Part 2

Men, Christians, the same Language, Customs, Laws, And Country, Kindred, Blood, Affinity, What farther Ties of Union can be fram'd? Yet will their dire Propensity to War Break thro' all these, and feel no more Restraint, Than Hornets from the Spider's feeble Web. The more strong Bands oblige them to be Friends, Worse Foes they are, encounter with more Rage, And with their Teeth each other's Flesh could tear. What shall we do to keep Mankind from War, When, ev'n Religion, too, has prov'd its Cause? -----_Religion makes us war!_ The _Turkish_, sure? Nay, but the Christian--Where, or how does that Encourage WAR, or bid us fight for Heav'n? Did Jesus save us by the Sword? Did He, Or _his_, resist the Pow'rs that were? Do more Than suffer patiently, and conquer _so?_ Pull off the Mask, Religion's vain Pretence; WAR, WAR, is thy Religion; Gold, thy God; Thy Sacrifices, Hecatombs of Men! At least, of Jesu's Spirit talking much, You know not what it is, but are impell'd By carnal Passions, all inflam'd by Fiends.

A _Sword_, a _Sword_ is born, a bloody Sword! Strange Birth!----Or thus, I ween, his Mother dream'd, Ere _Mahomet_ was born, or such a Sword, Stamp'd on his Breast, with liveliest Signature, Did, or else should have mark'd the nascent Babe; A Sword, indeed, to punish Earth, chastize Christians, a Scandal to the Name, that lov'd! The Sword, and War, and Bloodshed, Sons of _Mars_, Not GOD'S; vile _Cain_'s Disciples, and not Christ's. What Havock will it make of human Race! With what Effusion dire of Christian Blood Pollute the Earth, and half the World o'er-run! All this a despicable Slave will cause! Dread smallest Things: The smallest in the Hand Of GOD, and his o'er-ruling Providence, Is much too strong for greatest human Strength!

Trillions cut off, near half the peopled Globe A Defart made by thy unblunted Edge, Sword of the Lord, now to thy Sheath return At length, and rest: How _can_ it rest, injoin'd, To flay? How _can_ it rest, when _Christians_ war? When those, who should be Sons of Peace and Love Unanimous, are to each other, _Turks_?

Nor, oh, do Christians only war as much As _Turks_ or Heathens, but their Wars are worse. Such, and so many Instruments of Death Invented; one might _now_ have hop'd, that Man, Howe'er blood-thirsty, would have been content, And not have fought for new ones; or, at least, That Christ's Disciples, far from making new, Would have destroy'd the old ones; when a Monk, (Who would have thought a Monk would have supply'd Man's Cruelty with direr Arms?) a Monk, Who should have been at Pray'rs, beseeching Peace For wretched Mortals, _he_ experienc'd first The hellish Fury of that thund'rous Grain, That since, with greater Ease, and more Dispatch, Has done WAR'S bloody Work; Invention dire! And not, I think, to be outdone on Earth, If ev'n in Hell! New Scenes of War arise, With doubled Horrors; now its Rage appear'd Dreadful indeed, with Thunders arm'd, and Bolts, That mimic those of Heav'n, all-patient Heav'n! Which direct, matchless Thunderbolts would else Conglomerate, and drive them down to Hell, To fight and thunder; there the fittest Place!

O could _thy_ Eyes behold a modern Siege, Or _I_ describe the Horrors of the Place, An antique Siege would seem a harmless Thing! A hundred Cannons from their hellish Mouths Belch Fire and Smoke, and level Thunderbolts Against the shatter'd Walls, that at each Stroke Tremble; a hundred pregnant Bombs, the while Their cursed Globes, with Death and Mischief fraught, Discharge, that drop like Comets from the Sky; Too little all, without the Aid of Hell In Mines beneath, that, like an Earthquake, Walls, And Castles, from their strong Foundations throw; Hell from beneath, Heav'n threatens from above!

Go, bomb _Vesuvius_, with thy dev'lish Tubes! And let its Fires, to tenfold Rage inflam'd, Whirl red-hot, rocky Fragments on thy Head, And Hell encounter Hell; nor thus destroy Women, and harmless Babes, as well as Men, Ev'n those thy Brethren, and the Flock of Christ!

Sands, Tempests, Rocks, and Waves, are Dangers few: 'Tis a small Thing to fail within a Foot Of Death, and scorn the Monsters of the Main, That open their prodigious Jaws, like Hell, And soon expect them all; but Man is now The direst Monster of the watry World, And _makes_ worse Perils in it than he _finds_. Lo, from their floating Arks, to save Mankind Invented, not destroy, in Fire and Smoke Invelop'd, volly'd Thunders they discharge, And on each others Heads hail Wounds and Death. What worse has the just Ire of Heav'n denounc'd Than Fire and Brimstone, Storm, and thund'rous Bolts? All this, as if it were in Scorn, they forge By Art; and, mad, anticipate their Hell; Complete, if the curst Grain of _one_ takes Fire; With dire Displosion, all involv'd in Flame, Aloft they mount, with broken Planks commixt; Thence, scorch'd, like _Pha'tons_, fall into the Sea. The other, bor'd, perhaps, with many a Wound, Founders, and sinks apace into the Deep, While, o'er their Heads, the Billows booming close.

