Blush, atheists, blush, your airy schemes,
Your chance, and atoms, are but dreams:
Science in vain you proudly boast,
In error’s endless mazes lost.
Nature survey, the mighty whole
From north to southern distant pole:
Heav’n, earth and seas, and worlds of light
For ages hid from human sight.
Say then, could chance this fabric rear
So great, so good, so wondrous fair?
Could chance the heav’nly bodies move,
And in strict order bid them rove?
Does chance the various seasons rule,
The blooming spring, the autumn cool?
Bid summer’s heat enrich the year
And winter pinch with frosts severe?
Sways chance the empire of the main?
Can chance its proudest waves restrain?
Command the senseless tides to flow?
Of teach the ebb its hour to know?
What is all nature but design?
Her works, but skill and power divine?
The God we see in every form,
From the archangel to the worm.
The wondrous scale of beings view,
Their nice gradations close pursue;
Deny then, skeptic, if you can
A proper place assigned for man.
Man, know thyself, thy rank well know,
And pay the mighty debt you owe;
The God adore, who did inspire
Your frame with an immortal fire.
Man, view thy soul, nor let it be
A slave when God would have it free;
Nor be it said that brutes obey,
Whilst man rejects his maker’s sway.