SIR, upon casting an attentive look Over your friend, the learned Sherlock's, book, One thing occurs about the FALL OF MAN, That does not suit with the Mosaic plan; Nor gives us fairly, in its full extent, The scripture doctrine of that dire event. When tempted Adam, yielding to deceit, Presum'd of the forbidden tree to eat. The Bishop tells us, @3That he did not die:@1 Pray will you ask him, Sir, the Reason why? Why he would contradict the sacred text, Where death to sin so @3surely@1 is annex'd? "The day thou eatest"—are the words, you know; And yet, by his account, @3it was not so; Death did not follow, tho' it surely would:@1 How will he make this hardy comment good? @3Sentence@1, says he, @3was respited@1—But, pray, Where does the Scripture such a saying say? What word, that means to @3respite@1 or revoke, Appears in all that God or Moses spoke? It will be said, perhaps, "now it appears "That Adam liv'd above nine Hundred years "After his fall"—True;—But what @3life@1 was that? The very @3death@1, Sir, which his fall begat. The Life, which Adam was created in, Was lost the @3day@1, the @3instant@1 of his sin. Just as the rebel angels, when they fell, Were @3dead@1 to Heav'n, altho' @3alive@1 to Hell; So Man, no longer breathing heav'nly breath, Fell to this life, and died the @3Scripture Death.@1 While in the state of innocence he stood, He was all living, beautiful, and good: But when he fed on the forbidden fruit, Whereof corruption was the latent Root, He died to Paradise, and, by a birth That should not have been rais'd, he liv'd to earth; Fell into bestial flesh, and blood, and bones, Amongst the thorns and briars, rocks and stones. That which had cloth'd him, when a child of light, With all its lustre, was extinguish'd quite; Naked, asham'd, confounded, and amaz'd, With @3other@1 eyes, on @3other@1 scenes he gaz'd. All sensibility of heav'nly bliss Departing from him—what a @3Death@1 was this! His soul, indeed, as an immortal fire, Could never die, could never not desire: But, Sir, he had, what glorious angels claim, A @3heav'nly@1 spirit, and a @3heav'nly@1 frame; Form'd in the likeness of the Sacred THREE, He stood immortal, powerful, and free; Image of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, The destin'd sire of a new heav'nly host; Partner of their communicated breath, A @3living@1 soul, unsubjected to death. Since, then, he fell from this sublime estate, Could less than death have been his real fate? No; as in life he chose not to abide, It must be said, that @3Adam surely died.@1 Say, that "he died not, as it was foretold, "But when nine Hundred years and thirty old;" And then, if death be sentence for a @3fall@1, How proves the Bishop that he died at all? For if the death he talks of be this last, How does @3that@1 answer to the @3sentence@1 pass'd? Was his departure from @3this world@1 the time That our first father suffer'd for his crime? One rather should believe, or hope at least, That (so be it!) his sufferings then ceas'd; And that the life, which had been lost at first, Was then regain'd, and he no longer curst. If on the Bishop's scutcheon, when he dies, (Long be the time deferr'd!) the mourning eyes Should read MORS VITAE JANUA, in paint, What must they think him,—sinner, @3then@1, or saint? Must not these words direct them to suppose An end of all a Christian Bishop's woes; Who like to Adam, father of mankind, Had pass'd his time of penitence enjoin'd; Who, like to CHRIST, the second Adam too, Had always had @3redemption@1 in his view; Had taught himself and others to revive From "dead in Adam" to "in Christ alive;" Had been as true a shepherd to his flock, As the poor hind that really wears a frock; So trod this earthly passage, that, in sum, @3Death@1 was to him @3the gate of life@1 become? "Gate of @3what@1 life?"—Undoubtedly the same Which Adam fell from, when he first became A creature of this world; when first he fell,— Thanks to Divine Foregoodness!