are,That either God will not, or cannot punish. Considering the divine attributes, the first is too gross to be digested by our strongest wishes. And, since omnipotence is as much a divine attribute as holiness, that God cannot punish, is as absurd a supposition as the former. God certainly can punish, as long as wicked man exists. In non-existence, therefore, is their only refuge; and, consequently, non-existence is their strongest wish. And strong wishes have a strange influence on our opinions; they hias the judgment in a manner almost incredible. And since on this member of their alternative, there are some very small appearances in their favour, and none at all on the other, they catch at this reed, they lay hold on this chimera, to save themselves from the shock and horror of an immediate and absolute despair.

On reviewing my subject, by the light which this argument, and others of like tendency, threw upon it, I was more inclined than ever to pursue it, as it appeared to me to strike directly at the main root of all our infidelity. In the following pages it is accordingly pursued at large; and some arguments for immortality, new, at least to me, are ventured on in them. There, also, the writer has made an attempt to set the gross absurdities and horrors of annihilation in a fuller and more affecting view, than is, I think, to be met with elsewhere.

The gentlemen for whose sake this attempt was chiefly made, profess great admiration for the wisdom of heathen antiquity: what pity 'tis they are not slucere! If they were sincere, how would it mortify them to consider with what contempt and abhorrence their notions would have been received, by those whom they so much admire? What degree of contempt and abhorrence would fall to their share, may be conjectured by the following matter of fact, in my opinion extremely memorable. Of all their heathen worthies, Socrates, 'tis well known, was the most guarded, dispassionate, and composed: yet this great master of temper was angry; and angry at his last hour and angry with his friend; and angry for what deserved acknowledgment; angry for a right and tender instance of true friendship towards him Is not this surprising? What could be the cause? The cause was for his honour; it was a truly noble, though, perhaps, a too punctilious regard for immortality: for his friend asking him, with such an affectionate concern as became a friend, Where he should deposit his remains it was resented by Socrates; as implying a dishonour. able supposition, that he could be so mean as to have regard for any thing, even in himself, that was not immortal.

This fact, well considered, would make our infidels withdraw their admiration from Socrates; or make them endeavour, by their imitation of this illustrious example, to share his glory and, consequently, it would incline them to peruse the following pages with Pandour and impartiality; which is all I desire, and that for their sakes: for I am persuaded, that an unprejudiced infidel must, necessarily, receive some advantageous impressions from them.

Jul 7, 1744.

NIGHT VII.

BEING

THE SECOND PART

OF

THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED.

Containing the Nature, Proof, and Importance of Immortality.

HEAVN gives the needful, but neglected, call.
What day, what hour, but knocks at human hearts
To wake the soul to sense of future scenes?
Deaths stand, like Mercuries, in ev'ry way;
And kindly point us to our journey's end."
Pope, who couldst make immortals, art thou dead?
I give thee joy: nor will I take my leave;
So soon to follow. Man but dives in death;
Dives from the sun, in fairer day to rise;
The grave, his subterranean road to bliss.
Yes, infinite indulgence plann'd it so ;
Through various parts our glorious story runs ;
Time gives the preface, endless age enrolls
The volume (ne'er enroll'd!) of human fate.

This, earth and skies already have proclaim'd,
The world's a prophecy of worlds to come:
And who, what God foretells (who speaks in things.
Still louder than in words) shall dare deny!
If nature's arguments appear too weak,
Turn a new leaf, and stronger read in man.
If man sleeps on, untaught by what he sees,
Can he prove infidel to what he feels?
He, whose blind thought futurity denies,
Unconscious bears, Bellerophon like thee,
His own indictment; he condemns himself;
Who reads his bosom, reads immortal life;
*Night the Sixth.

Or, Nature, there, imposing on her sons,
Has written fables; man was made a lie.
Why discontent for ever harbour'd there.
Incurable consumption of our peace!
Resolve me, why the cottager and king,
He whom sea-sever'd realms obey, and he
Who steals his whole dominion from the waste,
Repelling winter blasts with mud and straw,
Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh,

In fate so distant, in complaint so near?

