Classic Poem

Dim as the borrowed beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wandering travelers,
Is Reason to the soul; and, as on high
Those rolling fires discover but the sky,
Not light us here, so Reason's glimmering ray
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,
But guide us upward to a better day.
And as those nightly tapers disappear
When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere;
So pale grows Reason at Religion's sight;
So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light.
Some few, whose lamp shone brighter, have been led
From cause to cause, to nature's secret head;
And found that one first principle must be:
But what, or who, that universal He;
Whether some soul imcompassing this ball,
Unmade, unmoved, yet making, moving all;
Or various atoms' interfering dance
Leapt into form (the noble work of chance);
Or this great all was from eternity;
Not even the Stagirite himself could see,
And Epicurus guessed as well as he:
As blindly groped they for a future state;
As rashly judged of providence and fate:
But least of all could their endeavours find
What most concerned the good of humankind;
For happiness was never to be found,
But vanished from 'em like enchanted ground.
One thought content the good to be enjoyed;
This every little accident destroyed:
The wiser madmen did for virtue toil,
A thorny or at best a barren soil;
In pleasure some their glutton souls would steep,
But found their line too short, the well too deep,
And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep.
Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll,
Without a centre where to fix the soul;
In this wild maze their vain endeavours end:
How can the less the greater comprehend?
Or finite reason reach Infinity?
For what could fathom God were more than He.
The Deist thinks he stands on firmer ground;
Cries: "Eureka! the mighty secret's found:
God is that spring of good, supreme and best;
We, made to serve, and in that service blest.
If so, some rules of worship must be given,
Distributed alike to all by Heaven:
Else God were partial, and to some denied
The means his justice should for all provide.
This general worship is to praise and pray,
One part to borrow blessings, one to pay;
And when frail nature slides into offence,
The sacrifice for crimes is penitence.
Yet, since the effects of providence, we find,
Are variously dispensed to humankind;
That vice trimphs and virtue suffers here
(A brand that sovereign justice cannot bear),
Our reason prompts us to a future state,
The last appeal from fortune and from fate:
Where God's all-righteous ways will be declared,
The bad meet punishment, the good reward.'
Thus man by his own strength to heaven would soar,
And would not be obliged to God for more.
Vain, wretched creature, how art thou misled
To think thy wit these godlike notions bred!
These truths are not the product of thy mind,
But dropped from heaven, and of a nobler kind.
Revealed Religion first informed thy sight,
And Reason saw not, till Faith sprung the light.
Hence all thy natural worship takes the source:
'Tis revelation what thou thinkest discourse.
Else, how comest thou to see these truths so clear,
Which so obscure to heathens did appear?
Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found;
Nor he whose wisdom oracles renowned.
Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime,
Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb?
Canst thou, by Reason, more of Godhead know
Than Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero?
Those giant wits, in happier ages born,
(When arms and arts did Greece and Rome adorn)
Knew no such system; no such piles could raise
Of natural worship, built on prayer and praise,
To One Sole God:
Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe,
But slew their fellow creatures for a bribe:
The guitless victim groaned for their offence,
And cruelty and blood was penitence.
If sheep and oxen could atone for men,
Ah! at how cheap a rate the rich might sin!
And great oppressors might Heaven's wrath beguile,
By offering his own creatures for a spoil!
Darest thou, poor worm, offend Infinity?
And must the terms of peace be given by thee?
Then thou art Justice in the last appeal:
Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel;
And, like a king remote and weak, must take
What satisfaction thou art pleased to make.
But if there be a power too just and strong
To wink at crimes and bear unpunished wrong;
Look humbly upward, see his will disclose
The forfeit first and then the fine impose:
A mulct thy poverty could never pay
Had not eternal wisdom found the way,
And with celestial wealth supplied thy store:
His justice makes the fine, his mercy quits the score.
See God descending in thy human frame;
The offended suffering in the offender's name;
All thy misdeeds to him imputed see,
And all his righteousness devolved on thee.

