Wisdom, a poem. : Wisdom sprang from the Supreme Being; and by that wisdom he overcomes evil. By wisdom, peace and plenty flourish in cities and civil societies; and, by its means, private men may be enabled to enjoy domestic happiness. / By a Quaker, (or Friend) of R. Island.

WISDOM: A POEM.

WISDOM I sing,— what bearded fage can choose A theme more weighty, more sublime a muse? A muse from which, if I but catch a ray, The good shall bless, the just approve the lay. Oh! thou the source of life, and light, and soul, Thou Great Supreme, thou wisdom of the whole! 'Tis thine alone to light the Poet's flame; The glory's thine,— JEHOVAH is thy name. Unblest by thee, how poor the proudest strain! Reason perplexes, genius shines in vain; Wit sparkles in the dark, and Learning tries On cobweb steps to climb into the skies. Vain efforts all! tho' proudly all combine To raise the giant Bard, he falls supine;

If thou, bright sun, art absent, all is shade, Is darkness all, and soon the laurels fade. Then grant, Omniscient, grant a heavenly beam. To warm my heart, and sanctify my theme: For tho an object worm, thy power, I trust, Can make that worm sing praises in the dust. Nor hopeless can it sing, for thou hast spoke, And never was thy gracious promise broke; Oh let it be remember'd in my strain, That none can ever serve the Lord in vain. Come then, Great Patron, and thy will be done, For thou canst finish what thou hast begun; Tho' feeble, pinion'd in the dust I lie, Yet thou, the Great I AM, canst raise me high. If thou but touch the mountains, they shall smoke, Oh! strike that rock, my heart, & be it broke; The living waters will gush forth amain, Run through the desert mind, and overspread the plain. Thus as, erewhile, I silent, musing, sat. In deep humility, at Wisdom's gate, Soft o'er my breast a sacred servour came, Caught the cold muse, and wrapt her in a flame. Soft as the softest summer dews distill, Sweet as the music of the trickling rill,

The quick'ning effluence sell, and, close behind, A small, but cogent voice, addrest my mind:— 'Tho' Wisdom cries aloud, and in the streets, 'Utters her voice to every one she meets; 'Tho' pleads, persuades, enforces and alarms, 'While, sweetly eloquent, the charmer charms, 'Deaf as an adder to the sacred strain, 'Folly prevails, and WISDOM pleads in vain. 'And is there none, none willing to defend 'Her glorious cause? no proselyte or friend? 'Arise, young man, in all the power of truth, 'Be thine the task, wed WISDOM in thy youth.

Thus far the voice persuasive—but the muse Unequal to the task, would fain refuse; When, lo! more awful speaks the eternal word— 'Go on, fear not, I'm with thee, I the Lord.' Obedient now, with faith I take the pen— Awake, arise, attend, ye sons of men! Before the Almighty Fiat had gone forth,

Before depths were, or ever was the earth, From everlasting—ere the hills were made, Or the foundations of the mountains laid; Before creation's ensigns were unfurled, Or raised the lofty summits of the world, She was—*********—

When first the great Creator did prepare The heavens, and heaven of heavens, she was there. WISDOM divine! adorable the name! Death and destruction, both have heard her fame. Who knows her, knows, as did her sons of old, How much more valued she than Ophir's gold. The precious onyx, and the saphire, are, With her, too mean, too worthless, to compare. Talk not of corals, pearls, and such-like wares, For above rubies is the price she bears. Her dower is honour, riches, length of days, Her paths are peace, and pleasant all her ways.

So sung the Bard affliction taught to sing, And so her own sweet child, the experienced king; And tho' but few the immortal songs receive, And fewer still the eternal truths believe: Yet WISDOM is a mistress all pursue; The false, too oft mistaken for the true In nature's pride they wish the heavenly 〈◊〉〈◊〉; Seek it in earth, in seas, in air, and skies, And every place but where the jewel lies. Why glories this man in intrigues of state, Why that in learned harangues, and deep debate; Why one in proud philosophy—and why Another in thy arts, sweet poetry:

Why this in Cynic, that in Stoic rules, And why, ah why! in foolishness e'en fools? Oh WISDOM! injured beauty, 'tis thy fame They vainly court; thy everlasting name! Like earthly suitors 'mong the men of parts, But few, too few, are lovers in their hearts; With toys, and trifles, some would win thy praise, And some by study's more laborious ways. The trifler and the student are the same, Dissemblers both, and know thee but by name. With borrow'd jewels they approach thy shrine, Rich in the lore of every grace but thine; Adorn'd with all fair science can bestow, Or truth impart, or moral virtue know; But still distemper'd, like a sick man's dream, The heart unhallow'd, blesses not thy beam. And but for this, a Bolingbroke had stood First in the rank, among the wise and good; And but for this, in philosophic same, Learning and wisdom had been still the same, Like stars of greatest magnitude had shone, Forever wedded, and forever one.