Is it, that things terrestrial can't content?
Deep in rich pasture, will thy flocks complain ?
Not so; but to their master is denied

To share their sweet serene. Man, ill at ease,
In this, not his own place, this foreign field,
Where Nature fodders him with other food
Than was ordain'd his cravings to suffice,
Poor in abundauce, famish'd at a feast,
Sighs on for something more, when most enjoy'd.
Is Heav'n then kinder to thy flocks than thee?
Not so; thy pasture richer, but remote ;
In part, remote; for that remoter part

Man bleats from instinct, tho', perhaps debauch'd
By sense, his reason sleeps, nor dreams the cause.
The cause how obvious, when his reason wakes !
His grief is but his grandeur in disguise;
And discontent is immortality.

Shall sons of ether, shall the blood of heav'n,
Set up their hopes on earth, and stable here,
With brutal acquiescence in the mire!
Lorenzo, no! they shall be nobly pain'd;
The glorious foreigners, distrest, shall sigh
On thrones; and thou congratulate the sigh
Man's misery declares him born for bliss:
His anxious heart asserts the truth I sing,
And gives the sceptic in bis head the lie.

Our heads, our hearts, our passions, and our pow'rs, Speak the same language; call us to the skies : Uuripen'd these in this inclement clime,

Scarce rise above conjecture, and mistake;
And for this land of trifles those too strong
Tumultuous rise, and tempest human life.
What prize on earth can pay us for the storm?
Meet objects for our passions heav'n ordain'd,
Objects that challenge all their fire, and leave
No fault but in defect: bless'd Heav'n! avert
A bounded ardour for unbounded bliss ;
O for a bliss unbounded! far beneath
A soul inmortal, is a mortal joy.
Nor are our pow'rs to perish immature
But, after feeble effort here, beneath
A brighter sun, and in a nobler soil,

Transplanted from this sublunary bed,

Shall Bourish fair, and put forth all their bloom.
Reason progressive, instinct is complete;
Swift instinct leaps; slow reason feebly climbs.
Brutes soon their zenith reach; their little all
Flows in at once; in ages they no more
Could know, or do, or covet, or enjoy.
Were man to live coeval with the sun,
The patriarch pupil would be learning still;
Yet, dying, leave bis lesson half unlearnt.
Men perish in advance, as if the sun

Should set ere noon, in eastern oceans drown'd;
If fit, with dim, illustrious to compare,

The sun's meridian, with the soul of man.
To man, why, step dame Nature! so severe ?
Why thrown aside thy master-piece half wrought,
While meaner efforts thy last hand enjoy !

Or, if abortively poor man must die,

Nor reach what reach he might, why die in dread?
Why curst with foresight! Wise to misery !
Why of his proud prerogative the prey?
Why less pre eminent in rank than pain?
His immortality alone can tell;

Full ample fund to balance all amiss,
And turn the scale in favour of the just!
His immortality alone can solve

That darkest of enigmas, human hope---
Of all the darkest, if at death we die.
Hope, eager hope, th' assassin of our joy,
All present blessings treading under foot,
Is scarce a milder tyrant than despair.
With no past toils content, still planning new,
Hope turns us o'er to death alone for ease.
Possession, why more tasteless than pursuit ?
Why is a wish far dearer than a crown?
That wish accomplish'd, why, the grave of bliss!
Because, in the great future buried deep,
Beyond our plans of empire and renown,
Lies all that man with ardour should pursue;
And HE who made him bent him to the right.
Man's heart th' Almighty to the future sets,

By secret and inviolable springs;

And makes his hope his sublunary joy.

Man's heart eals all things, and is hungry still:

More, more!' the glutton cries: for something new

So rages appetite, if man can't mount,

He will descend. He starves on the possest.
Hence, the world's master, from ambition's spire,
In Caprea plunged; and dived beneath the brute.
In that rank sty why wallow'd empire's son
Supreme? Because he could no higher fly;