Essay on man epistle 1 audio

An essay on man epistle 2

When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll, And swelling organs lift the rising soul, One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight, Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight: In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd, While altars blaze, and angels tremble round. Feels at each thread, and lives along the line: In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true From pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew: How instinct varies in the grov'lling swine, Compar'd, half-reas'ning elephant, with thine: 'Twixt that, and reason, what a nice barrier; For ever sep'rate, yet for ever near! Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, When victims at yon altar's foot we lay? Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat? Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown, I have not yet forgot myself to stone. In each low wind methinks a spirit calls, And more than echoes talk along the walls. Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day, Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.

To be, contents his natural desire, He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.

This light and darkness in our chaos joined, What shall divide? Two principles in human nature reign; Self-love to urge, and reason, to restrain; Nor this a good, nor that a bad we call, Each works its end, to move or govern all And to their proper operation still, Ascribe all good; to their improper, ill.

Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, Aspiring to be angels, men rebel: And who but wishes to invert the laws Of order, sins against th' Eternal Cause.

An essay on man epistle 1 summary

What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Now upward will he soar, And little less than angel, would be more; Now looking downwards, just as griev'd appears To want the strength of bulls, the fur of bears. I tremble too, where'er my own I find, Some dire misfortune follows close behind. Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night! To these we owe true friendship, love sincere, Each home-felt joy that life inherits here; Yet from the same we learn, in its decline, Those joys, those loves, those interests to resign; Taught half by reason, half by mere decay, To welcome death, and calmly pass away. The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er, To smart and agonize at ev'ry pore?

If white and black blend, soften, and unite A thousand ways, is there no black or white? Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.

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Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd; Labour and rest, that equal periods keep; "Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;" Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n, Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n. As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil, The shrines all trembl'd, and the lamps grew pale: Heav'n scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd, And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.

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Without this just gradation, could they be Subjected, these to those, or all to thee? May one kind grave unite each hapless name, And graft my love immortal on thy fame!

An essay on man pdf

No weeping orphan saw his father's stores Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors; No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n, Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n: But such plain roofs as piety could raise, And only vocal with the Maker's praise. There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame, There died the best of passions, love and fame. Nature to these, without profusion, kind, The proper organs, proper pow'rs assign'd; Each seeming want compensated of course, Here with degrees of swiftness, there of force; All in exact proportion to the state; Nothing to add, and nothing to abate. Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you: Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all. Know thy own point: This kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee. See some strange comfort every state attend, And pride bestowed on all, a common friend; See some fit passion every age supply, Hope travels through, nor quits us when we die. Attention, habit and experience gains; Each strengthens reason, and self-love restrains. Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves; Ev'n thou art cold — yet Eloisa loves. But now no face divine contentment wears, 'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears. Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er, To smart and agonize at ev'ry pore? Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand — the name appears Already written — wash it out, my tears! Let subtle schoolmen teach these friends to fight, More studious to divide than to unite; And grace and virtue, sense and reason split, With all the rash dexterity of wit.

Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you: Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.

If plagues or earthquakes break not Heav'n's design, Why then a Borgia, or a Catiline? Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, How often must it love, how often hate!

Alexander pope

Ah wretch! For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms, And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes, For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring, For her white virgins hymeneals sing, To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away, And melts in visions of eternal day. All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul; That, chang'd through all, and yet in all the same, Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame, Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent, Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns; To him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. We, wretched subjects, though to lawful sway, In this weak queen some favourite still obey: Ah! And sure, if fate some future bard shall join In sad similitude of griefs to mine, Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore, And image charms he must behold no more; Such if there be, who loves so long, so well; Let him our sad, our tender story tell; The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost; He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most. What crops of wit and honesty appear From spleen, from obstinacy, hate, or fear! Or quick effluvia darting through the brain, Die of a rose in aromatic pain? Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat? Alas, how chang'd! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line: In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true From pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew: How instinct varies in the grov'lling swine, Compar'd, half-reas'ning elephant, with thine: 'Twixt that, and reason, what a nice barrier; For ever sep'rate, yet for ever near! Wits, just like fools, at war about a name, Have full as oft no meaning, or the same. Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away; And is my Abelard less kind than they? Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd; Labour and rest, that equal periods keep; "Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;" Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n, Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n. Go, wiser thou! How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said, Curse on all laws but those which love has made!

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

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