| |
| HE 1 who cou’d view the Book of Destiny, | |
| And read whatever there was writ of thee, | |
| O Charming Youth, in the first op’ning Page, | |
| So many Graces in so green an Age, | |
| Such Wit, such Modesty, such strength of Mind, | 5 |
| A Soul at once so manly and so kind, | |
| Wou’d wonder, when he turned the Volume o’re, | |
| And after some few Leaves shou’d find no more, | |
| Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space, | |
| A step of Life that promised such a Race, | 10 |
| We must not, dare not think, that Heav’n began | |
| A Child, and cou’d not finish him a Man: | |
| Reflecting what a mighty Store was laid | |
| Of rich Materials, and a Model made: | |
| The Cost already furnished; so bestow’d, | 15 |
| As more was never to one Soul allow’d: | |
| Yet after this profusion spent in vain, | |
| Nothing but mould’ring Ashes to remain, | |
| I guess not, lest I split upon the Shelf, | |
| Yet, durst I guess, Heav’n kept it for himself; | 20 |
| And giving us the use, did soon recal, | |
| E’re we cou’d spare, the mighty Principal. | |
| Thus then he disappear’d, was rarify’d, | |
| For ’tis improper Speech to say he dy’d: | |
| He was exhal’d: His great Creator drew | 25 |
| His Spirit, as the Sun the Morning Dew. | |
| ’Tis Sin produces Death; and he had none, | |
| But the Taint Adam left on ev’ry Son. | |
| He added not, he was so pure, so good, | |
| ’Twas but th’ Original forfeit of his Blood; | 30 |
| And that so little, that the River ran | |
| More clear than the corrupted Fount began. | |
| Nothing remained of the first muddy Clay, | |
| The length of Course had wash’d it in the way: | |
| So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold | 35 |
| The Gravel bottom, and that bottom Gold. | |
| As such we lov’d, admir’d, almost ador’d, | |
| Gave all the Tribute Mortals could afford. | |
| Perhaps we gave so much, the Pow’rs above | |
| Grew angry at our superstitious Love: | 40 |
| For when we more than Human Homage pay, | |
| The charming Cause is justly snatched away. | |
| Thus was the Crime not his, but ours alone; | |
| And yet we murmur that he went so soon, | |
| Though Miracles are short and rarely shown. | 45 |
| Hear then, yee mournful Parents, and divide | |
| That Love in many which in one was ty’d. | |
| That individual Blessing is no more, | |
| But multiply’d in your remaining store. | |
| The Flame’s dispersed, but does not all expire: | 50 |
| The Sparkles blaze, though not the Globe of Fire. | |
| Love him by Parts in all your num’rous Race, | |
| And from those Parts form one collected Grace; | |
| Then, when you have refin’d to that degree, | |
| Imagine all in one, and think that one is He. | 55 |
