Of Divine Love. A Poem in Six Cantos

Floriferis ut apes in saltibus omnia libant,Sic nos Scripturæ depascimur aurea dicta;Aurea! perpetua semper dignissima vita!Nam divinus amor cum coepit vociferari,Diffugiunt animi terrores.... Lucretius, lib. iii.

Exul eram, requiesque mihi, non fama, petita est,Mens intenta suis ne foret usque malis:Namque ubi mota calent sacra mea pectora Musa,Altior humano spiritua ille malo est.OVID. De Trist. lib. iv. el. I.

The Grecian Muse has all their gods survived,Nor Jove at us, nor Phoebus is arrived;Frail deities! which first the poets made,And then invoked, to give their fancies aid.Yet if they still divert us with their rage,What may be hoped for in a better age,When not from Helicon's imagined spring,But Sacred Writ, we borrow what we sing?This with the fabric of the world begun,Elder than light, and shall outlast the sun.Before this oracle, like Dagon, allThe false pretenders, Delphos, Ammon, fall;Long since despised and silent, they affordHonour and triumph to th'Eternal Word.

As late philosophy our globe has graced,And rolling earth among the planets placed,So has this book entitled us to heaven,And rules to guide us to that mansion given;Tells the conditions how our peace was made,And is our pledge for the great Author's aid.His power in Nature's ample book we find,But the less volume does express his mind.

This light unknown, bold Epicurus taughtThat his bless'd gods vouchsafe us not a thought,But unconcern'd let all below them slide,As fortune does, or human wisdom, guide.Religion thus removed, the sacred yoke,And band of all society, is broke.What use of oaths, of promise, or of test,Where men regard no God but interest?What endless war would jealous nations tear,If none above did witness what they swear?Sad fate of unbelievers, and yet just,Among themselves to find so little trust!Were Scripture silent, Nature would proclaim,Without a God, our falsehood and our shame.To know our thoughts the object of his eyes,Is the first step t'wards being good or wise;For though with judgment we on things reflect,Our will determines, not our intellect.Slaves to their passion, reason men employOnly to compass what they would enjoy.His fear to guard us from ourselves we need,And Sacred Writ our reason does exceed;For though heaven shows the glory of the Lord,Yet something shines more glorious in His Word;His mercy this (which all His work excels!)His tender kindness and compassion tells;While we, inform'd by that celestial Book,Into the bowels of our Maker look.Love there reveal'd (which never shall have end,Nor had beginning) shall our song commend;Describe itself, and warm us with that flameWhich first from heaven, to make us happy, came.

'Late philosophy': that of Copernicus.

The fear of hell, or aiming to be bless'd,Savours too much of private interest.This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul,Who for their friends abandon'd soul and all;A greater yet from heaven to hell descends,To save, and make his enemies his friends.What line of praise can fathom such a love,Which reach'd the lowest bottom from above?The royal prophet, that extended graceFrom heaven to earth, measured but half that space.The law was regnant, and confined his thought;Hell was not conquer'd when that poet wrote;Heaven was scarce heard of until He came down,To make the region where love triumphs known.

That early love of creatures yet unmade,To frame the world the Almighty did persuade;For love it was that first created light,Moved on the waters, chased away the nightFrom the rude Chaos, and bestow'd new graceOn things disposed of to their proper place;Some to rest here, and some to shine above;Earth, sea, and heaven, were all th'effects of love.And love would be return'd; but there was noneThat to themselves or others yet were known;The world a palace was without a guest,Till one appears that must excel the rest;One! like the Author, whose capacious mindMight, by the glorious work, the Maker find;Might measure heaven, and give each star a name;With art and courage the rough ocean tame;Over the globe with swelling sails might go,And that 'tis round by his experience know;Make strongest beasts obedient to his will,And serve his use the fertile earth to till.

When, by His Word, God had accomplish'd all,Man to create He did a council call;Employed His hand, to give the dust He tookA graceful figure, and majestic look;With His own breath convey'd into his breastLife, and a soul fit to command the rest;Worthy alone to celebrate His nameFor such a gift, and tell from whence it came.Birds sing His praises in a wilder note,But not with lasting numbers and with thought,Man's great prerogative! but above allHis grace abounds in His new fav'rite's fall.

If He create, it is a world He makes;If He be angry, the creation shakes;From His just wrath our guilty parents fled;He cursed the earth, but bruised the serpent's head.Amidst the storm His bounty did exceed,In the rich promise of the Virgin's seed;Though justice death, as satisfaction, craves,Love finds a way to pluck us from our graves.

Not willing terror should His image move;He gives a pattern of eternal love;His Son descends to treat a peace with thoseWhich were, and must have ever been, His foes.Poor He became, and left His glorious seatTo make us humble, and to make us great;His business here was happiness to giveTo those whose malice could not let Him live.

Legions of angels, which He might have used,(For us resolved to perish) He refused;While they stood ready to prevent His loss,Love took Him up, and nail'd Him to the cross.

Immortal love! which in His bowels reign'd,That we might be by such great love constrain'dTo make return of love. Upon this poleOur duty does, and our religion, roll.To love is to believe, to hope, to know;'Tis an essay, a taste of heaven below!

He to proud potentates would not be known;Of those that loved Him He was hid from none.Till love appear we live in anxious doubt;But smoke will vanish when the flame breaks out;This is the fire that would consume our dross,Refine, and make us richer by the loss.

Could we forbear dispute, and practise love,We should agree as angels do above.Where love presides, not vice alone does findNo entrance there, but virtues stay behind;Both faith, and hope, and all the meaner trainOf mortal virtues, at the door remain.Love only enters as a native there,For, born in heaven, it does but sojourn here.

