Groaning Caverns, Sulphureous Clouds

Mar8

Burst, burst, thou charm! wake, trembler wake again,
Nor let thy parent’s dying prayers be vain!
The hour arriv’d, th’ infernal trumpet blew;
Black from its mouth a cloud sulphureous flew;
The caverns groan’d; the startled throng gave way,
And forth the chariot rush’d to gloomy day.
On every side, expressive emblems rose,
The man, the scene, the purpose to disclose.
Here wrinkled dotage, like a fondled boy,
Titter’d, and smirk’d its momentary joy:
His crumbs there avarice grip’d, with lengthen’d nails,
And weigh’d clipp’d half pence in unequal scales.
Trim vanity her praises laugh’d aloud,
And snuff’d for incense from the gaping crowd,
While Age an eye of anguish cast around,
His crown of glory prostrate on the ground.
There C******* sate; aloud his voice declar’d,
Hell is no more, or no more to be fear’d.
What tho’ the Heavens, in words of flaming fire,
Disclose the vengeance of eternal ire,
Bid anguish o’er the unrepenting soul,
In waves succeeding waves, forever roll;
The strongest terms, each language knows, employ
To teach us endless woe, and endless joy:
‘Tis all a specious irony, design’d
A harmless trifling with the human kind:
Or, not to charge the sacred books with lies,
A wile most needful of the ingenious skies,
On this bad earth their kingdom to maintain,
And curb the rebel, man: but all in vain.

Timothy Dwight: The Triumph of Infidelity (1788)

Dull Seers, in Dreams Sublime

Mar1

What tho’ dull seers have sung, in dreams sublime,
Thy ruin floats along the verge of time,
Tho’ without hands the stone from mountains riven,
Alarms my throne, and hastes the ire of heaven;
Tho’ bliss’ dread heralds earth’s far limits round
Pardon, and peace, and joy, ere long shall sound;
How beauteous are their feet! all regions cry,
And one great, natal song salute the sky:
Still, should I sink, a glorious fate I’ll find,
And sink amid the ruins of mankind.
But what blest onset shall I now begin,
To plunge the New World in the gulph of sin?
With sweet declension, down perdition’s steep,
How, in one host, her cheated millions sweep?
I hail the glorious project, first, and best,
That ever Satan’s bright invention blest;
That on this world my kingdom first began,
And lost my rival paradise, and man.
Twice fifteen suns are past, since C * * * * * *’s mind,
Thro’ doctrines deep, from common sense resin’d,
I led, a nice, mysterious work to frame,
With love of system, and with lust of same.
Fair in his hand the pleasing wonder grew,
Wrought with deep art, and stor’d with treasures new:
There the sweet sophism led the soul astray;
There round to heaven soft bent the crooked way:
Saints, he confess’d, the shortest rout pursue;
But, scarce behind, my children follow too.
Even Satan’s self ere long shall thither hie;
On cap, huzza! and thro’ the door go I!
Now palsied age has dimm’d his mental sight,
I’ll rouse the sage his master’s laws to fight,
The injuries, long he render’d, to repair
And wipe from heaven’s fair book his faith and prayer.

Timothy Dwight: The Triumph of Infidelity (1788)

Clodhopping Oracles of Man

Feb26

From scenes obscure, did heaven his * * * * * call,
That moral Newton, and that second Paul.
He, in clear view, saw sacred systems roll,
Of reasoning worlds, around their central soul;
Saw love attractive every system bind,
The parent linking to each filial mind;
The end of heaven’s high works resistless shew’d,
Creating glory, and created good;
And, in one little life, the gospel more
Disclos’d, than all earth’s myriads kenn’d before.
Beneath his standard; lo what number rise,
To dare for truth, and combat for the skies!
Arm’d at all points, they try the battling field,
With reason’s sword and faith’s etherial shield.
To ward this fate all irreligion can,
Whate’er sustains, or flatters sinning man;
Whate’er can conscience of her thorns disarm,
Or calm, at death’s approach, the dread alarm;
Whate’er like truth, with error cheats mankind;
Whate’er, like virtue, taints with vice the mind;
I preach’d, I wrote, I argued, pray’d, and lied,
What could my friends, or even myself, beside?
But, tho’ with glad successes often crown’d,
Unceasing fears my troubled path surround.
While with each toil my friends the cause sustain,
Their toils, their efforts, and their arts are vain.
Even plodding * * * * * * * * did but little good,
Who taught, the foul of man was made of mud:
Cold mud was virtue; warmer mud was sin;
And thoughts the angle-worms, that crawl’d within:
Nor taught alone; but wife, to precept join’d
A fair example, in his creeping mind.
In vain thro realms of nonsense * * * * * * * ran
The great Clodhopping oracle of man.
Yet faithful were his toils: What could he more?
In Satan’s cause he bustled, bruised, and swore;
And what the due reward, from me shall know,
For gentlemen of equal worth below.
To vengeance then, my soul, to vengeance rise,
Assert thy glory and assault the skies.

Timothy Dwight: The Triumph of Infidelity (1788)

Satanic Imps & Jesuitic Arts

Feb24

Vatican City is home to a building shaped like a serpent's ...

He too reveal’d, that candour bade mankind
Believe my haughty rival weak, and blind;
That all things wrong a ruling God denied;
Or a satanic imp that God implied
An imp, per chance of power and skill possest,
But not with justice, truth, or goodness blest.
Doctrines divine! would men their force receive,
And live to Satan’s glory, as believe.
Nor these alone: from every class of man,
I gain’d new aids to build the darling plan.
But chief his favorite class, his priests, I won,
To undermine his cause, and prop my own.
Here Jesuitic art its frauds combin’d
To draw ten thousand cobwebs o’er the mind.
In poisoned toils the flutterer to inclose,
And fix, with venom’d fangs, eternal woes.
On sceptic dross they stamp’d heavens image bright,
And nam’d their will a wisp, immortal light,
Thro’ moors, and fens the sightless wanderer led,
‘Till down he plung’d, ingulph’d among the dead.
To life, Socinus here his millions drew,
In ways, the art of Heaven conceal’d from view,
Undeified the world’s almighty trust,
And lower’d eternity’s great sire to dust.
He taught, O first of men! the Son of God,
Who hung the globe, and stretch’d the heavens abroad,
Spoke into life the sun’s supernal fire,
And mov’d to harmony the flaming choir,
Who in his hand immensity insolds,
And angels, worlds, and suns, and heavens, upholds,
Is — what? a worm, on far creation’s limb,
A minim, in intelligence extreme.
O wondrous gospel, where such doctrines rise!
Discoveries wondrous of most wondrous eyes!