—not to hell, But to this earth—this state of time and place, Where, dead by Nature, man revives by Grace; Where, tho' his @3outward@1 system must decay, His @3inward@1 ripens to eternal day; Puts off th' Old Adam, and puts on the New; And having found the @3first@1 sad sentence true, Now finds the truth of what the @3second@1 said, "The woman's Seed shall bruise the serpent's head." Again—to urge the instance that I gave,— Attend we this good Bishop to his grave: The priest comes forth to meet the sable hearse, And then repeats the well-appointed verse; Verse, one would think, that might decide the Strife: I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE— What life is that, which JESUS is and gives, In and by which the true believer lives? That of @3this world?@1 Then were it must absurd To a dead Bishop to apply the word. 'Tis that which human nature had before; Which, being Christ's, Christ @3only@1 can restore. What @3meaning@1 is there, touching the deceas'd, Now from the @3burden of the flesh@1 releas'd, But that his soul is going to be clad With @3heavenly@1 flesh and blood, which Adam had, Before he enter'd into that which Paul "Body of death" might very justly call? A flesh and blood, that, as he hints elsewhere, Not born from Heav'n, can never enter there: Mass of this world, whose kingdom Christ disclaim'd, The life of whereof is but a life so nam'd; A life of @3animal@1 and @3insect@1 breath, Which, in a @3man@1, is rightly styl'd a @3death.@1 Thus, Sir, throughout the Burial Office run, You'll find that it proceeds as it begun. Read any office—Baptism, if you will— From first to last, you'll find the reason still, Why any, or why all of them are read; Reason of all that's either sung or said, Is by this one great solemn truth explain'd, Of @3life@1 in Adam @3lost, in@1 CHRIST @3regain'd:@1 Lost at the @3fall@1—not at the end of years That Adam labour'd in this vale of tears, When death thro' Christ was @3happy@1, 'tis presum'd, And vanquish'd @3that@1 to which he first was doom'd. Doom'd—not by any @3act of wrath@1 in God;— A point wherein the Bishop seems to nod. No death of @3pure@1, of @3tainted life@1 no pain, Did His severe inflicting will ordain. He is all glory, goodness, light, and love, LIFE that from @3Him@1 no creature can remove; But from @3itself@1 it may, as Adam did, If it will choose what light and love forbid. @3Truly@1 forewarn'd of what would @3truly@1 be, @3His@1 life was poison'd by the @3mortal@1 tree: He @3ate@1—he @3fell@1—he @3died@1—'tis all the same; One loss of life under a triple name. No test was made, by @3positive command@1, Merely to try if he would fall or stand, Like that—the serpentine Satanic snare— Of which the man was bidden to beware. "Eat not thereof, or thou wilt surely die," Was spoken to @3prevent@1, and not to @3try@1; To guard the man against his subtle foe, Who sought to teach him "what 'twas death to know." Death to his pristine, @3spirit-life@1 divine, And @3separation@1 from its sacred @3shrine@1; The pure, unmix'd, incorruptible throne, Wherein God's image first embodied shone. Tho' form'd to rule the new created scene, Built from the Chaos of a former reign; To bring the wonders of this world to view, And ancient glories to an orb renew; He also had,—as being to command See and be seen, in this new-formed land, This intermediate temporary life, Where, only, good and evil are at strife,— @3Outward@1 corporeal form, whereby he saw, And heard, and spoke, and gave to all things law; They none to him.—His far superior mind Was, as he pleas'd, united or disjoin'd: So far united, that all @3good@1 was gain'd; So far disjoin'd, that @3evil@1 was restrain'd: It could not reach him—for, before his fall, Nothing could @3hurt@1 this human lord of all; No more than Satan or the serpent could, If in his first creation he had stood. Such was his blest estate—wherein is found Of Adam's happy ignorance the ground. His @3outward@1 body and each @3outward@1 thing, From whence alone both good and ill could spring, Could not affect, while he was free from sin, The life of the celestial man @3within.