Lorenzo! dost thou feel these arguments? Or is there nought but vengeance can be felt? How hast thou dared the Deity dethrone? 970 How dared indict Him of a world like this? If such the world, creation was a crime; For what is crime, but cause of misery? Retract, blasphemer! and unriddle this, Of endless arguments above, below, Without us, and within, the short result-- 976 "If man's immortal, there's a God in heaven." But wherefore such redundancy? such waste Of argument? One sets my soul at rest! One obvious, and at hand, and, oh!--at heart. So just the skies, Philander's life so pain'd, His heart so pure; that, or succeeding scenes Have palms to give, or ne'er had he been born. 983 "What an old tale is this!" Lorenzo cries.-- I grant this argument is old; but truth No years impair; and had not this been true, Thou never hadst despised it for its age. Truth is immortal as thy soul; and fable As fleeting as thy joys: be wise, nor make Heaven's highest blessing, vengeance; oh, be wise! 990 Nor make a curse of immortality. Say, know'st thou what it is, or what thou art? Know'st thou th' importance of a soul immortal? Behold this midnight glory: worlds on worlds! Amazing pomp! redouble this amaze; Ten thousand add; add twice ten thousand more; Then weigh the whole; one soul outweighs them all; And calls th' astonishing magnificence Of unintelligent creation, poor. For this, believe not me; no man believe: 1000 Trust not in words, but deeds; and deeds no less Than those of the Supreme; nor His, a few; Consult them all; consulted, all proclaim Thy soul's importance: tremble at thyself; For whom Omnipotence has waked so long: Has waked, and work'd, for ages; from the birth Of Nature to this unbelieving hour. In this small province of His vast domain (All nature bow, while I pronounce His Name!) What has God done, and not for this sole end, 1010 To rescue souls from death? The soul's high price Is writ in all the conduct of the skies. The soul's high price is the creation's key, Unlocks its mysteries, and naked lays The genuine cause of every deed divine: That is the chain of ages, which maintains Their obvious correspondence, and unites Most distant periods in one bless'd design: That is the mighty hinge, on which have turn'd All revolutions, whether we regard 1020 The natural, civil, or religious, world; The former two but servants to the third: To that their duty done, they both expire, Their mass new-cast, forgot their deeds renown'd; And angels ask, "Where once they shone so fair?" To lift us from this abject, to sublime; This flux, to permanent; this dark, to day; This foul, to pure; this turbid, to serene; This mean, to mighty!--for this glorious end