 | The poems, odes, songs, and other metrical effusions, of Samuel Woodworth |  |
15
THE FLOWERS OF LIFE.
The ills of Life's journey how many complain of,
Who swear not a flow'ret is found in the road!
But the evils they censure I laugh at the pain of,
While sweet smiling Cheerfulness lightens the load.
Who swear not a flow'ret is found in the road!
But the evils they censure I laugh at the pain of,
While sweet smiling Cheerfulness lightens the load.
Though I find not a rose, I indulge not in sorrow,
But pluck with Contentment a daisy to-day;
Nay, even a sprig will feed Hope for the morrow,
The humblest that nods to the zephyr of May.
But pluck with Contentment a daisy to-day;
Nay, even a sprig will feed Hope for the morrow,
The humblest that nods to the zephyr of May.
Let others dispute, I'll avoid their dissention,
Religious, political, moral, or such;
For the lily of Peace thus escapes their attention,
And the sweet bud of Pleasure which blooms at my touch.
Religious, political, moral, or such;
For the lily of Peace thus escapes their attention,
And the sweet bud of Pleasure which blooms at my touch.
The blossom of Friendship, surviving mortality,
I'll carefully cherish and wear in my breast;
Though its picture may boast brighter hues than reality,
Its fragrance directs me when doubtful the test.
I'll carefully cherish and wear in my breast;
Though its picture may boast brighter hues than reality,
Its fragrance directs me when doubtful the test.
The spirit of feeling, the soul of affection,
Wildly ardent in rapture, and melting in wo,
Whatever its image, attire, or complexion,
With mine shall commingle in sympathy's glow.
Wildly ardent in rapture, and melting in wo,
Whatever its image, attire, or complexion,
With mine shall commingle in sympathy's glow.
16
I ask not his birth-place, whatever the region,
Hot, temperate, frigid—despotic or free;
I ask not his politics, creed or religion,
A Turk, Jew, or Christian—he's still dear to me.
Hot, temperate, frigid—despotic or free;
I ask not his politics, creed or religion,
A Turk, Jew, or Christian—he's still dear to me.
But ah! there's a flower which, tho' teeming with nectar.
Beneath its fair aspect screen's Misery's dart,
So artfully veil'd that it mocks a detecter,
Till press'd to the bosom it pierces the heart.
Beneath its fair aspect screen's Misery's dart,
So artfully veil'd that it mocks a detecter,
Till press'd to the bosom it pierces the heart.
But still to a bosom susceptibly placid,
The anguish of Love will but heighten its joy;
As the bev'rage uniting a sweet with an acid
Is grateful, when nectar untemper'd would cloy.
The anguish of Love will but heighten its joy;
As the bev'rage uniting a sweet with an acid
Is grateful, when nectar untemper'd would cloy.
The bramble of Avarice others may nourish,
Exhausting Life's soil of its virtues and strength;
I'll stray where the plants of Beneficence flourish,
And the generous vine winds its serpentine length.
Exhausting Life's soil of its virtues and strength;
I'll stray where the plants of Beneficence flourish,
And the generous vine winds its serpentine length.
Let misers pursue their mean sordid employment,
And hoard up their treasures for life's latest scenes:
I'll waste not the moments allow'd for enjoyment,
Nor squander the season in gaining the means.
And hoard up their treasures for life's latest scenes:
I'll waste not the moments allow'd for enjoyment,
Nor squander the season in gaining the means.
Our object is happiness—ne'er could we miss it,
In life's varied path, if the talent were ours
From all we encounter some good to elicit,
As bees gather sweets from the meanest of flowers.
In life's varied path, if the talent were ours
From all we encounter some good to elicit,
As bees gather sweets from the meanest of flowers.
17
Then pluck every blossom of Happiness blooming;
Leave birds of contention and play with the dove;
And our path, soon the flush of enchantment assuming,
Will glow an Elysium of Pleasure and Love.
Leave birds of contention and play with the dove;
And our path, soon the flush of enchantment assuming,
Will glow an Elysium of Pleasure and Love.
| The poems, odes, songs, and other metrical effusions, of Samuel Woodworth | |