The fear of hell, or aiming to be blest, Savours too much of private interest: This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all; A greater yet from heaven to hell descends, To save and make his enemies his friends. * * * * * That early love of creatures yet unmade, To frame the world the Almighty did persuade. For love it was that first created light, Moved on the waters, chased away the night From the rude chaos; and bestowed new grace On things disposed of to their proper place-- Some to rest here, and some to shine above: Earth, sea, and heaven, were all the effects of love. * * * * * Not willing terror should his image move, He gives a pattern of eternal love: His son descends, to treat a peace with those Which were, and must have ever been, his foes. Poor he became, and left his glorious seat, To make us humble, and to make us great; His business here was happiness to give To those whose malice could not let him live. * * * * * He to proud potentates would not be known: Of those that loved him, he was hid from none. Till love appear, we live in anxious doubt; But smoke will vanish when that flame breaks out: This is the fire that would consume our dross, Refine, and make us richer by the loss. * * * * * Who for himself no miracle would make, Dispensed with[134] several for the people's sake. He that, long-fasting, would no wonder show, Made loaves and fishes, as they eat them, grow. Of all his power, which boundless was above, Here he used none but to express his love; And such a love would make our joy exceed, Not when our own, but others' mouths we feed. * * * * * Love as he loved! A love so unconfined With arms extended would embrace mankind. Self-love would cease, or be dilated, when We should behold as many selfs as men; All of one family, in blood allied, His precious blood that for our ransom died. * * * * * Amazed at once and comforted, to find A boundless power so infinitely kind, The soul contending to that light to fly From her dark cell, we practise how to die, Employing thus the poet's wingéd art To reach this love, and grave it in our heart. Joy so complete, so solid, and severe, Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there: Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone When from the east the rising sun comes on. * * * * * To that and some other poems he adds the following--a kind of epilogue. ON THE FOREGOING DIVINE POEMS.