@1 Glorious condition! Which, howe'er, imply'd That man, at first plac'd in it, must be try'd: Not from God's will or arbitrary voice; His trial follow'd from his @3pow'r of choice:@1 God will'd him that, @3himself was to re-will@1, And the Divine Intentions to fulfil; To use his outward body as a means, Whereby to raise in time and place the scenes That should restore the @3once@1 angelic orb, And all its evil, introduc'd, absorb. Evil, that, prior to the fall of man, From him, whose @3name in Heav'n@1 is lost, began. Moses has plainly @3hinted@1 at the fiend, Whose malice in a borrow'd shape was screen'd, Who, under reason's plausible disguise, Taught our first parents to be worldly wise: Succeeding lights have risen up to shew Of God and man, @3more openly@1, the foe. He, @3once@1 a thron'd Archangel, had the sway Far as this orb of our created day; Where then no sun was wanted to give light, No moon to cheer yet undiscover'd night; Immensely luminous his total sphere, All glory, beauty, brightness, ev'ry where: @3Ocean of bliss@1, a limpid @3chrystal sea@1, Whose height and depth its angels might survey; Call forth its wonders, and enjoy the trance Of joys perpetual thro' its whole expanse: Ravishing forms arising without end Would, in obedience to their wills, ascend; Change, and unfold fresh glories to their view, And tune the Hallelujah song anew. If, when we cast a thoughtful, thankful eye Towards the beauties of an ev'ning sky, Calm we admire, thro' the ethereal field, The various scenes that even @3clouds@1 can yield; What vast delight must @3nature's fund afford@1, Where all the rich @3realities@1 are stor'd, Which God produces from its vast abyss, To His own glory and His creatures' bliss? His glory, first, @3all nature@1 must display, Else how to bliss could creatures know the way? Order, thro' all eternity, requires, That to His will they subject their desires; That, with all meekness, the created mind Be to the Fountain of its life resign'd; Think, speak, and act in all things for his sake; This is the @3true perfection@1 of its make. Both men and Angels must have @3wills@1 their @3own@1, Or God and nature were to them unknown: 'Tis their @3capacity@1 of life and joy, Which none but @3they@1 can ruin or destroy. God, in himself, was, is and will be good, And all around pour fort th' enriching flood. From Him—tis @3nature's@1 and @3religion's@1 creed— Nothing but Good can possibly proceed. That @3creature@1 only, whose recipient will Shuts itself up within @3itself@1, is ill: Good cannot dwell in such a harden'd clay, But stagnates, and evaporates away. Thus when the regent of th' angelic host, That @3fell@1, began within himself to boast; Began, endow'd with his Creator's pow'rs That nothing could resist, to call them "Ours;" To spread thro' his wide ranks the @3impious term@1, And they their leader's doctrine to confirm; Then @3self@1, then @3evil@1, then apostate war Rag'd thro' their hierarchy wide and far; Kindled to burn, what they esteem'd a rod, The meekness and subjection to a God. Resolv'd to pay no hymning homage more, Nor, in an orbit of @3their own@1, adore; All right of Heave'n's Eternal King abjur'd, They thought @3one region@1 to themselves secur'd; One out of @3three@1, where Majesty Divine Shone in its glorious @3Outbirth Unitrine@1; Shone and will shine eternally, altho' Angels or men the shining bliss forego. Straight, with this proud imagination fir'd, To @3self-dominion@1 strongly they aspir'd; Bent all their wills, @3irrevocably@1 bent, To bring about their devilish intent. How ought @3we mortals@1 to beware of @3pride@1, That such great angels could so far misguide! No sooner was this horrible attempt, From all obedience to remain exempt, Put forth to act, but instantly thereon Heav'n, in the swiftness of a thought, was gone; From @3love's beatifying@1 pow'r estrang'd, They found their life, their bliss, their glory chang'd. That state, wherein they were @3resolv'd@1 to dwell, Sprung from @3their lusting@1, and became their Hell. Thinking to rise above the God of All The wretches fell, with an eternall fall, In depths of slavery, without a shelf;— There is no stop in self-tormenting @3self.