Ye worst of counterfeits, ye falsely wise, Why toil ye thus in vanity and lies?

Say, what avails, to know what angry stars Threat kings with death, and states with bloody wars?

What insect tribes on earth's broad surface creep, What finny shoals inhabit in the deep; In air aloft, what feather'd nations soar, What savage monsters through the desart roar; What bears the field, or what the lonely wood, Of herbs for physic, or of plants for food; To know all nature's secrets, what avails, If in a greater point your knowledge fails? Know ye yourselves—alas! how vain to roam In search of that which must be found at home! Have ye found WISDOM? 'tis a gross mistake, A dream that will be painful when you wake. Claim not the glorious title of my song, To you, proud nat'ralists it can't belong; Exterior honours may be man be given, But WISDOM is a name that's wrote in heaven. Speak thou, Horatio, thou, the pride of schools,

Great sophister, revered by learned fools, Say, for thou canst, in what their studies end; Confess, be honest, and I'll call thee friend. When heaps of volumes have been ponder'd o'er, When cross'd each sea, and travers'd every shore;

When learnt the songs the heathen bards have sung, Skill'd in each art, and vers'd in every tongue; When all the Alps of science are o'erpast, Tell me, Horatio, what is gain'd at last? 'The world's applause, perhaps the prince's smile, 'And flatt'ry's pois'nous potions, smooth as oil; 'The poet's laurel, or the victor's palm, 'But not one drop of Gilead's precious balm.

Then poor is every recompence beside, Vainly pre-eminent, ye wander wide; 'Tis nought but folly still to study on, To weary out the flesh, and ne'er have done; Still o'er your toils will darker doubts arise, And you'll be farther still from being wise. There are who boast (so great is human pride) Reason alone, and laugh at all beside; Who measure all things by its glimm'ring ray, Nor heed the sunshine of the gospel day. Tho born, oh Britain, on thy awful shore, Where Judah's Lion has been heard to roar, Tho' train'd, oh Albion, in thy happy Isle, Where truth and freedom wear a holy smile, About thee still remain their country's shame, Apostates scornful of the Christian name;

Who, all unawed, in mortal prowess stand, Ready to question each divine command; Eager to blot, with more than Jewish rage, The glorious truths that fill the Christian page; Tho' proved, through ages, by the just and good, And sign'd, & seal'd, with many a martyr's blood.

Lo, on false Wisdom's pinnacle, how proud, Hilarius stands, and overlooks the croud! Great Newton gone, his heart exults to see None in astronomy more learnt than he. So far he trusts his reason in the skies, He half suspects his bible tells him lies. 'Sun, stand thou still in Gibeon, 'Joshua said, 'And thou, oh moon! in Ajalon be stay'd' And is't not written that they both obey'd?

'Twas writ, and 'twas believed,' Hilarius cries, 'In ancient times, but moderns are more wise; 'Nor sun, nor moon, to me it plain appears, 'Could ever stop, unless expell'd their spheres. 'And if from thence one moment they were hurl'd, 'At once would perish every lower world.'

Thus argue rationals, nor will believe, Of WISDOM aught, beyond what they conceive, But know, Hilarius, if the power I sing Finds in thy heart one tender trembling string,

On which to strike, the muse may stay thee soon, Tho' hard thou seem'st to stop, as sun or moon.

Say, first, of reason why this proud dispute, Why proud of that which but o'erlooks the brute? In things exposed quite obvious to the view, What, with thy boasted reason, canst thou do? Canst thou dissect an atom? canst thou frame The spider's textile dome, or grasp a flame; Canst thou, audacious! to Olympus rise, And stop the rapid lightning when it flies? If here thy reason fails, and thou refuse To answer aught before a trembling muse, Thus to thy heart (oh let thy heart be aw'd!) In powerful Wisdom speaks the voice of God— 'Gird up thy loins, oh man! before me stand, 'And answer thou to what I shall demand. 'If thou hast understanding show it now— 'When first I founded earth, say, where wast thou? 'Knowst thou whereon 'tis fasten'd? is it thine 'Now to declare what mighty hand divine 'Its measures spread, who stretch'd the line thereon, 'Or who it was that laid the corner stone? 'What time the morning stars together sang, 'And heaven with joyful acclamations rang?

