BAXTER'S POEMS. 153 MAN. . VAlN man t why is thy being no more known ? Why, seeking knowledge, read'st thou not thyself ? How many books in vain dost thou take down ? Thy own book standeth on ·the nearest shelf. Slionld vital knowing spirit cloth'd in flesh, Mistake so coarse a garment for the man ? · And live as if they did not hope or wish, For any oth.er life thari this short span. If clothing hide thee from thy neighbour's sight, Let it not hide thee also from thine own ; , Look on thyself, thy nature is a light: Shall knowing souls be to themselves unknown ? Now know thyself before thou art undrest, And tho' through flesh man cannot see thy heart, Open thy eyes, unveil thy face at least, 'That man may see thou hast a better part . How vile a· thing is man, if flesh be he? Can he look high who thinks himself so base? His brutish, sleepy thoughts and life must be, . A dreaming, doating, or despairing case. Where was that flesh one year before thy birth ? What is it now but warmed moving clay ? What will it be ere long but common earth ? To this thy pomp and pleasure is the way. Where did God's art that curious body form? As in a dunghill, e'en in nature's sink; Though skin and clothing now do it adorn; 'Twas bred between the dung and urine's stink. H2
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy OTcyMjk=