Anna Laetitia Barbauld

An Address to the Deity

An Address to the DEITY.

Epigraph from Lucan

Barbauld quotes a Roman Stoic poet to frame her address—God is everything you see and move through. This sets up her poem's central claim: divine presence pervades all nature and experience.

Deus est quodcunque vides, quocunque moveris.
Lucan.
GOD of my life! and author of my days!
Permit my feeble voice to lisp thy praise;
And trembling, take upon a mortal tongue
That hallow'd name to harps of Seraphs sung.
Yet here the brightest Seraphs could no more

Seraphs hide their faces

Barbauld references Isaiah 6:2, where seraphim cover their faces before God's throne. She uses this biblical image to establish that even the highest celestial beings cannot fully comprehend or adequately praise God—a rhetorical move that justifies her own 'feeble voice.'

Seraphs hide their faces

Barbauld references Isaiah 6:2, where seraphim cover their faces before God's throne. She uses this biblical image to establish that even the highest celestial beings cannot fully comprehend or adequately praise God—a rhetorical move that justifies her own 'feeble voice.'

Than hide their faces, tremble, and adore.
Worms, angels, men, in every different sphere

Worms, angels, men equal

This leveling of all creatures—worms, angels, humans—reflects Enlightenment philosophy mixed with Christian humility. Before God's infinity, all finite beings collapse into equivalence.

Worms, angels, men equal

This leveling of all creatures—worms, angels, humans—reflects Enlightenment philosophy mixed with Christian humility. Before God's infinity, all finite beings collapse into equivalence.

Are equal all, for all are nothing here.
All nature faints beneath the mighty name,
Which nature's works, thro' all their parts proclaim.
I feel that name my inmost thoughts controul,
And breathe an awful stillness thro' my soul;
As by a charm, the waves of grief subside;
Impetuous passion stops her headlong tide:
At thy felt presence all emotions cease,
And my hush'd spirit finds a sudden peace,
Till every worldly thought within me dies,
And earth's gay pageants vanish from my eyes;
Till all my sense is lost in infinite,
And one vast object fills my aching sight.
 But soon, alas! this holy calm is broke;
My soul submits to wear her wonted yoke;
With shackled pinions strives to soar in vain,

Shackled pinions

The soul is figured as a bird with clipped wings trying to soar. 'Pinions' (feathers/wings) recalls Psalm 91:4 ('under his wings'), but here the soul is constrained by earthly bonds—a tension between spiritual aspiration and bodily limitation.

And mingles with the dross of earth again.
But he, our gracious Master, kind, as just,
Knowing our frame, remembers man is dust.
His spirit, ever brooding o'er our mind,
Sees the first wish to better hopes inclin'd;
Marks the young dawn of every virtuous aim,

Smoking flax into flame

Direct reference to Isaiah 42:3—God doesn't quench a dimly burning wick but fans it to flame. Barbauld applies this image to divine grace nurturing human virtue, no matter how weak the initial impulse.

And fans the smoaking flax into a flame.
His ears are open to the softest cry,
His grace descends to meet the lifted eye;
He reads the language of a silent tear,
And sighs are incense from a heart sincere.
Such are the vows, the sacrifice I give;
Accept the vow, and bid the suppliant live:
From each terrestrial bondage set me free;
Still every wish that centers not in thee;
Bid my fond hopes, my vain disquiets cease,
And point my path to everlasting peace.
If the soft hand of winning pleasure leads
By living waters, and thro' flow'ry meads,
When all is smiling, tranquil, and serene,
And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene,
Oh! teach me to elude each latent snare,

Syren's voice and snares

Barbauld shifts from passive contemplation to active moral vigilance. Pleasure itself becomes a threat ('latent snare')—not condemned outright, but requiring constant suspicion and 'trembling' caution.

Syren's voice and snares

Barbauld shifts from passive contemplation to active moral vigilance. Pleasure itself becomes a threat ('latent snare')—not condemned outright, but requiring constant suspicion and 'trembling' caution.

