Classic Poem

M Y God ! the Wretch that does not love Thy Name
To Life and Being forfeits all his Claim,
And may he fink to nothing whence he came.
Or let the Yawn of the dire Mouth of Hell,
Receive him with his Fellow-Fiends to dwell.

Oh! if my Heart does not to Thee aspire,
If ought with equal Fervour I desire,
I'm self-condemn'd, and doom myself to Fire.
Let not my guilty Breath profane Thy Air,
Nor groaning Earth the monstrous Burden bear.
Let Clouds with Vengeance big, burst o'er my Head,
And Vollies of red Thunder strike me dead.
The Sun convert his gentle Rays to Flames,
And blast the Miscreant with his vengeful Beams.
The whole Creation rise in Arms for Thee,
To vindicate the Rights of Thy Divinity.

Vile Wretch! that dare refuse to love a God ,
Who form'd me Man out of my native Clod;
Whose Breath the Faculty of Love inspir'd,
And with the heav'nly Spark my Bosom fir'd:
Whose uncreated Beauties charm the Sight
Of gazing Angels, in the Realms of Light.
Whose Glories, faintly copy'd, round me shine,
And mildly beam thro' all these Works of Thine,
Proclaiming Thee their Origin Divine:
Whose Grace, diffus'd around in thousand Rills,
Arrays a thousand Worlds in chearful Smiles:
Thou too, when Man to dreadful Ruin fell,
Helpless, unpity'd on the Brink of Hell;
When Justice frowning did the Prey demand,
And None could rescue from his vengeful Hand;
Thou, touch'd with Pity, did'st avert his Doom,
And gav'st Thy Son a Victim in his Room.
Nail'd to the Cross the bleeding Saviour hangs,
And courts my Love with Groans and dying Pangs.
Oh! I must love! — Or can the Groans and Blood
Of an incarnate Godhead be withstood!

Yet ah! in some dark Hours I hardly know
Whether I love my gracious God or no.
Gloomy Suspicions, twinging Jealousies,
And anxious Doubts in all their Horrors rise.
I hear the Whisperings of misgiving Fear,
" Thy Love is feign'd, thy Ardour insincere "
Too true! too true! my trembling Soul replies,
Else whence so often could this Languer rise?
Ah! these unruly Passions would not rove
Thus wildly, were they fix'd with sacred Love.
Nor would the Flame of pure Devotion die
Thus frequent, and my Pow'rs so stupid lie.

And yet methinks in some bright Moments too,
I feel the heav'nly Flame divinely glow.
To Thee so ardent all my Passions move,
That if I love Thee not, I know not what I love,
If I'm deceiv'd in this with empty Shew,
Then my Existence is uncertain too:
An universal Sceptic I commence,
Beneath the Glare of brightest Evidence,
In spite of Reason, and in spite of Sense.

Oh! if I love Thee not, as Fears suggest,
Why am I, in Thine Absence, thus distrest?
Whence this strange Tumult, this uneasy Pain,
'Til Thy sweet Smiles compose my Soul again?
Whence these wild Pantings of immense Desire?
Why should poor breathing Dust so high aspire?
I see my busy Fellow-Worms pursue
Created Bliss, and nothing nobler view;
Content they waste their Life, estrang'd from Thee
In undisturb'd, serene Stupidity.
And why, like them, can't I contented play,
And eat, and drink, and sleep my Life away?
Whence this immense Ambition in my Mind,
That scorns all Joys but those of heavenly Kind?
Why should a Worm, an animated Clod;
Disdain all Bliss beneath a boundless God ?
Oh! what but the attractive Force of Love,
Could raise my groveling Spirit thus above?

Say, Great O MNISCIENT ! (for Thou know'st my Heart)
Can Nature ease my Soul, if Thou depart?
Can Riches, Pleasures, Honours, Empires, Crowns,
Or Friends, content me, when I feel Thy Frowns?
No! all Creation dwindles to a Toy,
And Heav'n itself could not excite my Joy.
The chearful Sun glares hateful to my Eyes,
And every blooming Beauty round me dies.

Thou great I NVISIBLE ! Thou dear U NKNOWN
Why thus to Thee should my soft Passions run?
Thus thro' the Objects of my Senses break,
And Charms unknown and hidden Glories seek?
Deep in Recesses of approachless Light
Thou dwellest, far beyond my feeble Sight;
Yet drawn by some strange mystic Influence,
I love Thee more than all that strikes my Sense;
Than all my Ears have heard, or Eyes have seen,
Or lively Fancy's gayest Pow'rs can feign.

O! if Thy Love does not my Heart inflame,
Why do I thus delight in J ESUS ' Name?
His Name is Music to my ravish'd Ears,
Sweeter than that which charms the heav'nly Spheres
A cheering Cordial to my fainting Breast;
My Hope, my Joy, my Peace, my Heav'n, my Rest.

I spring from Earth, and Heav'n is my Abode,
When I can say those charming Words, MY God ;
M Y God ! — Infinite Joys lie in the Sound.
Be Thou but mine; and all the Sun goes round
Without reluctant Murm'ring I resign;
I have enough, if I can call Thee MINE .

O! if I love Thee not, why do I thus
Love the dear Mansion of Thy earthly House?
The sacred Morning shines with heav'nly Rays.
More bright, more charming than ten thousand Days,
That bids me visit that delightful Place.
There would I dwell, and pass my Life away,
'Til Death convey me up to brighter Day

In all the Institutions of Thy Grace,
For Thee I look; and if Thou hide Thy Face,
The sacred Rites would dull and tiresome seem,
Did I not hope to find my God in them.
When at Thy Throne I bow my suppliant Knee,
Is Pray'r a stupid cold Formality?
Oh! can my Pray'rs content me without Thee?
No! these are but the Channels of thy Grace,
Transparent Glasses where I see Thy Face:
I thirst for living Water all in vain,
If Thou Thy gracious Influence restrain:
The radiant Glasses shew me nothing fair,
Unless I see Thy Charms reflected there.

Then Peace, my restless and suspicious Heart;
And ye dire-boding Jealousies, depart.
I love my God , or else I nothing love;
And the pure Flame e'er long shall burn above,
And from its native El'ment ne'er remove.