to mankind; And bids dead matter aid us in our creed.

Hast thou ne'er seen the comet's flaming flight?

Th' ill.u.s.trious stranger pa.s.sing, terror sheds On gazing nations; from his fiery train Of length enormous, takes his ample round 709 Through depths of ether; coasts unnumber'd worlds, Of more than solar glory; doubles wide Heaven's mighty cape; and then revisits earth, From the long travel of a thousand years.

Thus, at the destined period, shall return He, once on earth, who bids the comet blaze: And, with him, all our triumph o'er the tomb.

Nature is dumb on this important point; Or hope precarious in low whisper breathes; Faith speaks aloud, distinct; even adders hear; But turn, and dart into the dark again. 720 Faith builds a bridge across the gulf of death, To break the shock blind nature cannot shun, And lands thought smoothly on the farther sh.o.r.e.

Death's terror is the mountain faith removes; That mountain barrier between man and peace.

'Tis faith disarms destruction; and absolves From every clamorous charge, the guiltless tomb.

Why disbelieve? Lorenzo!--"Reason bids, All-sacred reason."--Hold her sacred still; Nor shalt thou want a rival in thy flame: 730 All-sacred reason! source, and soul, of all Demanding praise, on earth, or earth above! 732 My heart is thine: deep in its inmost folds, Live thou with life; live dearer of the two.