'Hast thou an arm like God, thou earthly limb! 'Or canst thou thunder with a voice like him? 'Are heaven's high ordinances thine to scan, 'Canst thou on earth their great dominion plan? 'Canst thou the Pleiades sweet influence bind, 'Or loose Orion's bands, and rule the wind? 'Canst thou, in season, bring huge Mazz'roth forth, 'Or guide Arcturus o'er the stormy north? 'Have death's dark gates been open'd to thy sight, 'Or dost thou know the place where dwelleth, light?'

Abash'd Hilarius stands; and, quite controul'd, Trembles that heart, which was of late so bold, Mute is that tongue which ne'er was mute before, Reason adores—nor can the mortal more. Yet stay, Hilarius, yet a moment stay, Nor let vain notions hurry thee away. Now, while thy soul, thus solemnly o'eraw'd, Trembles beneath the idea of a God, With faith affirms his being, nor denies But that he is almighty, and all-wise; Oh keep the grand conception in thy view, And let the muse the important point pursue.

His truth endures forever—and his fame Is everlasting—holy is his name!

What can he not? his powerful word of old Lighted the stars, and cloath'd the sun in gold, Tinctur'd the moon with silver, bade them shine And order'd all with majesty divine. As at his word thus gloriously they shone, All brightness, though but dust beneath his throne, So at his word, by Joshua convey'd, The sun stood still—the moon obedient stay'd Perith the thought, in which it is conceived What passes reason should not be believed. Reason, Hilarius, ever wanders wide, Unless she walks with WISDOM by her side. Her powers exerted, may be false or true, As good, or bad, the purpose they pursue. False is her light, and endless may she stray, When pride in nat'ral knowledge leads the way But sure her path, when faithful virtue guides, And humble, awful, holy fear presides. Then is she fair, and noble, fit to rule, And judge aright; but truant once from school (The school of WISDOM) nothing is so bad; No frenzy half so desperately mad. Reason, unawed, runs counter to her rule, Loses her function, and becomes a fool.

In speculation's fields she roams abroad, And, in dead works, forgets the living God; Distrusts his truths, and dares his power assail, Arm'd like Goliah, in a coat of mail; A heart so harden'd, that it dares defy E'en all the armies of a God most high; Wit, like a brazen helmet, may be said To glare, and cast false lustre from her head; Learning her pompous target may appear; Her staff, vain-glory Argument, her spear; Before her bold Presumption bears her shield; And thus 'gainst God himself, she takes the field.

Is this true reason? never be it said A thought so impious in thy heart was bred. True reason is intelligent, and knows The sacred source from which her current flows In all the wond'rous works she meets abroad, She owns her blindness, and submits to God. But why abroad for wonders should we roam, When greater wonders, may be found at home? That sun or moon should stop, thou think'st it strange,

Unless the system of the skies could change; But is't not stranger, proof of greater power, Thou e'er had'st life, or now should'st live an hour?

Knowst thou the nature of the human frame, That world of wonders, more than we can name? Say, hast thy busy curious eye surveyed The proofs of boundless WISDOM there display'd? How rang'd each fibre, with amazing skill, That every muscle may attend thy will; How every tendon acts upon its bone, And how the nerves receive their nicer tone: Convey the keen vibrations of the sense, And give the wakeful mind intelligence; How some strong guard, each vital part sustains How flows the purple balsam through the veins That, how commix'd, disposed, how wond'rous these—

Here in one trunk, they're ramify'd like trees; The finer vessels of the brain how small, How numberless; and yet we see not all, But see enough, Hilarius, for we see God is the maker, and his creatures we. 'Tis not for us to question, but to praise The great Creator, wise in all his ways. But say, can reason, or can ought below, Make heavenly streams from earthly fountains flow?

Can man, polluted, praise the God of light? Not pure are purest Angels in his sight. Oh then, what muse can proper praise inspire, 'Hallow the heart, and touch the lips with fire?' To WISDOM only does the power belong, WISDOM, the muse, the mistress, and the song! Vain is all praise, unless by her 'tis given; Her's is the praise of every harp in heaven. Music is all her own, she tunes the spheres, And sets to numbers, hours, days, months, & years; And, what is more, Hilarius, does impart Her notes celestial to the human heart— Attunes the springs of joy, and charms despair, Calms to sweet peace, and opes the door of prayer: Gives the sick soul with livelier hopes to rise, And seek an heritage beyond the skies. Oh, what amazing wonders does she hear! Makes barren fruitful, makes the rough path clear, Makes roses spring where thistles grew before, And lambs to bleat where wolves were wont to roar. Before her tempests cease, and storms subside, Rocks melt and mountains sink, and seas divide, O'er death's dark shades she pours her living ray, And ope's the gates of everlasting day.

