Classic Poem

All seek with Eagerness — but few can find
The sweet Possession of a peaceful Mind;
A peaceful Mind — which can alone bestow
A Taste of genuine Happiness below.
For this — we walk along the breezy Shade
Where mimic Art, and Nature are display'd,
Where Fancy wanders with a wild Surprise,
And painted Visions dance before our Eyes:
Hence we pursue the tedious Quest of Gain,
And calmly bear the Rigors of the Main,
Brave the grim Fury of the northern Blast,
And think our Wishes shall be crown'd at last,
Alas! in vain to distant Climes we roam,
Peace, would we find it, must be sought at Home.
Thou too hast long in Secrecy repin'd
To realize the Phantom of thy Mind,
For poor indeed, and scanty is thy Pay
To cheer thee thro' the Labors of the Day;
But if, my Friend , thou art not now content
With what the Wisdom of the Heav'ns has sent,
Since 'tis by sage Philosophy confest,
That Wealth is but a gilded Thorn at best,
Had'st thou the Tenure of thy fancy'd Store,
Thy Mind wou'd be a Wanderer for more,
Still wou'd thy Heart unsatisfy'd repine,
Tho' Streams of rich Pactolus shou'd be thine;
But wou'd'st thou know what Methods will avail
To make thee happy — listen to my Tale.
A Prelate long with various Cares opprest,
Bore them with Courage, and a peaceful Breast;
Tho' Malice pointed her envenom'd Dart
To wound the soft Composure of his Heart,
Tho' Opposition stop'd him on his Road,
And check'd the Ardor of his Zeal for God;
He, still directed by a heav'nly Ray,
Serenely kept the Tenor of his Way.
A Friend, who long had struggl'd to obtain
The Prize of cordial Happiness in vain,
With Heart dejected to the Prelate went,
Whose Dwelling was the Dwelling of Content;
There hoping he had reach'd the wish'd-for Goal,
Where he might find a Quietude of Soul,
Can'st thou, (says he) my reverend Sire, declare,
What will avail to mitigate Despair?
How from vain Doubts I may my Bosom free,
And taste the Sweets of Happiness like thee?
'Tis easy (says the Prelate) to relate
How to elude the adverse Strokes of Fate:
Use but thy Eyes aright — and thou wilt see
But little Reason for Anxiety.
His Friend amaz'd — still beg'd him to impart
The hidden Secrets of his wond'rous Art —
Know then, whate'er my Lot, the Prelate cries,
First I to Heav'n submissive lift my Eyes,
I then remember that my only Care,
Is for that blissful Region to prepare,
And tho' I now thro' hostile dangers rove,
They point the Way to Amity and Love.
Hence I look down upon the Earth, and find
This Truth momentous press upon my Mind,
That soon — ah! soon I must resign my Breath,
And hasten to the dreary Shades of Death,
And when I in my kindred Dust shall lye,
Small is the Space that I shall occupy;
I look abroad into the World — which shews
A crowded Scene of complicated Woes,
Where thousands under heavier Burdens groan,
And pine in States more wretched than my own.
Hence am I taught that true substantial Joy
Finds not a Residence beneath the Sky;
I learn where all my Sorrows have an end,
Tho' Sorrows on Mortality attend;
And when I see my Fellow-Creatures Pain,
My passive Nature ceases to complain.
Go then, my Friend , this easy Plan pursue,
And bid to vain Anxiety adieu.