Amazed at once, and comforted, to find A boundless power so infinitely kind, The soul contending to that light to flee From her dark cell, we practise how to die; Employing thus the poet's winged 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; 290 Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone, When from the East the rising sun comes on. [1] 'Solace found': 1 Sam. xvi. 23. OF THE FEAR OF GOD. IN TWO CANTOS. CANTO I. The fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace, And makes all ills that vex us here to cease. Though the word fear some men may ill endure, 'Tis such a fear as only makes secure. Ask of no angel to reveal thy fate; Look in thy heart, the mirror of thy state. He that invites will not th'invited mock, Opening to all that do in earnest knock. Our hopes are all well-grounded on this fear; All our assurance rolls upon that sphere. 10 This fear, that drives all other fears away, Shall be my song, the morning of our day; Where that fear is, there's nothing to be fear'd; It brings from heaven an angel for a guard. Tranquillity and peace this fear does give; Hell gapes for those that do without it live. It is a beam, which He on man lets fall, Of light, by which He made and governs all. 'Tis God alone should not offended be; But we please others, as more great than He. 20 For a good cause, the sufferings of man May well be borne; 'tis more than angels can. Man, since his fall, in no mean station rests, Above the angels, or below the beasts. He with true joy their hearts does only fill, That thirst and hunger to perform His will. Others, though rich, shall in this world be vex'd, And sadly live in terror of the next. The world's great conqu'ror[1] would his point pursue, And wept because he could not find a new; 30 Which had he done, yet still he would have cried, To make him work until a third he spied. Ambition, avarice, will nothing owe To Heaven itself, unless it make them grow. Though richly fed, man's care does still exceed; Has but one mouth, yet would a thousand feed. In wealth and honour, by such men possess'd, If it increase not, there is found no rest. All their delight is while their wish comes in; Sad when it stops, as there had nothing been. 40 'Tis strange men should neglect their present store, And take no joy but in pursuing more; No! though arrived at all the world can aim; This is the mark and glory of our frame, A soul capacious of the Deity, Nothing but He that made can satisfy. A thousand worlds, if we with Him compare, 47 Less than so many drops of water are. Men take no pleasure but in new designs; And what they hope for, what they have outshines. Our sheep and oxen seem no more to crave, With full content feeding on what they have;