Were seen at once, her towering Alps would sink, And levell'd Atlas leave an even sphere. Thus earth, and all that earthly minds admire, Is swallow'd in eternity's vast round. To that stupendous view, when souls awake, 600 So large of late, so mountainous to man, Time's toys subside; and equal all below. Enthusiastic, this? Then all are weak, But rank enthusiasts. To this godlike height Some souls have soar'd; or martyrs ne'er had bled, And all may do, what has by man been done. Who, beaten by these sublunary storms, Boundless, interminable joys can weigh, Unraptured, unexalted, uninflamed? What slave unblest, who from to-morrow's dawn 610 Expects an empire? He forgets his chain, And, throned in thought, his absent sceptre waves. And what a sceptre waits us! what a throne! Her own immense appointments to compute, Or comprehend her high prerogatives, In this her dark minority, how toils, How vainly pants, the human soul divine! Too great the bounty seems for earthly joy; What heart but trembles at so strange a bliss? In spite of all the truths the Muse has sung, 620 Ne'er to be prized enough! enough revolved! Are there who wrap the world so close about them, They see no farther than the clouds; and dance On heedless vanity's fantastic toe, Till, stumbling at a straw, in their career, Headlong they plunge, where end both dance and song? Are there, Lorenzo? is it possible? 627 Are there on earth (let me not call them men) Who lodge a soul immortal in their breasts; Unconscious as the mountain of its ore; Or rock of its inestimable gem? When rocks shall melt, and mountains vanish, these Shall know their treasure; treasure, then, no more. 633 Are there (still more amazing!) who resist The rising thought? who smother, in its birth, The glorious truth? who struggle to be brutes? Who through this bosom-barrier burst their way, And, with reversed ambition, strive to sink? Who labour downwards through th' opposing powers Of instinct, reason, and the world against them, 640 To dismal hopes, and shelter in the shock Of endless night; night darker than the grave's? Who fight the proofs of immortality? With horrid zeal, and execrable arts, Work all their engines, level their black fires, To blot from man this attribute divine (Than vital blood far dearer to the wise), Blasphemers, and rank atheists to themselves? To contradict them, see all nature rise! What object, what event, the moon beneath, 650 But argues, or endears, an after-scene? To reason proves, or weds it to desire? All things proclaim it needful; some advance One precious step beyond, and prove it sure. A thousand arguments swarm round my pen, From heaven, and earth, and man. Indulge a few,