Classic Poem

SOLILOQUY IV.

Let God himself, to whom I dare appeal,
Let God, my glorious judge, be witness here!
Unfold my inmost soul, for thou shalt find
No rival form, no image but thy own.
So sure I love thee, I would stake my bliss,
My immortality on this high truth.

Is this existence real or a dream?
Is light, is life, or is the sacred name
Of virtue dear? Do I love happiness?
'Tis sure I do? [!] and oh! 'tis full as sure
I love my God. If this is not a truth,
I do not breathe, I have nor hopes, nor fears,
I know not where, I know not what I am,
But wander in uncertainty and doubt.
If this is not a truth, why have I shut
My eyes on all the beauty of the world?
Why have I stopp'd my ears to ev'ry call
Of glory and delight? why do I shun
The paths of pleasure? why despise the joys,
The entertainments of society;
And lost to all, in solitary shades
Give up my hours, and ev'ry thought to thee?
My God, I cry, the treasure of my soul,
Give me my God, and let the world forsake me!

My whole enjoyment in thy love consists;
Nor earth, nor heav'n, nor the high heav'n above,
Abstract from thee, can furnish out a bliss,
To entertain these infinite desires:
No, thou art all the solace of my life;
Shouldst thou but say thou hast no pleasure in me,
Lo! here I am — — but oh! the most undone
And wretched thing that the creation names.
For I must love thee still; howe'er thou deal'st
With me, still I must love thee for thy own perfections,
And languish for thee thro' eternal years.