THE PILGRIM. THUS I, the object of the world's disdain, Her mirth's my grief, her sullen grief my mirth; To my long stay; let not thy thoughts deceive thee; Thou art my prison, and my home's above; My life's a preparation but to leave thee. Are all composed of rubs and crooked meanders; Athought; and he that goes unguided, wanders: Her way is dark, her path untrod, uneven, So hard's the way from earth, so hard's the way to heaven. This gyring labyrinth is betrenched about On either hand, with streams of sulphurous fire, But seeming pleasant to the fond deceiver; Some lucky hand to lead my trembling paces; To 'scape the danger of these dangerous places? Before the wise men to a greater light; A pillar and a cloud-by day, by night; Yet in my desperate dangers, which be far More great than theirs, I have no pillar, cloud, nor star. Oh! that the pinions of a clipping dove Would cut my passage through the empty air; My backward eyes should ne'er commit that fault, Great God! Thou art the flowing spring of light; I'll trust my God, and Him alone pursue; His law shall be my path, his heavenly light my clue. THE BREVITY OF LIFE. BEHOLD, How short a span Was long enough of old, To measure out the life of man; In those well-tempered days, his time was then Surveyed, cast up, and found but threescore years and ten. Alas! And what is that! They come, and slide, and pass, Before my pen can tell thee what; The posts of time are swift, which, having run Their seven short stages o'er, their short-lived task is done. Our days Begun, we lend To sleep, to antic plays And toys, until the first stage end: Twelve waning moons, twice five times told, we give To unrecovered loss, we rather breathe than live. We spend A ten years' breath Before we apprehend What 'tis to live, or fear a death: Our childish dreams are filled with painted joys, Which please our sense awhile, and waking prove but toys. How vain, How wretched is Poor man, that doth remain A slave to such a state as this! They be The secret springs, That make our minutes flee On wheels more swift than eagles' wings: Our life's a clock, and every gasp of death Breathes forth a warning grief, till Time shall strike a death. How soon, Our new-born light Attains to full-aged noon! And this, how soon, to gray-haired night! We spring, we bud, we blossom, and we blast, Ere we can count our days, our days they flee so fast. They end When scarce begun; And ere we apprehend That we begin to live, our life is done: Man, count thy days, and if they fly too fast For thy dull thoughts to count, count every day thy last. AGE, So have I seen the illustrious prince of light Rising in glory from his crocean bed, And trampling down the horrid shades of night, So have I seen a well-built castle stand Whose active power commands both sea and land, At length her aged foundation fails her trust, And lays her tottering ruins in the dust. So have I seen the blazing taper shoot Her golden head into the feeble air; Whose shadow-gilding ray, spread round about, Makes the foul face of black-browed darkness fair; Till at the length her wasting glory fades, And leave the night to her inveterate shades. The pride of nature glorified by art; That glorious sun, that whilome shone so bright, Is now e'en ravished from our darkened eyes; Thy youth so vaunted? where that majesty, Where, where that braving arm? that daring eye? Those buxom tunes? those bacchanalian tones? Those swelling veins? those marrow-flaming bones? Thy drooping glory's blurred, and prostrate lies, Whilst fear perplexes thy distracted brow; Thus man that's born of woman can remain But a short time! his days are full of sorrow His life's a penance, and his death's a pain! Springs like a flower to-day, and fades to-morrow; His breath's a bubble, and his day's a span: 'Tis glorious misery to be born a man! VAIN BOASTING. CAN he be fair, that withers at a blast? So rich is man, that (all his debts being paid,) So young is man, that (broke with care and sorrow,) He's old enough to-day to die to-morrow. Why bragst thou then, thou worm of five foot long? Thou'rt neither fair, nor strong, nor wise, nor rich, nor young. |