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To higher bliss I'll lead thy gentler soul,
Where endless joys in swift fucceffion roll;
To boundless pleasures, free from ev'ry strife,
Which now perplex the mazy paths of life.
True, time and distance now obstruct the fight,
Forbid enjoyment and prolong delight;
Yet patient wait, nor let thy tongue upbraid,
Nor doubt the kindness of paternal aid.
In that blest clime resides the KING of kings,
Who life from death, who joy from sorrow brings ;
Whose bounteous hand his creatures wants supplies,
Gives all that's needful nor what's good denies.
Haste then my fair-My ELOISA fly,
Known are our wants to his all-seeing eye;
If RICHES needful-these he will supply,
And if fuperfluous, with kind hand deny.
In health in sickness, or in ease or pain,
In want in plenty, or in loss or gain;
Our duty sure to be alike resign'd,
Since either state is what himself affign’d.
Faith's prying eye shall view a Father's care,
In all we SUFFER, and in all we share;
Shall hail the trials which in life we prove,
And own AFFLICTIONS are the voice of love.
ON THE VAIN PURSUITS AND IMPERFECT EN
IFE, like a play-thing, humours us a while ;
We prize the bauble, as its trinkets smile; Each glittering trifle stills us for a day, Then children-like we throw that toy away; With froward minds we long for something new, And still a vain variety pursue. The distant object which we covet most, If once enjoy'd, is in possession loft: Those hills from far, with seeming verdure crown'd, A closer view has bleak and barren found. Led on by hope, we tread the fairy maze, And eager grasp at something still to please : A dear-bought wisdom disappointment shews; In life's blank lottery all may fear to lose.
The MISER, anxious for his hoarded gold, Starves in abundance, and in want grows old; With squeezing palm he gripes his manimon fast, And clinches closer as he breathes his last : For strangers hoards his piles of mouldy pelf, Who foon shall waste what he denies himself: Penurious madman, anxious for his heap, Lab'ring to sow what other hands must reap.
By midnight lamps the poring SAGE has past His painful life, and is deceiv'd at last;
Huge volumes from his teeming thoughts he draws,
Imagin'd monuments of vast applause,
Which shall to distant years transmit him down,
And teach posterity his great renown;
Pleas'd with the prospect, he resigns his breath,
And fondly triumphs over time and death;
When lo! his works, an useless lumber rot,
And are, with him, in half an age forgot.
Through foes for fame the SOLDIER hews his way,
Provoking fate, and fame shall be his pay:
For this young AMMON seeks to scale the skies,
And frantic CHARLES impartial fate defies :
'Twas this made heroes in all ages bleed,
That men unborn might envy every deed.
Deluded mortals labor oft in vain,
By death prevented ere they found their gain :
What gain, alas ! can be expected here,
Where all things fail, and nothing's found fincere?
Yet human vanity asserts her claim,
And courts an empty echo for a name.
This passion prone to lowest rank descends,
The coarsest clown for clumsy fame contends ;
Ambition ebbing to its vulgar lee,
Ferments in dregs, and warms each base degree;
Since life's enjoyments weigh not half its ill,
And nothing here the human soul can fill,
To distant objects the must turn her eye,
And present wants by future hopes supply;
Such hopes, well-grounded, speak her truly wise,
And lift her wishes to their native skies;
Above the reach of rumours feeble founds,
And fame that circles in surviving rounds.
To grasp at happiness is all our view,
Through diff'rent tracts her footsteps we pursue ;
While each his own fallacious path approyes,
As int'rest leads, or inclination moves :
Yet most through error lose their wish'd-for way,
Who sets out wrong must wander far astray.
Some, plung'd in riot, seek their sov'reign good
From tilting spirits and tumultuous blood;
With large potations reason's voice depress,
And drown her clamours in the deep excess;
'Midst reeking fumes exhale their lives away,
Whilft late repentance and a swift decay,
Pursuing close at pleasure's lawless heels,
Bring all the woes despairing frenzy feels :
When lungs decay'd, and nerves convulsive shake,
Each pungent pang confirms the mad mistake:
Reflection then on reason's aid shall call,
Bid prudence prop what folly dooms to fall.
In vain much wealth for happiness we try,
Soft pleasures pall, and soon as tafted die.
Ambition giddy on its fummit grows,
And crowns fit heavy on the monarch's brows;
Our knowledge too in narrow bounds confin'd,
Defrauds our hopes and disappoints the mind;
Lo! all enjoyments are imperfect here,
And pleasure's cup is ever mixt with care.
Since all conditions there my wants proclaim,
Is then this happiness an empty name?
A mere delusion in our warm embrace ?
A Aitting phantom which we fondly chase?
Can nothing here the eager mind sustain ?
Is health a shadow, or is virtue vain?
The one in absence we too late regard,
The other fails, nor is its own reward :
Continu'd health's true value's seldom known,
And virtue's strangely out of fashion grown.
As they who fail by India's fragrant shore,
Relax their speed, and every gale devour;
Balk in the breezes breath'd from spicy lands,
Yet sound the rocks and shun the shelving sands;
To their intended coast they slowly steer,
Enjoy the passage, but not anchor there.
So we through life with calm content should roam, Endure the journey, not mistake our home, What here we reap is for refreshment given, Convenient stages in our way to heaven: What taste of happiness we find below, Must from religion's sacred fountain flow; When gentle passions move obedient still, And reason rules, and wisdom guides the will; This soul-felt calm can every remove, And gives an earnest of the joys above; Draws the bright scene, unfolds the gates of bliss, A life celestial, and begun in this.