University of Virginia Library

Thou, who may'st not have fixed upon the prize
For which on life's arena thou will strive,
Come to the tomb, and, as its doors unfold
To give admittance to the weary guests,
Who fast are gathering at the destined goal,
Cast in thy glance, and ask the inmates here
What 's worth the winning!
Is it Beauty's palm
That shall enkindle thy supreme desire?
'T is here a withered thing, thrown by, forgot!
On Beauty's features, see, her sister feeds
Not with the better zest, that they were once
Bright with the rose and lily, and the light
Of an immortal spark!
Is Power thine aim?
The phantom! how it vanishes from sight!
Here lies the head, that nodded kingdoms down;
The hand that moved, and nations felt the shock!
Bid them but lift themselves, and they will prove
The date, the worth of power!
Does Pleasure hold
Her sweet allurements out for thy pursuit?
Beware! beware! see on this new-cut stone
The name of him who lived not half his days!
He swam in Pleasure's sea, and was ingulfed
By giddy whirlpool, ere his sun had gained
Its mid-day height!
Hast thou a steady eye
To Honor, Splendor, Glory, Fame, or Gold,
As an attainment worth the toil of life,
The mortal race?
The mighty leveller
Admits of no distinction where he reigns,
Save 'twixt himself and those beneath his throne.

Honor!—Oh, how it dwindles into nought!
None shrinks aside to yield the highest place
To him, who cometh where the sleepers are!

Splendor!—the covering of the vassal's couch
Is bright as his, whose fitful, guilty dream
Was under silken drapery! Lord and slave,
In death's calm fellowship, sleep side by side.

Glory!—The damps and shadows of the grave
Put out the brightest halo earth can light!

Fame!—Can her trump delight this slumberer;
Or pour in sweetness to his heavy ear?
Her loudest blast is passing, empty air
To him, who here retires to lay him down,
Crushing the laurels he has proudly worn!

Gold!—Is the miser clenching here the key
To wealth, for which he sold the key of heaven?
His gold is strewn, as dust upon the wind,
Though he, who bought it with eternal life,
Hugged it until he felt his soul required,
And earth, withdrawing, leave him to the waves
That take the dross, which never shall consume!

Shall aught of these invite thee?
“Oh! no! no!
Beauty—may that of holiness be mine!
May power be given me to o'ercome the world!
For pleasure, may I have a hand to pour
The oil and wine upon another's wound!
For honor, may I bear my Saviour's cross;
For splendor, light that from his follower beams;
And be my glory, his approving smile.
My fame, the world's reproaches for his sake;
My wealth, a conscience where no rust corrodes—
One that may look into a coming world,
As nature shall dissolve, and feel secure!
With these to aid me in the mortal strife,
May I the palm of victory o'er the grave
Make my immortal prize!”