 | Poems |  |
LIFE—ITS DISCONTENTS.
I.
Say what is life? repining man.A lengthened day of toil—“a span,”
A season fraught with wo;
A troubled dream which death awakes,
A highway choked with thorny brakes,
Where mortals groping go!
A drama, too, of many scenes;
Each player has his own,
But scarce his acting he begins—
He 's off the stage and gone!
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Protract the tragic play;
The curtain must certain
Eclipse their transient day.
II.
Is Discontent the common lot?How favored those who know her not!
Alas, how few they are!
Some give to sorrow no restraint,
And seem determined on complaint,
Tho' Fortune treat them fair.
Take one from out the favored part
To whom content is given;
He takes the boon with thankful heart,
And owns the gift from Heaven.
He fears not, he hears not
The discontented voice;
But strives well, and thrives well
Upon his better choice.
III.
Behold the soul in youthful mask!Tho' blest with all that heart should ask,
It deems itself not so;
But forward looks with eager eye,
And counts the moments as they fly,
As dragging dull and slow.
As manhood comes at his desire
He looks on childhood past,
And while his cares begin to tire
Suspects himself too fast.
While moaning, and groaning
At retrospective view,
Still prying and trying
To seek out something new.
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IV.
Mark next old age—life's setting sun.His wasting sands are nearly run,
But as he totters on,
Still loath is he to quit the earth,
Tho' grieving in it from his birth—
Complaining, weak and wan!
How inconsistent is the life
Which Discontentment leads!
Tho' sorely vexed at worldly strife
Life's wasting lamp she feeds.
While living, she 's giving
Her hours to care and pain;
But dying, she 's trying
To win them back again!
V.
As roves the sun from east to west,So have I roved without a rest,
Save solace for the soul;
And toss'd on Fortune's surging wave,
I 've seemed to eye my yawning grave
Within the billowy roll.
But calmly then I viewed the surge
Portentous, swelling dark,
And heeded not the gloomy dirge
That howled around my bark!
Not fearing, while steering
Thro' darkness as of night;
While groping, still hoping
That all would end aright.
VI.
Should fell despair have seized my mindNo wished-for haven could I find—
In wildering terrors lost;
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Black as the murky midnight tomb,
By whirling tempests tost!
But Hope, twin sister of Content,
Gave me her timely aid—
Aloof assailing horrors sent,
And the mad storm allayed.
Then light'ning and bright'ning
Appeared the cheerful day,
And error and terror
Before it fled away.
VII.
The sick may mourn for loss of health;The man who rolls in splendid wealth
May yet in sorrow pine;
But, Heaven, hear thou my earnest prayer—
Whatever be my lot to share
Let sweet content be mine!
Give me an eye without a tear
For ill-timed, carking wo,
However rough my journey here
In this dark vale below!
My heart, then, shall part, then,
With ev'ry wrong forgiven,
While I here shall die here
To live again in Heaven.
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