@1 Just as a wheel, that's running down a hill Which has no bottom, must keep running still, So down their own proclivity to wrong, Urg'd by impetuous pride, they whirl along; Their own dark, fiery, working spirits tend Farther from God, and farther to descend. He made no Hell to place his angels in; @3They@1 stirr'd the fire that burnt them, by their sin; The bounds of nature and of order broke, And all the wrath that follow'd them awoke. @3Their own@1 disorder'd raging was their pain; @3Their own@1 unbending harden'd @3strength@1 their chain; Renouncing God, with their eternal might, @3They@1 sunk their legions into endless night. Meanwhile the glorious kingdom, where they dwelt, Th' effect of their rebellious workings felt; Its clear @3materiality@1, and pure, Could not the force of raging fiends endure; Its elements, all heav'nly in their kind In one harmonious system when combin'd, Were now disclos'd, divided, and opaque; Their glassy sea became a stormy lake; The height and depth of their angelic world Was nought but ruins upon ruins hurl'd. Chaos arose, and, with its gloomy sweep Of dark'ning horrors, overspread the deep; All was confusion, order all defac'd, @3Tohu@1, and @3Bohu@1, the @3deformed waste.@1 Till the Almighty's gracious fiat came, And stopp'd the spreading of the hellish flame; Put to each fighting principle the bar, And calm'd, by just degrees, th' intestine war. @3Light@1, at His word, th' abating tempest cheer'd; Earth, sea, and land, sun, moon, and stars appear'd; Creatures of ev'ry kind, and food for each; And various beauties clos'd the various breach: Nature's @3six properties@1 had each their day, Lost Heav'n, as far as might be, to display; And in the @3sev'nth@1, or @3body@1 of them all, To rest from—what they yet must prove—a fall. For had not this disorder'd chaos been; Had not these angels caus'd it by their sin; Nor had compacted earth, nor rock, nor stone, Nor @3gross materiality@1 been known. All that in fire or water, earth or air, May now their @3noxious@1 qualities declare, As unknown in Heav'n as sin or crime, And only last for purifying time: Till the @3great end@1, for which we all came here, Till God's @3restoring goodness@1 shall appear. Then, as the rebel creatures' false desire Awak'd in nature the @3chaotic fire@1; So when @3Redeeming Love@1 has found a race Of creatures worthy of the heav'nly place, Then shall @3another fire@1 enkindled rise, And purge from ill these @3temporary@1 skies; Purge from the world its deadness and its dross, And of @3lost@1 Heav'n recover @3all the loss.@1 Why look we then with such a longing eye On what this world can @3give us@1 or @3deny@1; Of man and angel laps'd the sad remains? It has its @3pleasures@1—but it has its @3pains.@1 It has, (what speaks it, would we but attend, Not our design'd felicity) an @3end.@1 Sons of eternity, tho' born on earth, There is within us a @3celestial birth@1; A life that waits the @3efforts of our mind@1, To raise itself within this @3outward rind.@1 This @3husk of ours@1, this stately @3stalking clod@1, Is not the body that we have from God; Of good and evil 'tis the @3mortal crust@1, Fruit of Adamical and Eval lust; By which the man, when heav'nly life was ceas'd, Became a helpless, naked, biped beast: Forc'd, on a @3cursed earth@1, to sweat and toil, To @3brutes@1 a native, @3Him@1 a foreign, soil; And, after all his years employ'd to know The satisfactions of a life so low, Nine hundred, or nine hundred thousand, past, @3Another death@1 to come, and @3hell@1 at last— —But for that new mysterious @3birth of life@1; That @3Promis'd Seed@1 to Adam and his wife; That @3quick'ning Spirit@1 to a poor @3dead soul@1; Not @3part@1 of scripture doctrine, but @3the whole@1; Which writers, @3figuring@1 away, have left A mere dead letter, of all sense bereft; But for that @3only@1 help of man forlorn, The @3incarnation@1 of the VIRGIN-BORN. This @3Serpent—Bruiser@1, Son of God and man, Who, from the first, His saving work began, Revers'd, in full maturity of time, In his own SACRED PERSON, Adam's crime; Brought human nature from its deadly fall, And made salvation possible for @3all.@1 Without acknowledging that @3Adam died@1, Scripture throughout is, in effect, denied; All the whole process of @3Redeeming love@1, Of @3life@1, of @3light@1, and @3Spirit from above@1, Loses, by learning's @3piteous@1 pretence Of @3Modes@1 and @3Metaphors@1, its real sense; All the glad tidings, in the gospel found, Are sunk in empty and unmeaning sound. If, by the first man's sin, we understand Only some breach of absolute command Half-punish'd, half-remitted, by a grace Like that which takes in human acts a place; The more we write, the more we still expose The christian doctrine to its reas'ning foes. But, once convinc'd that Adam, by his crime, Fell from @3eternal life@1 to that of @3time@1; Stood on the brink of @3death eternal@1 too, Unless created unto life @3anew@1, Then ev'ry reason teaches us to see How all the truths of sacred writ agree; How @3life restor'd@1 arises from the @3grave@1; How man @3could perish@1, and how CHRIST @3could save.