Can Reason this? then why art thou distrest At aught in life, or why not always blest? When friends, or fortune, take their hasty leave, Why art thou then so great a fool to grieve? For grieve thou wilt: nor all thy reason can Dry up thy tears, and make thee more a man. When o'er thy head affliction's billows roll, And big distress weighs down thy sinking soul, Can reason guide thee to a happier coast, And land thee safe, that not a hair be lost? Then why dost tremble—why heaven's aid im|plore? 'Tis plain thy reason helps thee then no more. And what, Hilarius, if I dare to say, Mere human reason knows not how to pray? Thou beg'st a blessing, think'st the boon no worse, Which might, if granted, prove to thee a curse.

'Teach my best reason reason'—he who said, Most wisely thought, and most devoutly pray'd. Without that WISDOM infinite, which guides Our finite views, and good from bad divides, 'Tis not in human wit, nor human might, To act, or pray, or think one thought aright. Tho thy proud genius build its house as high, As human knowledge possibly can fly,

Prop it with reason, prouder still to rise, And tell the world that lie, that thou art wise: Not long the house so rais'd, so prop'd, can stand, For, 'like the fools,' 'tis built upon the sand, Tho' bold the truth, accept it, for it flows Free from a heart that dictates what it knows: Free from a muse, who near the sacred fount Of WISDOM sings; nor seeks the Aonian Mount: Who courts no patron, no scholastic aid, No alien grace, nor Heliconian maid, But trusts her humble, artless song to all With simple truths of power, to save or kill: Through him alone, who ancient is of days— From babes and sucklings he ordains the praise. Dost ask what praise? oh let thy reason bow! Know thy own self, and haply thou shalt know More than a sun is in thee, though 'tis hurl'd Beneath the worthless rubbish of the world; Immers'd in vanity's inconstant tide, And buried deep beneath the waves of pride. Though undiscover'd in thy nat'ral will, The gem thou seek'st for is about thee still: Attends thy footsteps, wheresoe'er they stray: Thy path, thy bed, and every secret way:

Pierces the deep recesses of thy mind, The darkest dungeons sin and death can find: Flashes conviction through the proudest breast, And brings each boasted virtue to the test: Makes manifest whate'er is wrong or right, And shines the just man's ever burning light. Tho suns, and stars, and this terraqueous globe, And you blue firmament, should all disrobe; Tho night, with tenfold darkness, intervene, And second chaos more deform the scene; Yet will it glitter through the general gloom, And hell itself be forc'd to give it room; While fierce Gehenna's troops, with dread amaze, See, and believe, and tremble as they gaze.

Tho different nations hold a different creed, As at the Ganges taught, or near the Tweed; Tho sects divide, and sub-divide again, Like parting rivers, seeking still the main, The nice distinction lies but in the name, For virtue, grace, and goodness, are the same. Could the eye glance beyond the bounds of time, Or the thought soar thro regions more sublime, Yet all remote from WISDOM might we stray, And midst stupendous systems lose our way.

In his own sphere, man's proper business lies; In his own heart, the rule to make him wife, The voice that thunders on the mountain's brow, And stirs the bottom of the deep below: The voice that roars, where'er the tempest rolls, And rends the isles, and shakes the distant poles; The voice that spake, 'as never man was heard. Speaks in thy heart—oh be that voice revered! Be passion still, parts, genius, over-awed, The voice of WISDOM is the voice of God. Mild as the breath of summer, or the gales Of young Favonius, o'er the smiling vales, Soft as the love-lorn mourner's secret sigh, It whispers to thy soul—'why wilt thou die!' Why in a land of sorrows and of tears, Where joys are thinly sown, & choak'd with cares; Where cease••ess change afflicts the roving eye, And nature's brightest beauties bloom to die, Where parting comforts, ever on the wing, Tho closely ty'd, must soar, and break the string. Why seek, amidst the dying, and the dead, For false support, for that which is not bread? 'Why, with a soul of pure, etherial sires, Fed with high hopes, and infinite desires,

