On the Folly of Atheism

How weak the Atheist's argument, how odd? Who, to be happy, first denies a God; Then, with too little faith truth to believe, Can show too much, an error to conceive; So inconsistent, and his folly such, He trusts too little, while he trusts too much. A foe profess'd to God Almighty's laws, Yet a blind bigot in the Devil's cause; He from free-thinking hopes to gain some light; Thinks free on every subject, but the right; A hint there is a God raises a doubt, And Prejudice puts weaker Reason out: Of Reason proud, by Passion rul'd alone, Because he'd have no God, concludes there's none; Thinks chance with blind effect nice order brings, And harmony from wild confusion springs, Springs of itself—for all spontaneous grow, And the created are creators too: Then immortality he'll disbelieve, Yet starts to think he cannot always live; Dreading it true, a future state denies, And while he laughs at death, with fear he dies; Despairing launches to some future state, Repents his folly—but repents too late.