Thus Christians war, who should not war at all, But, as they are one Body, have one Soul, One Spirit, Breath of mutual Love and Peace. If Christians thus encounter, what the Wars Of Fiends? Or, more to shame us, have they none! Should peaceful Flocks of Sheep, with rabid Jaws, Assault and tear each other, could it be More monstrous, than for Christians thus to fight? Jesus, Exemplar of consummate Love And Meekness; Jesus, God and King of Peace! Such Strangers to thy Spirit thou wilt hold Strangers to thee, I fear; but where their Sin To some ambitious Monarch must be charg'd, Who, as Aggressor, must account for all This Spilth of human, if not Christian Blood.

If Christians make no better Use than this Of their Religion, Sciences, and Arts, What Angel will convey a Son of Peace To some _Philippine_ fruitful Isle, unknown To the Sea-roving Tribe, where, all at Peace, In poor, half-naked Innocence and Love, The Heav'n-taught, uncorrupted Nations dwell, Dove-like; and think that Man can't murder Man? _We_ are the _Savages_. The _Christians_, _These_, In Love, at least; well-fitted to receive The Gospel's Seed divine, and bring forth Fruit. But, ah! what Isle so secret to escape These Christian Murderers, with eager Scent, Hunting for Gold all o'er the spacious Main? When once they find us out, our peaceful Minds Will nought avail us; Spoiling, Chains, or Death, Must be our Lot; while they, profane, presume To name the GOD of Love, and talk of CHRIST.

Tho' in these sinful Regions Christian Love And Peace secure are not to be attain'd; Jesus, great Judge of Spirits, when thy Will Calls mine before thee, and thy righteous Voice Appoints my Portion, O in Mercy grant, Grant me a Mansion, where will be no War: Assign my Soul to some sweet Land of Peace, There, gracious, place in Station low, but blest, Thy Poet, Peace's Advocate, though mean In both Respects, and all: But thou the Will Regarded; lov'st the Heart before the Head.

These God, Man, Hell-contemning Warriors, sure, All to one Place will be consign'd and doom'd, There with each other to wage endless Wars, To hack, and thrust, and wound, and vainly strive To kill their Foes immortal, or, by Death, End their own Misery; with Earth's dire Grain, Or worse, to thunder there, and mine, and bomb: Or are they rather doom'd to live in Peace, And mutual Love, for ever? Sad Estate! That, _that_ may be the greater Hell to _them_!

But why despair I yet of Peace on Earth? Great Shepherds of the Nations, O be wise! At length, awake to Reason's Use, from Dreams Of vain Ambition: Let the hideous Din Of your own Cannons, and disploding Bombs, Wake you to due Reflection: Ask yourselves, Unprejudic'd, if neither Heav'n nor Earth Can you accuse of these unchristian Wars. O give us Peace; compassionate the World: Compare th' Advantages and Sweets of Peace With all the Woes and Miseries of War: And can ye not desire and love the one,? The other not abhor as much as Death What? What your Gain? Behold, your People, peel'd, Impoverish'd, curse your Wars, and wicked Schemes! Be truly Sires, and your dear People view With all the Yearnings of paternal Love: How glorious is a wife and peaceful King? To make such Numbers blest, is Praise indeed. View _Antonine_, a _Pagan_ Prince: What Wars, What Victories will render you so great? Which of you will renew that glorious Scheme, A Heathen Prince could frame, to put an End To human Wars; and Peace, sweet Peace, confirm Between the Nations, while the Work endures; He, he shall be Fame's Minion in the Years To come, and Conqu'rors be admir'd no more.

GEORGE, great in War, but to defend thy own, To help the Weak, by wicked Pow'r oppress'd, Not to oppress them; not for wide Domain, Or Fame disgraceful; Monarch, good as great, Whose Wisdom scorns to conquer, but for Peace; O may this mighty Praise be also thine! O may thy Counsels, or thy Arms succeed, And bless the groaning World with endless Peace!

Tremble, ye Sceptred Sons of the Most High, Tremble! The Lord of Lords, and King of Kings, Looks down displeas'd: The solar Splendors fade, And Planets shrink with Horror; chiefly Earth, With Wickedness, and human Blood, defil'd. Dearth, Murrain, Pestilence, await his Beck, To visit Men, who well deserve them all; While Mercy humbly sues for longer Space Of Patience, Piety for her Children pleads, Tho' few. O Judges of the Earth, appease His Ire, while yet ye may: If _He_ be Wroth, What is a King? Or will the Pest revere Your Sceptres? Will your Gems and Diadems prove Sure Amulets? Or Gold secure your Lives? Ah, save us from the Judgments that impend, Ah, save yourselves! Reflect how Virtue fails, How little Piety our Age can boast. Will War amend our Ways? Is War a School Where Christ is taught, and his Commands inforc'd? Far from it; they proceed from Sin to Sin, Till _Turks_ and Heathens have much more of Christ. O Sires, consider that your Hosts make War On Christ, and on His Brethren, and your own, On Virtue, Piety, and Plenty too. Peace to all these concede: Be truly great, Delight in Justice, Virtue, Goodness, Love: This is the only Way to be like GOD.

_FINIS._