The World's Greatest Books [Volumes 1-15, 17-20]

When the proud steed shall know why man restrains His fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains; When the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod, Is now a victim, and now Egypt's god; Then shall man's pride and dulness comprehend His actions', passions', being's use and end.

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state; From brutes what men, from men what spirits know; Or who could suffer being here below ?

Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher, Death; and God adore. Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is but always to be blest.

Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears Him in the wind; His soul proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or milky way; Yet simple Nature to his hope has given, Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heaven; Some safer world in depth of woods embraced, Some happier island in the watery waste, Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold.

Go, wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense Weigh thy opinion against Providence; Call imperfection what thou fanciest such; Say, here He gives too little, there too much: Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, Yet cry, If man's unhappy, God's unjust.

Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine, Earth for whose use? Pride answers, " 'Tis for mine;

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For me kind Nature wakes her genial power, Suckles each herb, and spreads out ev'ry flower; For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings; For me, health gushes from a thousand springs; Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise; My footstool earth, my canopy the skies."

But errs not Nature from this gracious end, From burning suns when livid deaths descend, When earthquakes swallow, or when tempests sweep Towns to one grave, whole nations to the deep? "No" ('tis replied), "the first Almighty Cause Acts not by partial, but by general laws." As much that end a constant course requires Of showers and sunshine, as of man's desires; As much eternal springs and cloudless skies, As men for ever temperate, calm, and wise.

Far as creation's ample range extends, The scale of sensual, mental powers ascends: Mark how it mounts to man's imperial race, From the green myriads in the peopled grass: What modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme, The mole's dim curtain, and the lynx's beam: The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line; How instinct varies in the grov'ling swine, Compared, half-reasoning elephant, with thine! 'Twixt that and reason what a nice barrier: For ever separate, yet for ever near!

What if the foot, ordained the dust to tread, Or hand, to toil, aspired to be the head? What if the head, the eye, or ear repined To serve mere engines to the ruling mind? Just as absurd for any part to claim To be another, in this general frame; Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains The great Directing Mind of all ordains.

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 06

Whose body Nature is, and God the soul.

Cease then, nor order imperfection name: Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. All nature is but art, unknown to thee; All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good. And spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.

Epistle II

Of the Nature and State of Man with Respect to Himself as an Individual

Know then thyself, presume not God to f-can, The proper study of mankind is man. Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise, and rudely great: With too much knowledge for the sceptic side, With too much weakness for the stoic's pride, He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest; In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast; Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled: The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!

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 alclass="underline" And to their proper operation still, Ascribe all good; to their improper, ill.

Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul; Reason's comparing balance rules the whole. Man, but for that, no action could attend, And, but for this, were active to no end.

Modes of self-love the passions we may call; 'Tis real good, or seeming, moves them all;

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But since not every good we can divide, And reason bids us for our own provide; Passions, though selfish, if their means be fair, List under reason, and deserve her care. Those, that imparted, court a nobler aim, Exalt their kind, and take some virtue's name.

Passions, like elements, though born to fight, Yet, mixed and softened, in God's work unite: These 'tis enough to temper and employ; But what composes man, can man destroy? Suffice that reason keep to Nature's road, Subject, compound them, follow her and God.

Pleasures are ever in our hands and eyes; And when in act they cease, in prospect rise: All spread their charms, but charm not all alike; On different senses, different objects strike; And hence one master passion in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest.