Classic Poem

There's nothing speaks the human mind,
Of self so ignorant, unrefin'd,
As vanity and pride;
Nor is there on the spacious earth,
'Midst every thing of nature's birth,
Like man so near allied,
To all that ought to make him be
The creature of humility.

Say, are his infant years a train
Of energies to make him vain,
When maudling, helpless, weak?
He wants for months the power to move,
Sustain'd by others care and love,
Long able but to squeak.
Is this a part of man's brief hour,
To flatter vanity and power?

And after these, what years succeed,
Of imbecility and need,
Of half form'd limbs and mind;
Blundering 'midst ignorance and noise,
When grown to man, still pleased with toys.
To reason, science blind.
Wayward, presuming, frothy, pert,
In cruel sports and games alert.

But grant the learned schools have stor'd
The head from out their massy hoard,
And starting 'midst the crowd;
With talents held in high esteem,
What then in man's career is seen,
To make the creature proud?
What, but those talents misapplied,
To vice and error oft' allied!

What, if he join the martial band,
And stalk a butcher thro' the land,
With feathers, drums, and blood;
Calling that glory which, alone,
Would make humanity disown
All claim to great, and good;
Would make man damn his very name,
And weep o'er what the world calls fame.

Shall this profession prompt his pride,
Where reason, truth are laid aside,
For rude coercion's power?
When gunpowder and red hot shot,
Curses the world to misery's lot,
That knaves may rule the hour;
When bloody hords, and hellish fight,
Are set up to establish right.

Blush, erring mortal! blush for shame,
Nor dare one moment hail a name,
Who slays his fellow man;
Such men from B ONAPARTE down,
To heads without, or with a crown,
Have acted on a plan,
Subversive quite of what should be
The triumph of humanity.

If, to the bar his fancy lead,
Gainst right, as well as wrong, to plead,
A sophist wrangling still;
By tinsel eloquence misled,
A callous heart, and wavering head,
Not sway'd by judgment's will.
If such his walk, how far he strays,
From all that claims the good man's praise.

A churchman if he chance to be,
Dealing in tythes, and mystery,
And mitres gaping after;
So unlike him he master styles,
So full of pride, and gospel wiles,
He claims our scorn and laughter;
Forsaking all the true and clear,
To cringe to knaves for more a year.

If in the senate, he should start,
And get its phrase and cant by heart,
And aye it when he's told;
The people's rights upsetting quite,
And learning every thing to slight,
But pension, power, and gold.
Thus placed, the good, and wise man's scorn,
'Twere better he had not been born.

A slave to pageantry, and show,
A titled supercilious beau,
Or pensioned pauper see him;
Say, can such creatures win esteem,
Who far more irksome than they seem,
Exist in vice and whim.
Who, bad and sottish as men are,
The name of men ought not to bear.

Is trade his walk, 'midst trick and lies,
Tho' very stupid,…looking wise,
A jesuit night and day;
Tho' afluent beyond detail,
From such a being, tasteless, frail,
We gladly turn away;
And can but mark him with a smile,
Not able ev'n to sin…in style.

Such, such is man! if reason's voice,
Point not his motive,…urge his choice,
And prompt him on his way;
Such, such is man!…if thinking right,
If acting well, he dares to slight,
And knowingly will stray,
Where mystery and nonsense lead,
From simple truth's impressive creed.

But not for creature man is pride,
Tho' wisdom all his actions guide,
And talents vast attend him;
Tho' on each step the virtues wait,
The graces deck his mein, and gait,
And wealth and fame befriend him;
Still, if he look on every side,
No room at all is left for pride.

Mischance, disease, and pain, and death,
Wait on each motion, on each breath,
And hourly may assail him;
Sickness, and lingering pain may come,
Or those he loves may seek the tomb,
His dearest friends may fail him;
Fortune, her treacherous wheel may shift,
And turn each joy and good a-drift.

If pride be not for those who claim,
Each honour'd, lov'd, and valued name,
Ye miscreant ideots say;
Ye sons of vice, and folly too,
What scorn, what pity, is your due,
Who ev'n in guilt's bad way
Still blunder on, 'midst senseless creeds,
Professions vile,…and evil deeds.

Now for our moral turn aside,
And hear, tho' man's not made for pride,
He's made for glorious ends;
For friendship, happiness, and love,
Each bliss to cherish, and improve,
For all that charms and mends,
He's made each private good to do,
And public evils to subdue.

He's made to be upright, sincere,
His own on others bliss to rear,
To bless, and to be blest;
To cherish most a simple heart,
To shun all trick, finesse, and art,
Caress and be caress'd.
To fly coercion, strife, and war,
Each public and each private jar.

To live alone in truth's bright ray,
All mystery to do away,
And craft and cunning shun;
To do as he'd be done unto,
To banish every selfish view,
Benignant as the sun.
Such man was doubtless made to be,
Rational, happy, humble, free.