With life and immortality in view, Make earth your home, and every toy pursue? Ah, how deceived, amidst thy choicest store, Indulg'd in all, till thou canst ask no more! Tho wealth awaits thee, with o'erflowing hand, And fame proclaims thy honours thro the land: Tho power, and ease, and every gay delight, Flatters thy fancy, e'en from morn to night: Tho pleasure woos thee with delusive charms, And binds in silken bands, thy manly arms: Tho heald & strength, their better blessings grant, And thou hast all a happy man can want; Full soon must all these summer-birds be gone, Take to their wings and leave thee every one. Not a day pieces, not a wind that blows, A wave that's ebbing, nor a tide that flows, But bears away some transitory joy, Some darling hope, or visionary toy, Which fancy form'd, or friendship taught to charm, Or nature fondled with embraces warm. This the best state the sons of earth can boast, To see, by slow degrees, their glories lost. Yet not to all the mild gradation's given, Thro' the high wisdom of all-righteous heaven:

Oft is the pitying eye distrest to see, The man who grew, and flourish'd like a tree, With all his blooming honours thick around, Vig'rous and fair, the pride of all the ground, By some swift blast of bleak Misfortune's air Stript all at once—an object of despair. Or grant the blessings, boast a longer date, And more remote the period fix'd by fate: Such is the state of sublunary joy, The mere possessing does the bliss destroy. The pride of nature still its frailty bears, And fortune's favours ever bring their cares. Health in continuance, loses half its charms, And smiling pleasure dies within your arms. Fame, wealth, and power, and much invited ease, False to their promise, pain you more than please; E'en human virtue but aspires to sigh, By sad experience taught the reason why. Bliss is a dream, and life a fleeting shade, Bedeck'd with flowers that in an instant fade. Earth's hopes are bubbles, bursting ere they fall, And vanity of vaniteis is all. Yet, there's a power, who thro' this sinking scene, Can keep the soul unshaken and serene;

Can sweeten every blessing to the taste, And make amends for all that time can waste; Whose providence our glory can advance, From every ill we call the work of chance; Can set us free, amidst a land of slaves, Or lead us safely o'er assliction's waves, And plant our feet upon a happier shore, Where chance, & time, & death, shall be no more Ye, who in search of WISDOM travel far, Under the guidance of that glorious star, That shone o'er Bethle'em, when the seers of old The joyful tidings of Emanuel told; And ye who come, all curious to inquire, Like Sheba's queen, to hear, and to admire; And you, sweet mourners, who in silence sit, Weeping for sins ye-know not to commit; Whose tuneful harps, upon the willows hung, Had better grac'd the praise the muse has sung. Come, ever gentle spirits, haste along, Breathe through the verse, and animate the song, While I to WISDOM'S sacred sane repair, And thence invoke the oracle by prayer.

Oh thou! who ever wast, and wilt be still, The sole great arbitress of good and ill:

Whose full perfection dwells with God alone, Ador'd by every angel round his throne: Who all that passes canst minutely tell, From highest heaven, down to the deepest hell: Descend, bright guardian of our better parts, Maintain thy grand tribunal in our hearts: Renew thy gracious visits every hour, And grant some emanations of thy power To shine thro all thy spirits, and afford Light to our darkness: speak thou but the word— 'Let there be light,'—and light will instant shine, And feeble mortals feel the ray divine. Whether in pleasure's flowery paths we stray, Or sorrowing, tread affliction's thorny way; Whether our barks, on life's deceitful seas, Are tempest tost, or careless drive at ease. In every trial keep us safe from harm, Guard us becalm'd, and guide us in the storm: Confirm that knowledge, which thy grace decrees, Strengthen that faith, which shakes at every breeze; Raise and ennoble every thought confined, And pour instruction o'er the darken'd mind: Wake into light the truths that lie concealed, And, in thy own bright beauty, stand revealed: By charm'd attention, woo us to thy praise: Win us, and wed us firmly to thy ways:

To thee alone make all our wishes tend, Our comfort now, our glory in the end. 'Tis thou alone canst fit us to fulfil Thy sacred laws, and judge of good and ill: 'Tis thou alone canst teach us to decide 'Twixt virtue's nobler aims, and human pride: Canst reach, with irresistible controul, Thro nature's finest feelings to the soul, And make the tender mother, in the strife, Forego her darling child to save his life. To thee in deep humility we bend, The rich man's ornament, the poor man's friend, The good man's monitor, the pilgrim's guide, The mourner's comfort, and the sage's pride; The christian's lamp, the saint's supreme desire, The prophet's spirit, and the seraph's fire! Daughter of heaven, who reign'st thro earth & seas, And air, and skies: Whose beauty, order, ease, Shines forth in all: Complete the glorious plan, And sway thy sceptre in the heart of man. Tho at thy awful tasks we shrink dismay'd, Spare not, but be thy high behests obeyed. If at thy bidding, through the deeps we go, Or wander in a wilderness of woe, Eternal WISDOM, grant us thy supplies; ('Tis all we ask) oh, teach us to be wise!