Identifier: nightthoughts00youn (find matches)
Title: Night thoughts
Year: 1798 (1790s)
Authors: Young, Edward, 1683-1765
Subjects: Young, Edward, 1683-1765 English poetry Death
Publisher: London : Printed by C. Whittingham for T. Heptinstall
Contributing Library: Lincoln Financial Foundation Collection
Digitizing Sponsor: The Institute of Museum and Library Services through an Indiana State Library LSTA Grant

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ngels arm cant snatch me from the grave, Legions of angels cant confine me there. 9Q Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof: While oer my limbs Sleeps soft dominion spreads, What though my soul fantastic measures trod Oer fairy fields; or mournd along the gloom Of pathless woods; or down the craggy steep 95 Hurld headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool; Or scald the cliff; or dancd on hollow winds, With antic shapes—wild natives of the brain! Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature Of subtler essence than the trodden clod; 100 Active, aerial, towring, unconfind, Unfetterd with her gross companions fall. Evn silent Night proclaims my soul immortal: Evn silent Night proclaims eternal day. For human weal, Heavn husbands all events: 105 Dull Sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. Why then their loss deplore that are not lost?Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around,In infidel distress? Are angels there?Slumbers rakd up in dust, ethereal fire? 110
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T..?ioth.vJ f.wA: i./.- London :FulKsheJ Octr.~*5*3&J, A T.Biptmj-taliN?3o^ Hotborn . LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY. 5 They live! they greatly live! a life on earthUnkindled, unconceivd! and from an eyeOf tenderness, let heavnly pity fallOn me, more justly numbered with the dead.This is the desert, this the solitude: 115 How populous, how vital, is the grave!This is creations melancholy vault,The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom;The land of apparitions, empty shades!All, all on earth is shadow, all beyond 120 Is substance: The reverse is Follys creed:How solid all, where change shall be no more! This is the bud of being, the dim dawn,The twilight of our day, the vestibule;Lifes theatre as yet is shut, and Death, 125 Strong Death alone can heave the massy bar,This gross impediment of clay remove,And make us, embryos of existence, free.From real life, but little more remoteIs he, not yet a candidate for light, 130 The future embryo, slumbring in his sire.Embryos we must be, till

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