How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
How passing wonder He, who made him such!
Who centred in our make such strange extremes!
From diff’rent natures marvellously mixt,
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!
Distinguish’d link in being’s endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the deity!
A beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt!
Tho’ sullied, and dishonour’d, still divine!
Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
Helpless immortal! insect infinite!
A worm! a g o d!——I tremble at myself,
And in myself am lost! at home a stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, surpris’d, aghast,
And wond’ring at her own: how reason reels!
O what a miracle to man is man,
Triumphantly diatress’d! what joy, what dread!
Alternately transported, and alarm’d!
What can preserve my life? or what destroy?
An angel’s arm can’t snatch me from the grave;
Legions of angels can’t confine me there.
—
~Edward Young~
Nigh Thoughts. Night I: Complaints