For granting we have sinned, and that the offence
Of man is made against Omnipotence,
Some price that bears proportion must be paid,
And infinite with infinite be weighed.
See then the Deist lost: remorse for vice,
Not paid; or paid, inadequate in price:
What farther means can Reason now direct,
Or what relief from human wit expect?
That shows us sick; and sadly are we sure
Still to be sick, till Heaven reveal the cure:
If then Heaven's will must needs be understood,
(Which must, if we want cure, and Heaven be good)
Let all records of will revealed be shown;
With Scripture all in equal balance thrown,
And our one sacred book will be that one.
Proof needs not here, for whether we compare
That Impious, Idle, Superstitious Ware
Of Rites, Lustrations, Offerings, (which before,
In various Ages, various Countries bore)
With Christian Faith and Vertues, we shall find
None answ'ring the great ends of humane kind
But This one Rule of Life: That shews us best
How God may be appeas'd, and Mortals blest.
Whether from length of Time its worth we draw,
The World is scarce more Ancient than the Law:
Heav'ns early Care prescrib'd for every Age;
First, in the Soul, and after, in the Page.
Or, whether more abstractedly we look,
Or on the Writers, or the written Book,
Whence, but from Heav'n, cou'd men unskill'd in Arts,
In several Ages born, in several parts,
Weave such agreeing Truths? or how, or why
Shou'd all conspire to cheat us with a Lye?
Unask'd their Pains, ungratefull their Advice,
Starving their Gain, and Martyrdom their Price.
If on the Book it self we cast our view,
Concurrent Heathens prove the Story True:
The Doctrine, Miracles; which must convince,
For Heav'n in Them appeals to humane Sense:
And though they prove not, they Confirm the Cause,
When what is Taught agrees with Natures Laws.

Then for the Style; Majestick and Divine,
It speaks no less than God in every Line:
Commanding words; whose Force is still the same
As the first Fiat that produc'd our Frame..152-155
All Faiths beside, or did by Arms ascend;
Or Sense indulg'd has made Mankind their Friend:
This onely Doctrine does our Lusts oppose:
Unfed by Natures Soil, in which it grows;
Cross to our Interests, curbing Sense, and Sin;
Oppress'd without, and undermin'd within,
It thrives through pain; its own Tormentours tires;
And with a stubborn patience still aspires.
To what can Reason such Effects assign
Transcending Nature, but to Laws Divine?
Which in that Sacred Volume are contain'd;
Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordain'd.
But stay: the Deist here will urge anew,
No Supernatural Worship can be True:
Because a general Law is that alone
Which must to all, and every where be known:
A Style so large as not this Book can claim
Nor ought that bears reveal'd Religious Name.
'Tis said the sound of a Messiah's Birth
Is gone through all the habitable Earth:
But still that Text must be confin'd alone
To what was Then inhabited, and known:
And what Provision cou'd from thence accrue
To Indian Souls, and Worlds discover'd New?
In other parts it helps, that Ages past,
The Scriptures there were known, and were imbrac'd,
Till Sin spread once again the Shades of Night:
What's that to these who never saw the Light?
Of all Objections this indeed is chief
To startle Reason, stagger frail Belief:
We grant, 'tis true, that Heav'n from humane Sense
Was hid the secret paths of Providence:
But boundless Wisedom, boundless Mercy, may
Find ev'n for those be-wildred Souls, a way:
If from his Nature Foes may Pity claim,
Much more may Strangers who ne'er heard his Name.
And though no Name be for Salvation known,
But that of his Eternal Sons alone;
Who knows how far transcending Goodness can
Extend the Merits of that Son to Man?
Who knows what Reasons may his Mercy lead;
Or Ignorance invincible may plead?
Not onely Charity bids hope the best,
But more the great Apostle has exprest:

That, if the Gentiles, (whom no Law inspir'd,)
By Nature did what was by Law requir'd;
They, who the written Rule and never known,
Were to themselves both Rule and Law alone:
To Natures plain Indictment they shall plead;
And, by their Conscience, be condemn'd or freed..200-205
Most righteous Doom! because a Rule reveal'd
Is none to Those, from whom it was conceal'd.
Then those who follow'd Reasons Dictates right;
Liv'd up, and lifted high their Natural Light;
With Socrates may see their Maker's Face,
While Thousand Rubrick-Martyrs want a place.
Nor does it baulk my Charity, to find
Th' Egyptian Bishop of another mind:
For, though his Creed Eternal Truth contains,
'Tis hard for Man to doom to endless pains
All who believ'd not all, his Zeal requir'd;
Unless he first cou'd prove he was inspir'd.
Then let us either think he meant to say
This Faith, where publish'd, was the onely way;
Or else conclude that, Arius to confute,
The good old Man, too eager in dispute,
Flew high; and as his Christian Fury rose
Damn'd all for Hereticks who durst oppose.

