THE COMPLAINT. NIGHT VII. BEING THE SECOND PART OF THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. CONTAINING THE NATURE, PROOF, AND IMPORTANCE OF IMMORTALITY. HEAVEN dipassionate, 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 a tender instance of true friendship towards hi Is not this surprising? what could be the cause The cause was for his honour; it was a trul noble, though, perhaps, a too punctilious regar for immortality: for his friend asking him, with such an affectionate concern as became a friend 'Where he should deposit his remains?" it wa resented by Socrates; as implying a dishonourable supposition, that he could be so mean, as to har regard for any thing, even in himself, that wa not immortal. This fact, well considered, would make ou infidels withdraw their admiration from Socrates. or make them endeavour, by their imitation this illustrious example, to share his glory; and consequently, it would incline them to peruse the following pages with candour and impartiality which is all I desire, and that for their sakes for I am persuaded that an unprejudiced infide must, necessarily, receive some advantage impressions from them. THE COMPLAINT. NIGHT VII. BEING THE SECOND PART OF THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. CONTAINING THE NATURE, PROOF, AND IMPORTANCE OF IMMORTALITY. HEAVEN gives the needful, but neglected, call. Through various parts our glorious story runs; Time gives the preface, endless age unrols The volume (ne'er unroll'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 foretels (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; 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? To share their sweet serene. Man, ill at ease Where Nature fodders him with other food Sighs on for something more, when most enjoy'd. Is Heaven 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, though, 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 Heaven, 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, distress'd, 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 his head the lie. Our heads, our hearts, our passions, and our Speak the same language; call us to the skies: |