But if there be one Attribute Divine,
With greater Lustre than the rest can shine,
'Tis Goodness, which we ev'ry Moment see
The God-head exercise with such Delight,
It seems, it only seems, to be
The best belov'd Perfection of the Deity,
And more than Infinite.
Without that, he could never prove
A proper Object of our Praise or Love.
Were he not good, he'd be no more concern'd
To hear the Wretched in Affliction cry,
Or see the Guiltless for the Guilty die,
Than , when the flaming City burn'd,
And weeping  o'er its Ruins mourn'd.
Eternal Justice then would be
But everlasting Cruelty:
Power unrestrain'd, Almighty Violence,
And Wisdom unconfin'd, but Craft immense.
'Tis Goodness constitutes Him that He is,
And those
Who will deny him this,
A God without a Deity suppose.
When the lewd Atheist blasphemously swears
By his tremendous Name,
There is no God, but all's a Sham;
Insipid Tattle, Praise and Prayers:
Virtue, pretence; and all the sacred Rules
Religion teaches, Tricks to cully Fools;
Justice would strike th' audacious Villain dead,
But Mercy boundless saves his guilty Head;
Gives him Protection, and allows him Bread.
Does not the Sinner, whom no Danger awes,
Without Restraint his Infamy pursue,
Rejoice, and glory in it too;
Laugh at the Power Divine, and ridicule his Laws:
Labour in Vice, his Rivals to excel,
That when he's dead, they may their Pupils tell
How wittily the Fool was damn'd, how hard he fell.
Yet this vile Wretch in safety lives,
Blessings in common with the best receives,
Tho' he is proud t' affront the God those Blessings gives,
The chearful Sun his Influence sheds on all,
Has no respect to good or ill;
And fruitful Showers without distinction fall,
Which Fields with Corn, with Grass the Pastures fill,
The bounteous Hand of Heaven bestows
Success and Honour many times on those
Who scorn his Favourites, and caress his Foes.