Thus far my Charity this path has try'd;
(A much unskilfull, but well meaning guide:)
Yet what they are, ev'n these crude thoughts were bred
By reading that, which better thou hast read.
Thy Matchless Author's work: which thou, my Friend
By well translating better dost commend:
Those youthfull hours which, of thy Equals most
In Toys have squander'd, or in Vice have lost,
Those hours hast thou to Nobler use employ'd;
And the severe Delights of Truth enjoy'd.
Witness this weighty Book, in which appears
The crabbed Toil of many thoughtfull years,
Spent by thy Authour, in the Sifting Care
Of Rabbins old Sophisticated Ware
From Gold Divine; which he who well can sort
May afterwards make Algebra a Sport.
A Treasure, which if Country-Curates buy,
They Junius, and Tremellius may defy:
Save pains in various readings, and Translations;
And without Hebrew make most learn'd quotations.
A Work so full with various Learning fraught,
So nicely pondred, yet so strongly wrought,
As Natures height and Arts last hand requir'd;
As much as Man cou'd compass, uninspir'd.
Where we may see what Errours have been made
Both in the Copiers and Translaters Trade:
How Jewish, Popish, Interests have prevail'd,
And where Infallibility has fail'd.
For some, who have his secret meaning guess'd
Have found our Authour not too much a Priest:
For Fashion-sake he seems to have recourse
To Pope, and Councils, and Traditions force:
But he that old Traditions cou'd subdue,
Cou'd not but find the weakness of the New:
If Scripture, though deriv'd from heav'nly birth,
Has been but carelesly preserv'd on Earth;
If God's own People, who of God before
Knew what we know, and had been promis'd more,
In fuller Terms, of Heavn's assisting Care,
And who did neither Time, nor Study spare
To keep this Book untainted, unperplext;
Let in gross Errours to corrupt the Text:
Omitted paragraphs, embroyl'd the Sense;
With vain Traditions stopt the gaping Fence,
Which every common hand pull'd up with ease:
What Safety from such brushwood-helps as these?
If written words from time are not secur'd,
How can we think have oral Sounds endur'd?
Which thus transmitted, if one Mouth has fail'd,
Immortal Lyes on Ages are intail'd:
And that some such have been, is prov'd too plain;
If we consider Interest, Church, and Gain.
Oh but says one, Tradition set aside,
Where can we hope for an unerring Guide?
For since th' original Scripture has been lost,
All Copies disagreeing, maim'd the most,
Or Christian Faith can have no certain ground,
Or Truth in Church Traditions must be found.
Such an Omniscient Church we wish indeed;
'Twere worth Both Testaments, and cast in the Creed:
But if this Mother be a Guide so sure,
As can all doubts resolve, all truth secure,
Then her Infallibility, as well
Where Copies are corrupt, or lame, can tell;
Restore lost Canon with as little pains,
As truly explicate what still remains:
Which yet no Council dare pretend to doe;
Unless like Esdras, they cou'd write it new:
Strange Confidence, still to interpret true,
Yet not be sure that all they have explain'd,
Is in the blest Original contain'd.

