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And spring-time of the world; ask'd, Whence is

man?

Why form'd at all? and wherefore as he is?

Where must he find his Maker? with what rites

Adore him? Will he hear, accept, and bless ?
Or does he sit regardless of his works?
Has man within him an immortal seed?

Or does the tomb take all? If he survive

His ashes, where? and in what weal or woe?

Knots worthy of solution, which alone
A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague,
And all at random, fabulous, and dark,

Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life,

Defective and unsanction’d, prov'd too weak
To bind the roving appetite, and lead
Blind nature to a God not yet reveal’d.
'Tis revelation satisfies all doubts,
Explains all mysteries, except her own,
And so illuminates the path of life,

That fools discover it, and stray no more.

Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir,
My man of morals, nurtur'd in the shades

Of Academus-is this false or true?

Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools?

If Christ, then why resort at ev'ry turn
To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short

Of man's occasions, when in him reside

Grace, knowledge, comfort-an unfathom'd store?

How oft, when Paul has serv'd us with a text,

Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd!
Men that, if now alive, would sit content
And humble learners of a Saviour's worth,
Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth,
Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too!.

And thus it is.—The pastor, either vain
By nature, or by flatt'ry made so, taught
To gaze at his own splendour, and t'exalt
Absurdly, not his office, but himself;
Or unenlighten'd, and too proud to learn;

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Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach;
Perverting often, by the stress of lewd
And loose example, whom he should instruct;
Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace,
The noblest function, and discredits much
The brightest truths that man has ever seen.
For ghostly counsel; if it either fall
Below the exigence, or be not back'd
With show of love, at least with hopeful proof
Of some sincerity on th' giver's part;
Or be dishonour'd, in th' exterior form
And mode of its conveyance, by such tricks
As move derision, or by foppish airs
And histrionic mumm'ry, that let down
The pulpit to the level of the stage;
Drops from the lips a disregarded thing.
The weak perhaps are mov’d, but are not taught,
While prejudice in men of stronger minds
Takes deeper root, confirm'd by what they see.
A relaxation of religion's hold

Upon the roving and untutor'd heart
Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snapt,
The laity run wild.—But do they now?
Note their extravagance, and be convinc'd.

As nations, ignorant of God, contrive A wooden one, so we, no longer taught By monitors that mother church supplies, Now make our own. Posterity will ask (If e'er posterity see verse of mine) Some fifty or an hundred lustrums hence, What was a monitor in George's days! My very gentle reader, yet unborn, Of whom I needs must augur better things, Since heav'n would sure grow weary of a world Productive only of a race like our's, A monitor is wood-plank shaven thin. We wear it at our backs. There, closely brac'd And neatly fitted, it compresses hard The prominent and most unsightly bones,

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And binds the shoulders flat. We

prove its use
Sov'reign and most effectual to secure
A form, not now gymnastic as of yore,
From rickets and distortion, else our lot.
But, thus admonish’d, we can walk erect-
One proof at least of manhood! while the friend
Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge.
Our habits, costlier than Lucullus wore,
And by caprice as multiplied as his,
Just please us while the fashion is at full,
But change with ev'ry moon.

The sycophant,
Who waits to dress us, arbitrates their date;
Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye;
Finds one ill made, another obsolete,
This fits not nicely, that is ill conceiv’d;
And, making prize of all that he condemns,
With our expenditure defrays his own.
Variety's the very spice of life,
That gives it all its flavour. · We have run
Through ev'ry change that fancy at the loom,

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