By slow degrees he discovers that here it is not, and there it is not.

Again and again, and yet again, a man finds that he must be born with a new birth.
The fear of hell, or aiming to be blest, Savours too much of private interest: This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all; A greater yet from heaven to hell descends, To save and make his enemies his friends.
* * * * * That early love of creatures yet unmade, To frame the world the Almighty did persuade.
For love it was that first created light, Moved on the waters, chased away the night From the rude chaos; and bestowed new grace On things disposed of to their proper place-- Some to rest here, and some to shine above: Earth, sea, and heaven, were all the effects of love.
* * * * * Not willing terror should his image move, He gives a pattern of eternal love: His son descends, to treat a peace with those Which were, and must have ever been, his foes.
Poor he became, and left his glorious seat, To make us humble, and to make us great; His business here was happiness to give To those whose malice could not let him live.
* * * * * He to proud potentates would not be known: Of those that loved him, he was hid from none.
Till love appear, we live in anxious doubt; But smoke will vanish when that flame breaks out: This is the fire that would consume our dross, Refine, and make us richer by the loss.
* * * * * Who for himself no miracle would make, Dispensed with[134] several for the people's sake.
He that, long-fasting, would no wonder show, Made loaves and fishes, as they eat them, grow.
Of all his power, which boundless was above, Here he used none but to express his love; And such a love would make our joy exceed, Not when our own, but others' mouths we feed.
* * * * * Love as he loved! A love so unconfined With arms extended would embrace mankind.
Self-love would cease, or be dilated, when We should behold as many selfs as men; All of one family, in blood allied, His precious blood that for our ransom died.
* * * * * Amazed at once and comforted, to find A boundless power so infinitely kind, The soul contending to that light to fly From her dark cell, we practise how to die, Employing thus the poet's winged art To reach this love, and grave it in our heart.
Joy so complete, so solid, and severe, Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there: Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone When from the east the rising sun comes on.
* * * * * To that and some other poems he adds the following--a kind of epilogue.
ON THE FOREGOING DIVINE POEMS.
When we for age could neither read nor write, The subject made us able to indite: The soul with nobler resolutions decked, The body stooping, does herself erect: No mortal parts are requisite to raise Her that unbodied can her Maker praise.
The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er: So calm are we when passions are no more; For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes _passion._ Conceal that emptiness which age descries.
The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light, through chinks that time has made: Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, As they draw near to their eternal home.
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.
It would be a poor victory where age was the sole conqueror.

But I doubt if age ever gains the victory alone.

Let Waller, however, have this praise: his song soars with his subject.

It is a true praise.