Classic Poem

If we, my Lord, with easy Strife,
Would pass this fickle Tide of Life;
We must not always rashly fail
With ev'ry light, inconstant Gale;
Nor yet, at ev'ry Surge that roars,
Too tim'rous seek the craggy Shores.
The Man who keeps the Golden Mean ,
Where raging Storms are seldom seen,
Avoids the dang'rous Rocks and Pools,
That fright the Wife, and swallow Fools:
He's ne'er despis'd among the Crowd,
Nor envy'd in the Court;
But steers between the Base and Proud,
To gain the peaceful Port.
While lofty Spires and Cedars fall,
Storm-beaten, to the Plain,
The lowly Shrub, and humble Wall,
Are Proof to Wind and Rain;
And Lightnings guiltless o'er the Cottage fly;
But smite th' ambitious Hills, that, tow'ring, threat the Sky.

T HE steady Mind, that's truly great,
Surveys, unmov'd, the Turns of Fate:
If Wealth and Fame his Pride increase,
His Fears their Force controul;
If adverse Fortune would depress,
Hope elevates his Soul;
Because he knows, the Pow'r who brings
The Winter with its dreary Wings,
Can make the vernal Beauties grow,
And turn our Woe to Bliss, or Bliss to Woe.
If now on anxious Cares you feed,
A Feast of Joy may soon succeed.
To chear your pensive Mind.
With Times, our Tempers vary round;
Nothing immutable is found,
But all to Change inclin'd.
Tho' Pope with Illness oft complains,
Pope is not always rack'd with Pains;
But, warm'd with P HOEBUS' Fire,
Sometimes he wakes the sleeping String,
Or bids the silent Muses sing,
And charms us with his Lyre.

O UR Life's at best, a chequer'd Scene,
Of Health and Sickness, Mirth and Spleen:
Yet, since we all must stem this Sea,
Where Calm and Tempest dwell;
Grieve not to steer the destin'd Way,
But strive to pass it well:
If adverse Storms begin to rave,
Serenely view the foaming Wave,
Collected in yourself, and resolutely brave.
Or, if you find indulgent Gales
Impel the Bark too fast,
Wisely contract the swelling Sails,
And check their rapid Haste;
Lest, in your swift Career, the Ship
Split on a Rock, and sink beneath the Deep.