More Safe, and much more modest 'tis, to say
God wou'd not leave Mankind without a way:
And that the Scriptures, though not every where
Free from Corruption, or intire, or clear,
Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, intire,
In all things which our needfull Faith require.
If others in the same Glass better see
'Tis for Themselves they look, but not for me:
For MY Salvation must its Doom receive
Not from what OTHERS, but what I believe..295-304
Must all Tradition then be set aside?
This to affirm were Ignorance, or Pride.
Are there not many points, some needfull sure
To saving Faith, that Scripture leaves obscure?
Which every Sect will wrest a several way
(For what one Sect Interprets, all Sects may:)
We hold, and say we prove from Scripture plain,
That Christ is GOD; the bold Socinian
From the same Scripture urges he's but MAN.
Now what Appeal can end th' important Suit;
Both parts talk loudly, but the Rule is mute?
Shall I speak plain, and in a Nation free
Assume an honest Layman's Liberty?
I think (according to my little Skill,
To my own Mother-Church submitting still)
That many have been sav'd, and many may,
Who never heard this Question brought in play.
Th' unletter'd Christian, who believes in gross,
Plods on to Heaven; and ne'er is at a loss:
For the strait-gate wou'd be made streighter yet,
Were none admitted there but men of Wit.
The few, by Nature form'd, with Learning fraught,
Born to instruct, as others to be taught,
Must Study well the Sacred Page: and see
Which Doctrine, this, or that, does best agree
With the whole Tenour of the Work Divine:
And plainliest points to Heaven's reveal'd Design:
Which Exposition flows from genuine Sense;
And which is forc'd by Wit and Eloquence.
Not that Traditions parts are useless here:
When general, old, disinteress'd and clear:
That Ancient Fathers thus expound the Page,
Gives Truth the reverend Majesty of Age:
Confirms its force, by biding every Test;
For best Authority's next Rules are best.
And still the nearer to the Spring we go
More limpid, more unsoyl'd the Waters flow.
Thus, first Traditions were a proof alone;
Cou'd we be certain such they were, so known:
But since some Flaws in long descent may be,
They make not Truth but Probability.
Even Arius and Pelagius durst provoke
To what the Centuries preceding spoke.
Such difference is there in an oft-told Tale:
But Truth by its own Sinews will prevail.
Tradition written therefore more commends
Authority, than what from Voice descends:
And this, as perfect as its kind can be,
Rouls down to us the Sacred History:
Which, from the Universal Church receiv'd,
Is try'd, and after, for its self believ'd.
The partial Papists wou'd infer from hence
Their Church, in last resort, shou'd Judge the Sense.
But first they wou'd assume, with wondrous Art,
Themselves to be the whole, who are but part
Of that vast Frame, the Church; yet grant they were
The handers down, can they from thence infer
A right t' interpret? or wou'd they alone
Who brought the Present, claim it for their own?
The Book's a Common Largess to Mankind;
Not more for them, than every Man design'd:
The welcome News is in the Letter found;
The Carrier's not Commission'd to expound.
It speaks it Self, and what it does contain,
In all things needfull to be known, is plain.
In times o'ergrown with Rust and Ignorance,
A gainfull Trade their Clergy did advance:
When want of Learning kept the Laymen low,
And none but Priests were Authorized to know:
When what small Knowledge was, in them did dwell;
And he a God who cou'd but Reade or Spell;
Then Mother Church did mightily prevail:
She parcel'd out the Bible by retail:
But still expounded what She sold or gave;
To keep it in her Power to Damn and Save:
Scripture was scarce, and as the Market went,
Poor Laymen took Salvation on Content;
As needy men take Money, good or bad:
God'd Word they had not, but the Priests they had.
Yet, whate'er false Conveyances they made,
The Lawyer still was certain to be paid.
In those dark times they learn'd their knack so well,
That by long use they grew Infallible:
At last, a knowing Age began t' enquire
If they the Book, or That did them inspire:
And, making narrower search they found, tho late,
That what they thought the Priest's was Their Estate:
Taught by the Will produc'd, (the written Word)
How long they had been cheated on Record.
Then, every man who saw the Title fair,
Claim'd a Child's part, and put in for a Share:
Consulted Soberly his private good;
And sav'd himself as cheap as e'er he cou'd.
'Tis true, my Friend, (and far be flattery hence)

This good had full as bad a Consequence:
The Book thus put in every vulgar hand,
Which each presum'd he best cou'd understand,
The Common Rule was made the common Prey;
And at the mercy of the Rabble lay.
The tender Page with horney Fists was gual'd;
And he was gifted most that loudest baul'd:
The Spirit gave the Doctoral Degree:
And every member of a Company
Was of his Trade, and of the Bible free..399-408
Plain Truths enough for needfull use they found;
But men wou'd still be itching to expound:
Each was ambitious of th' obscurest place,
No measure ta'n from Knowledge, all from GRACE.
Study and Pains were now no more their Care;
Texts were explain'd by Fasting, and by Prayer:
This was the Fruit the private Spirit brought;
Occasion'd by great Zeal, and little Thought.
While Crouds unlearn'd, with rude Devotion warm,
About the Sacred Viands buz and swarm.
The Fly-blown Text creates a crawling Brood;
And turns to Maggots what was meant for Food.
A Thousand daily Sects rise up, and dye;
A Thousand more the perish'd Race supply:
So all we make of Heavens discover'd Will
Is, not to have it, or to use it ill.
The Danger's much the same; on several Shelves
If others wreck us, or we wreck our selves.
What then remains, but, waiving each extreme,
The tides of ignorance and pride to stem?
Neither so rich a treasure to forego;
Nor proudly seek beyond our power to know:
Faith is not built on disquisitions vain;
The things we must believe are few and plain:
But since men will believe more than they need,
And every man will make himself a creed,
In doubtful questions 'tis the safest way
To learn what unsuspected ancients say;
For 'tis not likely we should higher soar
In search of heaven than all the Church before;
Nor can we be deceived, unless we see
The Scripture and the Fathers disagree.
If, after all, they stand suspected still,
(For no man's faith depends upon his will)
'Tis some relief that points not clearly known
Without much hazard may be let alone:
And after hearing what our Church can say,
If still our Reason runs another way,
That private Reason 'tis more just to curb
Than by disputes the public peace disturb.
For points obscure are of small use to learn,
But common quiet is mankind's concern.

Thus have I made my own opinions clear;
Yet neither praise expect, nor censure fear:
And this unpolished, rugged verse I chose,
As fittest for discourse and nearest prose;
For while from sacred truth I do not swerve,
Tom Sternhold's or Tom Sha---ll's rhymes will serve.