Classic Poem

And the Expectations of a Future State.

The storms and tempests, bursting o'er my head,
O'erwhelm my heart with diffidence and dread.
Where will my sorrows end? when cease for ever?
Not 'till from Earth, and all its cares I sever;
Not till I reach the happiness design'd,
For future ages, holy, unconfin'd.
Oh glorious expectation, fixed as fate,
Let thy bright prospect ev'ry grief abate!
In those blest mansions sorrows ne'er invade,
The joys eternal, which can never fade.
There calm content succeeds corroding fear,
From ev'ry cheek is wip'd the pearly tear.
What is this state of pageantry below?
A golden toy, compos'd of outward show.
What are the Puppets, busy on the stage
Of Life's vast Theatre, from age to age?
How ill too oft they act their diff'rent parts,
And fall and rise, by despicable arts.
Those who have talents, oft pervert their end,
By proving traitors to their bosom friend;
Actions excentric are the faults assign'd
To minds exalted, and of taste refin'd,
O'erleap the bounds prescrib'd by common sense,
Whose cautious precepts prove a weak defence;
Their dazzling qualities obscure the fight
Of meaner optics by superior light.
What human Eye can bear the Sun's bright rays?
Or on its glory with attention gaze?
Yet it can view the Moon's less radiant beams;
Most things are better in their least extremes.
The proud Philosopher, I hear exclaim,
" What, no regard for Wisdom, and for Fame?
" For Science, which can search great Nature's laws,
" Trace the effect, to the efficient Cause?
" Can depth of learning be by aught outdone?
" Dost thou prefer pale Cynthia to the Sun? "
Peace, my good friend! I all distinctions hate,
Which scientific boasters vain create.
May I to sterling worth be never blind,
Tho' cloth'd in rags, and wholly unrefin'd,
Where'er I find, a spark divine express'd,
With glowing ardour in the human breast,
There will I rest the anchor of my hope,
T' enjoy fair friendship in its greatest scope.
The great Creator wisely does dispense,
To all his Creatures different kinds of sense;
To some he ministers the gifts to please,
And pass through life with unaffected ease;
On others kindly pours the skill profound
The darkest myst'ries clearly to expound;
Yet all are equal objects of his care;
Each individual the undoubted heir,
Of future bliss, prepar'd with mighty love,
For all the righteous in the realms above.
Oh! state best suited to th'immortal soul,
Eternal hope, and everlasting goal!
Where is thy vict'ry, Grave? Oh Death, thy sting?
The soul defies thee, by her eagle wing;
In hope of pardon, seeks her native skies,
Thro' Christ's redemption, gloriously to rise.