Resignation (Young)/Postscript

by Edward Young

POSTSCRIPT.

THUS have I written, when to write
no mortal should presume;
Or only write, what none can blame,
 Hic jacet—for his tomb:

The publick frowns, and censures loud
 my puerile employ;
Though just the censure, if you smile,
 the scandal I enjoy;

But sing no more—no more I sing,
 or reassume the lyre,
Unless vouchsaf'd an humble part
 where Raphael leads the choir:

What myriads swell the concert loud?
 their golden harps resound
High, as the footstool of the throne,
 and deep, as hell profound;

Hell (horrid contrast!) chord, and song
 of raptur'd angels drowns
In self-will's peal of blasphemies,
and hideous burst of groans;

But drowns them not to me; I hear
 harmonious thunders roll
(In language low of men to speak)
 from echoing pole to pole!

Whilst this grand chorus shakes the skies—
 "above, beneath the sun,
"Thro' boundless age, by men, by Gods,
 "Jehovah's will be done."

'Tis done in heav'n; whence headlong hurl'd
 self-will with Satan, fell:
And must from earth be banish'd too,
 or earth's another hell:

Madam! self-will inflicts your pains:
 self-will's the deadly foe
Which deepens all the dismal shades,
 and points the shafts of woe:

Your debt to nature fully paid,
 now virtue claims her due;
But virtue's cause I need not plead,
 'tis safe; I write to you:

You know, that virtue's basis lies
 in ever judging right;
And wiping error's clouds away,
 which dim the mental sight;

Why mourn the dead? you wrong the grave,
 from storm that safe resort;
We still are tossing out at sea,
 our admiral in port.

Was death deny'd, this world, a scene
 how dismal and forlorn?
To death we owe, that 'tis to man
 a blessing to be born;

When every other blessing fails,
 or sapp'd by slow decay,
Or, storm'd by sudden blasts of fate,
 is swiftly whirl'd away;

How happy! that no storm, or time,
 of death can rob the just?
None pluck from their unaching heads
 soft pillows in the dust?

Well pleas'd to bear heav'n's darkest frown,
 your utmost pow'r employ;
'Tis noble chymistry to turn
 necessity to joy.

Whate'er the colour of my fate,
 my fate shall be my choice:
Determin'd am I, whilst I breathe,
 to praise and to rejoice;

What ample cause? triumphant hope!
 O rich eternity!
I start not at a world in flames,
 charm'd with one glimpse of thee:

And thou! its great inhabitant!
 how glorious dost thou shine?
And dart thro' sorrow, danger, death,
 a beam of joy divine?

The void of joy (with some concern
 the truth severe I tell)
Is an impenitent in guilt,
 a fool or infidel;

Weigh this, ye pupils of V—taire!
 from joyless murmur free;
Or, let us know, which character
 shall crown you of the three.

Resign, resign: this lesson none
 too deeply can instill;
A crown has been resign'd by more,
 than have resign'd the will;

Tho' will resign'd the meanest makes
 superior in renown,
And richer, in celestial eyes,
 Than He who wears a crown;

Hence, in the bosom cold of age,
 it kindled a strange aim
To shine in song; and bid me boast
 the ^[1]grandeur of my theme:

But oh! how far presumption falls
 its lofty theme below?
Our thoughts in life's December freeze,
 and numbers cease to flow.

First! greatest! best! grant what I wrote
 for others, ne'er may rise
To brand the writer; thou alone
 canst make our wisdom wise;

And how unwise! how deep in guilt,
 how infamous the fault?
"A teacher thron'd in pomp of words,
 "in deed, beneath the taught?"

Means most infallible to make
 the world an infidel;
And, with instructions most divine,
 to pave a path to hell;

O! for a clean and ardent heart,
 O! for a soul on fire,
Thy praise, begun on earth, to sound
 where angels string the lyre;

How cold is man? to him how hard
 (hard, what most easy seems)
"To set a just esteem on that,
 "which yet he———most esteems."

What shall we say, when boundless bliss
 is offer'd to mankind,
And, to that offer, when a race
 of rationals is blind?

Of human nature ne'er too high
 are our ideas wrought;
Of human merit ne'er too low
 depress'd the daring thought.

 

FINIS.

1. Page 7.