Page:An Essay on Man - Pope (1751).pdf/27

 All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body nature is and the soul; That chang'd thro' all, and yet in all the same, Great in the earth as in the ethereal frame, Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives thro' all life, extends thro' all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent, Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns; To him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all, then, nor order imperfection name; Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point; this kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, heav'n bestows on thee. Submit.In this, or any other sphere, Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear: Safe in the hand of one disposing pow'r, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. All nature is but art unknown to thee; All chance direction, which thou canst not see; All discord harmony not understood; All partial evil universal good; And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, One truth is clear, 'Whatever is, is right.'