a degree far
exceeding the bounds of our comprehension, whilst we consider the
divinity in this refined and abstracted light, the imagination and
passions are little or nothing affected. But because we are bound, by
the condition of our nature, to ascend to these pure and intellectual
ideas, through the medium of sensible images, and to judge of these
divine qualities by their evident acts and exertions, it becomes
extremely hard to disentangle our idea of the cause from the effect by
which we are led to know it. Thus, when we contemplate the Deity, his
attributes and their operation, coming united on the mind, form a sort
of sensible image, and as such are capable of affecting the
imagination. Now, though in a just idea of the Deity, perhaps none of
his attributes are predominant, yet, to our imagination, his power is by
far the most striking. Some reflection, some comparing, is necessary to
satisfy us of his wisdom, his justice, and his goodness. To be struck
with his power, it is only necessary that we should open our eyes. But
whilst we contemplate so vast an object, under the arm, as it were, of
almighty power, and invested upon every side with omnipresence, we
shrink into the minuteness of our own nature, and are, in a manner,
annihilated before him. And though a consideration of his other
attributes may relieve, in some measure, our apprehensions; yet no
conviction of the justice with which it is exercised, nor the mercy with
which it is tempered, can wholly remove the terror that naturally arises
from a force which nothing can withstand. If we rejoice, we rejoice with
trembling; and even whilst we are receiving benefits, we cannot but
shudder at a power which can confer benefits of such mighty importance.
When the prophet David contemplated the wonders of wisdom and power
which are displayed in the economy of man, he seems to be struck with a
sort of divine horror, and cries out, _fearfully and wonderfully am I
made_! An heathen poet has a sentiment of a similar nature; Horace looks
upon it as the last effort of philosophical fortitude, to behold without
terror and amazement, this immense and glorious fabric of the universe:

Hunc solem, et stellas, et decedentia certis
Tempora momentis, sunt qui formidine nulla
Imbuti spectent.

Lucretius is a poet not to be suspected of giving way to superstitious
terrors; yet, when he supposes the whole mechanism of nature laid open
by the master of his philosop