@1 Man perish'd by the deadly food he took, And needs must @3lose@1 the life that he @3forsook@1, Not unadvis'd.—The moment he inclin'd To this inferior life his nobler mind, God kindly warn'd him to continue fed With @3food@1 of @3Paradise@1, with angels' bread; To shun the @3tree@1, the @3knowledge@1, whose sad leav'n Would quench in him the light and life of Heav'n; Strip him of that angelical array, Which thro' his @3outward body@1 spread the day; Kept it from ev'ry curse of sin and shame, From all those evils that had yet no name; That prov'd, alas! when he would not refrain, The loss of Adam's @3proper life@1 too plain. Who can suppose that God would e'er forbid To eat what would not @3hurt him if he did@1; Fright his lov'd creature by a false alarm; Or make what, in itself, was harmless @3harm?@1 O how much better he from whom I draw,— Tho' deep, yet clear his system,—Master LAW! "Master" I call him; not that I incline To pin my faith on any one divine; But, man or woman, whosoe'er it be, That speaks true doctrine, is a @3Pope@1 to me. Where truth alone is @3interest@1 and @3aim@1, Who would regard a @3person@1 or a @3name?@1 Or, in the search of it @3impartial@1, scoff Or scorn the meanest instrument thereof? Pardon me, Sir, for having dar'd to dwell Upon a truth already told so well; Since diff'rent ways of telling may excite, In diff'rent minds, attention to what's right; And men—I measure by myself—sometimes, Averse to reas'ning, may be taught by rhimes; If where one fails, they will not take offence Nor quarrel with the @3words@1, but seek the @3sense. Life, death@1, and such-like words, in scripture found, Have certainly a higher, deeper ground, Than that of this poor perishable ball, Whereon men doat, as if it were their all; As if they were like @3Warburtonian Jews@1, Or, @3Christians@1 nam'd, had still no @3higher@1 views; As if their years had never taught them sense Beyond—"It is all one a hundred hence." 'Twas of such worldlings that our Saviour said To one of his disciples, @3Let the dead Bury their dead: But do thou follow me.@1 He makes no more distinction, Sir, you see, But that, with ref'rence to a life @3so brute@1, The @3speaking carcases@1 interr'd the @3mute. Life@1, to conclude, was lost in Adam's @3fall@1, Which CHRIST, our @3Resurrection@1, will recall: And, as @3death@1 came into the world by @3sin@1, Where @3one@1 began, the @3other@1 must begin. Why will the learned sages use their art, From @3scripture truth@1, so widely, to depart? But, above all, a Bishop, grave and wise,— Why will he shut, against @3plain text@1, his eyes; Not see that Heav'n's prediction never lied; That Adam fell by eating, sinn'd, and died A @3real@1 death, as much as @3loss of sight@1 Is death to ev'ry circumstance of @3light?@1 Tho' a blind man may feel his way and grope, Or for @3recover'd eyes@1 be made to @3hope@1; We might as well set glasses on his nose, And sight, from common helps of sight, suppose, As say, when Adam's heav'nly life was kill'd, That sentence was not instantly fulfill'd. Persuade your mitred friend, then, if you can, To @3re-consider@1, Sir, the @3fall of man@1; To see and own the @3depth@1 of it; because, 'Till @3that@1 is done, we may as well pick straws, As talk of @3what@1, and @3who@1 the serpent was That brought the fall, @3not understood@1, to pass. One thing he @3was@1, Sir,—be what else he will— A @3critic@1, that employ'd his fatal skill To cavil upon @3words@1, and take away The sense of @3that@1 which was as @3plain as day.@1 And thus the world, at present, by his wiles, Tho' not in @3outward shape@1, he still beguiles; Seeking to turn, by comments low and lax, The word of God into a nose of wax; To take away the @3marrow@1 and the @3pith.@1 Of all that Scripture can present us with. @3May Heav'n deliver, from his winding tours@1, The @3Bishop@1, and @3us all!@1 I am, Sir,—@3Yours.@1 |