Of philosophic wit, call'd argument; And then, exulting in their taper, cry, "Behold the sun!" and, Indian-like, adore. 780 Talk they of morals? O thou bleeding Love! Thou maker of new morals to mankind! The grand morality is love of thee. As wise as Socrates, if such they were (Nor will they bate of that sublime renown), As wise as Socrates, might justly stand The definition of a modern fool. A Christian is the highest style of man: And is there, who the blessed cross wipes off, As a foul blot from his dishonour'd brow? 790 If angels tremble, 'tis at such a sight: The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge, More struck with grief or wonder, who can tell? Ye sold to sense! ye citizens of earth! (For such alone the Christian banner fly) Know ye how wise your choice, how great your gain? Behold the picture of earth's happiest man: "He calls his wish, it comes; he sends it back, And says, he call'd another; that arrives, Meets the same welcome; yet he still calls on; 800 Till one calls him, who varies not his call, But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound, Till nature dies, and judgment sets him free; A freedom far less welcome than his chain." But grant man happy; grant him happy long; Add to life's highest prize her latest hour; That hour, so late, is nimble in approach, That, like a post, comes on in full career: How swift the shuttle flies that weaves thy shroud! Where is the fable of thy former years? 810 Thrown down the gulf of time; as far from thee As they had ne'er been thine; the day in hand, Like a bird struggling to get loose, is going; Scarce now possess'd, so suddenly 'tis gone; And each swift moment fled, is death advanced By strides as swift. Eternity is all; And whose eternity? Who triumphs there? Bathing for ever in the font of bliss! For ever basking in the Deity! Lorenzo! who?--Thy conscience shall reply. 820 O give it leave to speak! 'twill speak ere long, Thy leave unask'd; Lorenzo! hear it now, While useful its advice, its accents mild. By the great edict, the divine decree, Truth is deposited with man's last hour; An honest hour, and faithful to her trust; Truth, eldest daughter of the Deity; Truth, of his council, when he made the worlds; Nor less, when he shall judge the worlds he made; Though silent long, and sleeping ne'er so sound, 830 Smother'd with errors, and oppress'd with toys, That heaven-commission'd hour no sooner calls, But from her cavern in the soul's abyss, Like him they fable under AEtna whelm'd, 834 The goddess bursts in thunder, and in flame; Loudly convinces, and severely pains. Dark demons I discharge, and hydra-stings; The keen vibration of bright truth--is hell: