For man's emolument; sole cause that stoops Their grandeur to man's eye? Lorenzo! rouse; Let thought, awaken'd, take the lightning's wing, And glance from east to west, from pole to pole. 860 Who sees, but is confounded, or convinced? Renounces reason, or a God adores? Mankind was sent into the world to see: Sight gives the science needful to their peace; 864 That obvious science asks small learning's aid. Would'st thou on metaphysic pinions soar? Or wound thy patience amid logic thorns? Or travel history's enormous round? Nature no such hard task enjoins: she gave A make to man directive of his thought; A make set upright, pointing to the stars, As who shall say, "Read thy chief lesson there." 872 Too late to read this manuscript of heaven, When, like a parchment scroll, shrunk up by flames, It folds Lorenzo's lesson from his sight. Lesson how various! Not the God alone, I see His ministers; I see, diffused In radiant orders, essences sublime, Of various offices, of various plume, In heavenly liveries, distinctly clad, 880 Azure, green, purple, pearl, or downy gold, Or all commix'd; they stand, with wings outspread, Listening to catch the Master's least command, And fly through nature, ere the moment ends; Numbers innumerable!--well conceived By Pagan, and by Christian! O'er each sphere Presides an angel, to direct its course, And feed, or fan, its flames; or to discharge Other high trusts unknown. For who can see Such pomp of matter, and imagine, Mind, 890 For which alone Inanimate was made, More sparingly dispensed? that nobler son, Far liker the great Sire!--'Tis thus the skies Inform us of superiors numberless, As much, in excellence, above mankind, As above earth, in magnitude, the spheres. These, as a cloud of witnesses, hang o'er us; In a throng'd theatre are all our deeds; 898 Perhaps, a thousand demigods descend On every beam we see, to walk with men. Awful reflection! Strong restraint from ill! Yet, here, our virtue finds still stronger aid From these ethereal glories sense surveys. Something, like magic, strikes from this blue vault; With just attention is it view'd? We feel A sudden succour, unimplored, unthought; Nature herself does half the work of Man. Seas, rivers, mountains, forests, deserts, rocks, The promontory's height, the depth profound Of subterranean, excavated grots[61], 910 Black brow'd, and vaulted high, and yawning wide From Nature's structure, or the scoop of Time; If ample of dimension, vast of size, Even these an aggrandizing impulse give; Of solemn thought enthusiastic heights Even these infuse.--But what of vast in these? Nothing;--or we must own the skies forgot. Much less in art.--Vain art! Thou pigmy power!