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And still it spreads. See Germany send forth
Her sons* to pour it on the farthest north;
Fir'd with a zeal peculiar, they defy
The rage and rigour of a polar sky,
And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose
On icy plains, and in eternal snows.

Oh, blest within th' enclosure of your rocks,
Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks?
No fertilizing streams your fields divide,
That show, revers'd, the villas on their side ;
No groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird,
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard ;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
Of those that walk at evening where ye dwell:
But winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown,
Sits absolute on his unshaken throne;

Piles

up

his stores amidst the frozen waste,
And bids the mountains he has built stand fast
Beckons the legions of his storms away
'From happier scenes, to make your land a prey;
Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won,

And scorns to share it with the distant sun.
-Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle !
And peace, the genuine offspring of her smile!
The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds
In chains of error our accomplish'd minds,
That decks, with all the splendour of the truc,
A false religion, is unknown to you.

The Moravian Missionaries in Greenland. Vide Krantz.

Nature, indeed, vouchsafes, for our delight,
The sweet vicissitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flower, and every creature here ;
But brighter beams, than his who fires the skies,
Have risen at length on your admiring eyes,
That shoot into your darkest caves the day,
From which our nicer optics turn away.

Here see th' encouragement grace gives to vice,
The dire effect of mercy without price!
What were they? What some fools are made by art,
They were by nature-atheists, head and heart.
The gross idolatry blind heathens teach
Was too refin'd for them, beyond their reach.
Not e'en the glorious sun-though men revere
The monarch most, that seldom will appear;
And though his beams, that quicken where they shine,
May claim some right to be esteem'd divine-
Not e'en the sun, desirable as rare,

Could bend one knee, engage one votary there!
They were, what base credulity believes

True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, thieves.
The full-gorg'd savage, at his nauseous feast
Spent half the darkness, and snor'd out the rest,
Was one whom justice, on an equal plan,
Denouncing death upon the sins of man,
Might almost have indulg'd with an escape,
Chargeable only with a human shape.

What are they now ?-Morality may spare
Her grave concern, her kind suspicions, there :

The wretch, who once sang wildly, danc'd and laugh'd,
And suck'd in dizzy madness with his draught,
Has wept a silent flood, revers'd his ways,
Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays;
Feeds sparingly, communicates his store,

Abhors the craft he boasted of before--more.}

And he that stole, has learnt to steal no more.
Well spake the prophet, Let the desert sing,
Where sprang the thorn the spiry fir shall spring.
And where unsightly and rank thistles grew,
the mirtle and luxuriant yew.

Shall

grow

Go now, and with important tone demand
On what foundation virtue is to stand,
If self-exalting claims be turn'd adrift,
And grace be grace indeed, and life a gift.
The poor reclaim'd inhabitant, his eyes
Glistening at once with pity and surprise,
Amaz'd that shadows should obscure the sight
Of one whose birth was in a land of light,
Shall answer, Hope, sweet hope, has set me free,
And made all pleasures else mere dross to me.

These, amidst scenes as waste as if denied
The common care that waits on all beside,
Wild as if nature there, void of all good,
Play'd only gambols in a frantic mood,
(Yet charge not heavenly skill with having plann'd
A play-thing world, unworthy of his hand!)
Can see his love, though secret evil lurks
In all we touch, stamp'd plainly on his works;

Deem life a blessing with its numerous woes,
Nor spurn away a gift a God bestows.
Hard task, indeed, o'er arctic seas to roam !
Is hope exotic? grows it not at home?
Yes, but an object, bright as orient morn,
May press the eye too closely to be born;
A distant virtue we can all confess,
It hurts our pride and moves our envy less.

Leuconomus (beneath well sounding Greek
I slur a name a poet must not speak)
Stood pilloried on infamy's high stage,
And bore the pelting scorn of half an age;
The very butt of slander, and the blot
For every dart that malice ever shot.

The man that mention'd him at once dismiss'd
All mercy from his lips, and sneer'd and hiss'd;
His crimes were such as Sodom never knew,
And perjury stood up to swear all true;
His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence,
His speech rebellion against common sense;
A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule,
And, when by that of reason, a mere fool;
The world's best comfort was, his doom was pass'd;
Die when he might, he must be damn'd at last.

Now, truth, perform thine office; waft aside
The curtain drawn by prejudice and pride,
Reveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes
This more than monster in his proper guise.

Except the few his God may have impress'd,
A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest.

Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least,
There dwells a consciousness in every breast,
That folly ends where genuine hope begins,
And he that finds his heaven must lose his sins.
Nature opposes, with her utmost force,

This riving stroke, this ultimate divorce;
And, while religion seems to be her view,
Hates, with a deep sincerity, the true :
For this-of all that ever influenced man,
Since Abel worshipp'd, or the world began—
This only spares no lust; admits no plea;
But makes him, if at all, completely free;
Sounds forth the signal, as she mounts her car,
Of an eternal, universal war;

Rejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles;

Scorns, with the same indifference, frowns and smiles
Drives through the realms of sin, where riot reels,
And grinds his crown beneath her burning wheels!
Hence all that is in man-pride, passion, art,
Powers of the mind, and feelings of the heart-
Insensible of truth's almighty charms,

Starts at her first approach, and sounds, To arms!
While bigotry, with well dissembled fears,

His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears,
Mighty to parry and push by God's word
With senseless noise, his argument the sword,
Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace,
And spits abhorrence in the christian's face.

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