SO spake the Son of God; and Satan stood A while as mute, confounded what to say, What to reply, confuted and convinced Of his weak arguing and fallacious drift;
At length, collecting all his serpent wiles, With soothing words renewed, him thus accosts:--
"I see thou know'st what is of use to know, What best to say canst say, to do canst do;
Thy actions to thy words accord; thy words To thy large heart give utterance due; thy heart Contains of good, wise, just, the perfet shape.
Should kings and nations from thy mouth consult, Thy counsel would be as the oracle Urim and Thummim, those oraculous gems On Aaron's breast, or tongue of Seers old Infallible; or, wert thou sought to deeds That might require the array of war, thy skill Of conduct would be such that all the world Could not sustain thy prowess, or subsist In battle, though against thy few in arms.
These godlike virtues wherefore dost thou hide?
Affecting private life, or more obscure In savage wilderness, wherefore deprive All Earth her wonder at thy acts, thyself The fame and glory--glory, the reward That sole excites to high attempts the flame Of most erected spirits, most tempered pure AEthereal, who all pleasures else despise, All treasures and all gain esteem as dross, And dignities and powers, all but the highest?
Thy years are ripe, and over-ripe. The son Of Macedonian Philip had ere these Won Asia, and the throne of Cyrus held At his dispose; young Scipio had brought down The Carthaginian pride; young Pompey quelled The Pontic king, and in triumph had rode.
Yet years, and to ripe years judgment mature, Quench not the thirst of glory, but augment.
Great Julius, whom now all the world admires, The more he grew in years, the more inflamed With glory, wept that he had lived so long Ingloroious. But thou yet art not too late."
To whom our Saviour calmly thus replied:--
"Thou neither dost persuade me to seek wealth For empire's sake, nor empire to affect For glory's sake, by all thy argument.
For what is glory but the blaze of fame, The people's praise, if always praise unmixed?
And what the people but a herd confused, A miscellaneous rabble, who extol Things vulgar, and, well weighed, scarce worth the praise?
They praise and they admire they know not what, And know not whom, but as one leads the other;
And what delight to be by such extolled, To live upon their tongues, and be their talk?
Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise--
His lot who dares be singularly good.
The intelligent among them and the wise Are few, and glory scarce of few is raised.
This is true glory and renown--when God, Looking on the Earth, with approbation marks The just man, and divulges him through Heaven To all his Angels, who with true applause Recount his praises. Thus he did to Job, When, to extend his fame through Heaven and Earth, As thou to thy reproach may'st well remember, He asked thee, 'Hast thou seen my servant Job?'
Famous he was in Heaven; on Earth less known, Where glory is false glory, attributed To things not glorious, men not worthy of fame.
They err who count it glorious to subdue By conquest far and wide, to overrun Large countries, and in field great battles win, Great cities by assault. What do these worthies But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote, Made captive, yet deserving freedom more Than those their conquerors, who leave behind Nothing but ruin wheresoe'er they rove, And all the flourishing works of peace destroy;
Then swell with pride, and must be titled Gods, Great benefactors of mankind, Deliverers, Worshipped with temple, priest, and sacrifice?
One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other;
Till conqueror Death discover them scarce men, Rowling in brutish vices, and deformed, Violent or shameful death their due reward.
But, if there be in glory aught of good;
It may be means far different be attained, Without ambition, war, or violence--
By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent, By patience, temperance. I mention still Him whom thy wrongs, with saintly patience borne, Made famous in a land and times obscure;
Who names not now with honour patient Job?
Poor Socrates, (who next more memorable?)
By what he taught and suffered for so doing, For truth's sake suffering death unjust, lives now Equal in fame to proudest conquerors.
Yet, if for fame and glory aught be done, Aught suffered--if young African for fame His wasted country freed from Punic rage--
The deed becomes unpraised, the man at least, And loses, though but verbal, his reward.
Shall I seek glory, then, as vain men seek, Oft not deserved? I seek not mine, but His Who sent me, and thereby witness whence I am."
To whom the Tempter, murmuring, thus replied:--
"Think not so slight of glory, therein least Resembling thy great Father. He seeks glory, And for his glory all things made, all things Orders and governs; nor content in Heaven, By all his Angels glorified, requires Glory from men, from all men, good or bad, Wise or unwise, no difference, no exemption.
Above all sacrifice, or hallowed gift, Glory he requires, and glory he receives, Promiscuous from all nations, Jew, or Greek, Or Barbarous, nor exception hath declared;
From us, his foes pronounced, glory he exacts."
To whom our Saviour fervently replied:
"And reason; since his Word all things produced, Though chiefly not for glory as prime end, But to shew forth his goodness, and impart His good communicable to every soul Freely; of whom what could He less expect Than glory and benediction--that is, thanks--
The slightest, easiest, readiest recompense From them who could return him nothing else, And, not returning that, would likeliest render Contempt instead, dishonour, obloquy?
Hard recompense, unsuitable return For so much good, so much beneficience!
But why should man seek glory, who of his own Hath nothing, and to whom nothing belongs But condemnation, ignominy, and shame--
Who, for so many benefits received, Turned recreant to God, ingrate and false, And so of all true good himself despoiled;
