At one grand view takes in a world with ease, And, seeing all mankind, loves all she sees. _P_. Was it most sure, which yet a doubt endures, Not found in Reason's creed, though found in yours, 260 That these two services, like what we're told, And know, of God's and Mammon's, cannot hold And draw together; that, however both, We neither serve, attempting to serve both, I could not doubt a moment which to choose, And which in common reason to refuse. Invented oft for purposes of art, Born of the head, though father'd on the heart, This grand love of the world must be confess'd A barren speculation at the best. 270 Not one man in a thousand, should he live Beyond the usual term of life, could give, So rare occasion comes, and to so few, Proof whether his regards are feign'd, or true. The love we bear our country is a root Which never fails to bring forth golden fruit; 'Tis in the mind an everlasting spring Of glorious actions, which become a king, Nor less become a subject; 'tis a debt Which bad men, though they pay not, can't forget; 280 A duty, which the good delight to pay, And every man can practise every day. Nor, for my life (so very dim my eye, Or dull your argument) can I descry What you with faith assert, how that dear love, Which binds me to my country, can remove, And make me of necessity forego, That general love which to the world I owe. Those ties of private nature, small extent, In which the mind of narrow cast is pent, 290 Are only steps on which the generous soul Mounts by degrees till she includes the whole. That spring of love, which, in the human mind, Founded on self, flows narrow and confined, Enlarges as it rolls, and comprehends The social charities of blood and friends, Till, smaller streams included, not o'erpast, It rises to our country's love at last; And he, with liberal and enlarged mind, Who loves his country, cannot hate mankind. 300 _F_. Friend, as you would appear, to Common Sense, Tell me, or think no more of a defence, Is it a proof of love by choice to run A vagrant from your country? _P_. Can the son (Shame, shame on all such sons!) with ruthless eye, And heart more patient than the flint, stand by, And by some ruffian, from all shame divorced, All virtue, see his honour'd mother forced? Then--no, by Him that made me! not e'en then, Could I with patience, by the worst of men, 310 Behold my country plunder'd, beggar'd, lost Beyond redemption, all her glories cross'd, E'en when occasion made them ripe, her fame Fled like a dream, while she awakes to shame. _F_. Is it not more the office of a friend, The office of a patron, to defend Her sinking state, than basely to decline So great a cause, and in despair resign? _P_. Beyond my reach, alas! the grievance lies, And, whilst more able patriots doubt, she dies. 320