Dost think, Lorenzo, this is wandering wide? No,'tis directly striking at the mark; To wake thy dead devotion was my point; And how I bless Night's consecrating shades, Which to a temple turn an universe; 1350 Fill us with great ideas, full of heaven, And antidote the pestilential earth! In every storm, that either frowns, or falls, What an asylum has the soul in prayer! And what a fane[68] is this, in which to pray! And what a God must dwell in such a fane! Oh, what a genius must inform the skies! And is Lorenzo's salamander heart Cold, and untouch'd, amid these sacred fires? O ye nocturnal sparks! ye glowing embers, 1360 On heaven's broad hearth! who burn, or burn no more, Who blaze, or die, as Great Jehovah's breath Or blows you, or forbears; assist my song; Pour your whole influence; exorcise his heart, So long possess'd; and bring him back to man. And is Lorenzo a demurrer still? Pride in thy parts provokes thee to contest Truths, which, contested, put thy parts to shame. Nor shame they more Lorenzo's head than heart, A faithless heart, how despicably small! 1370 Too strait, aught great or generous to receive! 1371 Fill'd with an atom! fill'd, and foul'd, with self! And self mistaken! self, that lasts an hour! Instincts and passions, of the nobler kind, Lie suffocated there; or they alone, Reason apart, would wake high hope; and open, To ravish'd thought, that intellectual sphere, Where order, wisdom, goodness, providence, Their endless miracles of love display, And promise all the truly great desire. 1380 The mind that would be happy, must be great; Great, in its wishes; great, in its surveys. Extended views a narrow mind extend; Push out its corrugate, expansive make, Which, ere long, more than planets shall embrace. A man of compass makes a man of worth; Divine contemplate, and become divine. As man was made for glory, and for bliss, All littleness is in approach to woe; Open thy bosom, set thy wishes wide, 1390 And let in manhood; let in happiness; Admit the boundless theatre of thought From nothing, up to God; which makes a man. Take God from nature, nothing great is left; Man's mind is in a pit, and nothing sees; Man's heart is in a jakes[69], and loves the mire. Emerge from thy profound; erect thine eye; See thy distress! how close art thou besieged! Besieged by Nature, the proud sceptic's foe! Enclosed by these innumerable worlds, 1400 Sparkling conviction on the darkest mind, As in a golden net of Providence. How art thou caught, sure captive of belief! From this thy bless'd captivity, what art, What blasphemy to reason, sets thee free! 1405 This scene is heaven's indulgent violence: