If then heaven's will muft needs be understood, Which muft, if we want cure, and heaven be
Let all records of will reveal'd be fhown;
With fcripture all in equal balance thrown,
And our one facred book will be that one.
Proof needs not here, for whether we compare That impious, idle, fuperftitious ware
Of rites, 'luftrations, offerings, which before,
In various ages, various countries bore,
With chriftian faith and virtues, we fhall find
None answering the great ends of human kind
But this one rule of life, that shews us beft
How God may be appeas'd, and mortals bleft.
Whether from length of time its worth we
The word is fcarce more ancient than the law:
Heaven's early care prefcrib'd for every age;
Firft, in the foul, and after, in the page.
Or, whether more abftractedly we look,
Or on the writers, or the written book,
Whence, but from heaven, could men unskilled in
In feveral ages born, in feveral parts,
Weave fuch agreeing truths? or how, or why Should all confpire to cheat us with a lye?
Unafk'd their pains, ungrateful their advice,
Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.
If on the book itself we caft our view,
Concurrent heathens prove the story true:
The doctrine, miracles; which must convince,
For heav'n in them appeals to human sense:
And though they prove not, they confirm the
caufe,
When what is taught agrees with nature's laws.
Then for the stile, majestic and divine,
It speaks no less than God in every line:
Commanding words; whofe force is ftill the fame
As the first fiat that produc'd our frame.
All faiths befide, or did by arms ascend;
Or fenfe indulg'd has made mankind their friend:
This only doctrine does our lufts oppofe :
Unfed by nature's foil, in which it grows;
Crofs to our interefts, curbing fenfe, and fin;
Opprefs'd without, and undermin'd within,
It thrives thro pain; it's own tormentors tires;
And with a stubborn patience ftill afpires.
To what can reafon fuch effects affign
Transcending nature, but to laws divine?
Which in that facred volume are contain'd
Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordain'd;.^
But stay the deift here will urge anew, No fupernatural worship can be true:
Because a general law is that alone
Which must to all, and every where be known:
A ftile fo large as not this book can claim
Nor ought that bears revealed religion's name.
"Tis faid the found of a Meffiah's birth
thro all the habitable earth:
But ftill that text must be confin'd alone
To what was then inhabited, and known:
And what provifion could from thence accrue
To Indian fouls, and worlds discover'd new?
In other parts it helps, that ages past,
The fcriptures there were known, and were embrac❜d,
Till fin fpread once again the fhades of night:
What's that to these who never saw the light?
Of all objections this indeed is chief
To startle reafon, ftagger frail belief:
We grant, 'tis true, that heaven from human sense
Has hid the fecrets paths of providence :
But boundless wisdom, boundlefs mercy, may
Find even for thofe bewildred fouls, a way:
If from his nature foes may pity claim,
Much more may ftrangers who ne'er heard his name.
And tho no name be for falvation known,
But that of his eternal fons alone;
Who knows how far tranfcending goodness can Extend the merits of that fon to man?
Who knows what reasons may his mercy lead;
Or ignorance invincible may plead ?
Not only charity bids hope the best,
But more the great apostle has exprest :
That if the Gentiles, whom no law infpir'd,
By nature did what was by law requir'd';
They, who the written rule had never known,
Were to themselves both rule and law alone:
To nature's plain indictment they shall plead;
And by their conscience be condemn'd or freed.
Most righteous doom! because a rule reveal'd
Is none to thofe from whom it was conceal'd.
Then those who follow'd reason's dictates right;
Liv'd up, and lifted high their natural light;
With Socrates may fee their Maker's face,
While thousand rubric-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 could prove he was infpir'd.
Then let us either think he meant to fay
This faith, where publish'd, was the only way;
Or elfe conclude that Arius to confute,
The good old man too eager in difpute,
Flew high; and as his christian fury rose
Damn'd all for heretics who durft oppose.
Thus far my charity this path has try'd;
A much unskilful, but well meaning guide:
Yet what they are, ev'n these crude thoughts were
By reading that which better thou hast read. Thy matchless author's work: which thou, my friend,
By well tranflating better doft commend:
Thofe youthful hours which, of thy equals moft In toys have fquander'd, or in vice have lost, Those hours haft thou to nobler ufe employ'd; And the fevere delights of truth enjoy'd.
Witness this weighty book, in which appears
The crabbed toil of many thoughtful years,
Spent by thy author, in the fifting care
Of rabbins old fophifticated ware
From gold divine; which he who well can fort May afterwards make algebra a sport.
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