Thus man begins to live. An unknown flame Quickens his finished organs, now possest With motion; and which motion doth proclaim An active soul, though in a feeble breast: But how, and when infus’d, ask not my pen; Here flies a cloud before the eyes of men, I cannot tell thee how, nor canst thou tell me when. Was it a parcel of celestial fire, Infus’d by heav’n into this fleshly mould? Or was it, think you, made a soul entire? Then, was it new created, or of old? Or is’t a propagated spark, rak’d out From nature’s embers? while we go about By reason to resolve, the more we raise a doubt. If it be part of that celestial flame, It must be ev’n as pure, as free from spot, As that eternal fountain whence it came; If pure and spotless, then whence came the blot? Itself being pure, could not itself defile; Nor hath unactive matter pow’r to soil Her pure and active form, as jars corrupt their oil. Or if it were created, tell me when? If in the first six days, where kept ’till now? Or if thy soul were new-created, then Heav’n did not all at first, he had to do: Six days expired, all creation ceast; All kinds, ev’n from the greatest to the least, Were finish’d and compleat before the day of rest. But why should man, the Lord of creatures, want That privilege which plants and beasts obtain? Beasts bring forth beasts, and plant a perfect plant; And ev’ry like brings forth her like again; Shall fowls and fishes, beasts and plants convey Life to their issue, and man less than they? Shall these get living souls, and man dead lumps of clay? Must human souls be generated then?—— My water ebbs; behold a rock is nigh: If nature’s work produce the souls of men, Man’s soul is mortal—all that’s born must die. What shall we then conclude! what sunshine will Disperse this gloomy cloud? till then, be still My vainly striving thoughts; lie down my puzzled quill. HIEROGLYPH. 2. The closeness of the reasoning, and the freedom of the verses cannot be enough admired. I believe it would be difficult if not impossible to reason so shortly and yet so clearly in prose. Pope says the thoughts in his Essay on Man are in less compass for their being in verse. The poetical language admits of elisions and other varieties we cannot have in prose. This poem is followed by another, before which is a design of the winds blowing the flame of the taper, with this motto, “_The wind passeth over it, and it is gone!_”