He that alone would wise and mighty be,Commands that others love as well as He.Love as He loved!--How can we soar so high?--He can add wings, when He commands to fly.Nor should we be with this command dismay'd;He that examples gives, will give His aid;For He took flesh, that where His precepts fail,His practice as a pattern may prevail.His love, at once, and dread, instruct our thought;As man He suffer'd, and as God He taught.Will for the deed He takes; we may with easeObedient be, for if we love we please.Weak though we are, to love is no hard task,And love for love is all that Heaven does ask.Love! that would all men just and temp'rate make,Kind to themselves, and others, for His sake.

'Tis with our minds as with a fertile ground,Wanting this love they must with weeds abound,(Unruly passions), whose effects are worseThan thorns and thistles springing from the curse.

To glory man, or misery, is born,Of his proud foe the envy, or the scorn;Wretched he is, or happy, in extreme;Base in himself, but great in Heaven's esteem;With love, of all created things the best;Without it, more pernicious than the rest;For greedy wolves unguarded sheep devourBut while their hunger lasts, and then give o'er;Man's boundless avarice his wants exceeds,And on his neighbours round about him feeds.

His pride and vain ambition are so vast,That, deluge-like, they lay whole nations waste.Debauches and excess (though with less noise)As great a portion of mankind destroys.The beasts and monsters Hercules oppress'd,Might in that age some provinces infest;These more destructive monsters are the baneOf every age, and in all nations reign;But soon would vanish, if the world were bless'dWith sacred love, by which they are repress'd.

Impendent death, and guilt that threatens hell,Are dreadful guests, which here with mortals dwell;And a vex'd conscience, mingling with their joyThoughts of despair, does their whole life annoy;But love appearing, all those terrors fly;We live contented, and contented die.They in whose breast this sacred love has place,Death, as a passage to their joy, embrace.Clouds and thick vapours, which obscure the day,The sun's victorious beams may chase away;Those which our life corrupt and darken, love(The nobler star!) must from the soul remove.Spots are observed in that which bounds the year;This brighter sun moves in a boundless sphere;Of heaven the joy, the glory, and the light,Shines among angels, and admits no night.

This Iron Age (so fraudulent and bold!)Touch'd with this love, would be an Age of Gold;Not, as they feign'd, that oaks should honey drop,Or land neglected bear an unsown crop;Love would make all things easy, safe, and cheap;None for himself would either sow or reap;Our ready help, and mutual love, would yieldA nobler harvest than the richest field.Famine and death, confined to certain parts,Extended are by barrenness of hearts.Some pine for want where others surfeit now;But then we should the use of plenty know.Love would betwixt the rich and needy stand,And spread heaven's bounty with an equal hand;At once the givers and receivers bless,Increase their joy, and make their suff'ring less.Who for Himself no miracle would make,Dispensed with sev'ral for the people's sake;He that, long fasting, would no wonder show,Made loaves and fishes, as they ate them, grow.Of all His power, which boundless was above,Here He used none but to express His love;And such a love would make our joy exceed,Not when our own, but other mouths we feed.

Laws would be useless which rude nature awe;Love, changing nature, would prevent the law;Tigers and lions into dens we thrust,But milder creatures with their freedom trust.Devils are chain'd, and tremble; but the SpouseNo force but love, nor bond but bounty, knows.Men (whom we now so fierce and dangerous see)Would guardian angels to each other be;Such wonders can this mighty love perform,Vultures to doves, wolves into lambs transform!Love what Isaiah prophesied can do,Exalt the valleys, lay the mountains low,Humble the lofty, the dejected raise,Smooth and make straight our rough and crooked ways.Love, strong as death, and like it, levels all;With that possess'd, the great in title fall;Themselves esteem but equal to the least,Whom Heaven with that high character has bless'd.This love, the centre of our union, canAlone bestow complete repose on man;Tame his wild appetite, make inward peace,And foreign strife among the nations cease.No martial trumpet should disturb our rest,Nor princes arm, though to subdue the East,Where for the tomb so many heroes (taughtBy those that guided their devotion) fought.Thrice happy we, could we like ardour haveTo gain His love, as they to win His grave!Love as He loved! A love so unconfined,With arms extended, would embrace mankind.Self-love would cease, or be dilated, whenWe should behold as many selfs as men;All of one family, in blood allied,His precious blood, that for our ransom died.

Though the creation (so divinely taught!)Prints such a lively image on our thought,That the first spark of new-created light,From Chaos struck, affects our present sight:Yet the first Christians did esteem more bless'dThe day of rising, than the day of rest,That every week might new occasion give,To make His triumph in their mem'ry live.Then let our Muse compose a sacred charm,To keep His blood among us ever warm,And singing as the blessed do above,With our last breath dilate this flame of love.But on so vast a subject who can findWords that may reach th'idea of his mind?Our language fails; or, if it could supply,What mortal thought can raise itself so high?Despairing here, we might abandon art,And only hope to have it in our heart.But though we find this sacred task too hard,Yet the design, th'endeavour, brings reward.The contemplation does suspend our woe,And makes a truce with all the ills we know.As Saul's afflicted spirit from the soundOf David's harp, a present solace found;So, on this theme while we our Muse engage,No wounds are felt, of fortune or of age.On divine love to meditate is peace,And makes all care of meaner things to cease.

Amazed at once, and comforted, to findA boundless power so infinitely kind,The soul contending to that light to fleeFrom her dark cell, we practise how to die;Employing thus the poet's winged art,To reach this love, and grave it in our heart.Joy so complete, so solid, and severe,Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there;Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone,When from the East the rising sun comes on.