And whisper to my sliding heart—beware!
With caution let me hear the Syren's voice,
And doubtful, with a trembling heart, rejoice.
If friendless, in a vale of tears I stray,
Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way,
Still let my steady soul thy goodness see,
And with strong confidence lay hold on thee;
With equal eye my various lot receive,
Resign'd to die, or resolute to live;
Prepar'd to kiss the scepter or the rod,

Scepter or the rod

Reward or punishment, favor or suffering—Barbauld demands equal acceptance of both. The phrase echoes Psalm 23:4 ('thy rod and thy staff'), reframing divine discipline as a form of care.

God in all, all in God

Barbauld ends this section with a panentheistic formula—not pantheism (God is nature) but the idea that God contains and pervades all things while remaining transcendent. This resolves the poem's tension between immanence and distance.

While GOD is seen in all, and all in GOD.
I read his awful name, emblazon'd high
With golden letters on th' illumin'd sky;
Nor less the mystic characters I see
Wrought in each flower, inscrib'd on every tree;
In every leaf that trembles to the breeze
I hear the voice of GOD among the trees;
With thee in shady solitudes I walk,
With thee in busy crowded cities talk,
In every creature own thy forming power,
In each event thy providence adore.
Thy hopes shall animate my drooping soul,
Thy precepts guide me, and thy fear controul.
Thus shall I rest, unmov'd by all alarms,
Secure within the temple of thine arms,
From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free,
And feel myself omnipotent in thee.
Then when the last, the closing hour draws nigh,
And earth recedes before my swimming eye;
When trembling on the doubtful edge of fate
I stand and stretch my view to either state;
Teach me to quit this transitory scene
With decent triumph and a look serene;
Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high,
And having liv'd to thee, in thee to die.
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

Barbauld's Enlightenment Theodicy

This poem was written in the 1770s-80s, when Barbauld was establishing herself as a major philosophical poet. Unlike earlier devotional verse, 'An Address to the Deity' is structured as rational argument rather than emotional outpouring. She opens by acknowledging the inadequacy of human language and celestial praise itself—a move that paradoxically justifies her speaking at all. If even seraphs can only 'hide their faces,' then a mortal's honest attempt becomes a form of humility rather than presumption.

Barbauld uses scientific and philosophical vocabulary—'frame,' 'nature's works,' 'infinite'—to make her theology sound modern and intellectually rigorous. She's addressing the 18th-century problem of theodicy: if God is all-powerful and all-knowing, why do humans suffer? Her answer is not mystical but psychological: God knows our nature is weak ('remembers man is dust') and therefore judges us by our intentions, not our achievements. He 'marks the young dawn of every virtuous aim'—the *beginning* of goodness matters more than its perfection.

The poem's technical structure mirrors this philosophy. Barbauld uses rhyming couplets (the era's most rational verse form) and maintains tight control over meter, resisting emotional excess. Yet within this constraint, she builds dramatic tension: moments of mystical vision ('all my sense is lost in infinite') are deliberately broken, returning the speaker to earthly struggle. This isn't failure—it's the human condition Barbauld insists we accept with 'equal eye.'

The Three Movements: Contemplation, Vigilance, Acceptance

The poem progresses through three distinct phases that reveal Barbauld's mature theology. Lines 1-20 establish mystical union—the speaker feels God's presence dissolve worldly thought entirely. But she immediately punctures this vision: 'But soon, alas! this holy calm is broke.' This is not a failure to be lamented but the expected rhythm of human consciousness. The soul cannot sustain infinite perception; it must return to time and body.

Lines 21-50 shift to moral vigilance. Having acknowledged human limitation, Barbauld now demands active resistance to temptation. Pleasure becomes dangerous precisely because it feels good—the 'latent snare' hides itself in comfort. Notice the repeated imperatives: 'teach me,' 'bid me,' 'let me.' The speaker is no longer passively receiving grace but actively *asking* God to strengthen her will. This reflects Barbauld's Rational Dissent theology, which emphasized human agency within divine providence.

Lines 51-83 resolve these tensions through equanimity: the speaker learns to accept both prosperity and suffering, to 'receive thy various lot' with the same steadiness. The final image—standing at death's edge, looking toward 'either state' (heaven or oblivion)—demands neither ecstatic vision nor fearful resistance, but 'decent triumph and a look serene.' Barbauld's God is not the God of rapture but of rational acceptance. The ultimate achievement is not union with the divine but omnipotence through submission—'feel myself omnipotent in thee'—a paradox that defines her Enlightenment faith.