Raising my drooping Head, o'er charg'd with Thought,
Having each Scene of Life before me brought;
I chid myself because I durst repine
At Nature's Laws, or those that were Divine.
Throughout the whole Creation 'tis the same,
The Fuel is devoured by the Flame;
Each peaceful, harmless, unoffending thing
Is to the Offender made an Offering:
Even God himself. Hold, my aspiring Thought;
Descend, my Muse, thy flight too high is wrought;
Tell not, how He, all peaceful and all kind,
Was offer'd for the vilest of Mankind;
A Victim for the vilest was design'd.
Descend, I say, my Muse; low things afford
Theams high enough for thee: Touch not the Word,
Till he hath touch'd thy Wings with Grace Divine,
Then, only his, thou shalt the World decline.
The harmless Dove the Falcon doth betray;
The Lamb is to the Wolf become a Prey;
And Men to whom free will Heaven doth impart,
To follow still the Counsels of his Heart,
If wrack'd with doubt; if harmless, he designs
Peace to his Heart, and still his Wish confines
Justice to Peace, and Love to Quiet joyns.
Why then the Dove-like Fate will sure be his;
Short is his Life, unsettled is his Bliss:
Hard Fate; that choice we eagerly pursue,
Is, or to be undone, or to undo.