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Hymns and Poems

Original and Translated: By Edward Caswall ... Second Edition

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
XIV. TO ONE COMPLAINING OF LIFE'S MONOTONY.
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 LI. 
 LII. 
 LIII. 
 LIV. 
 LV. 
 LVI. 
 LVII. 
 LVIII. 
 LIX. 
 LX. 


433

XIV. TO ONE COMPLAINING OF LIFE'S MONOTONY.

Dear Friend, you make no new complaint,
But one, I think, we've heard before,
Made by a certain royal scribe
Dissatisfied in days of yore.
He too of life's unchanging round
Grew weary as the years went by;
He wearied of the feast and song,
And all his royalty could buy:
He wearied of his gardens fair,
And palaces of curious art!
Of still unsated eye and ear,
Of still unsated mind and heart.
He wearied of the ways of men,
So like in virtue as in sin;
He wearied of the seas unfill'd
By all the rivers flowing in;
He wearied of the rivers all
Returning back from whence they came;
Of nothing new beneath the sun;
Of all things ever still the same.
Yet there's a thought, which might outweigh,
Could we but duly feel its force,
This sense of sameness which our life
Brings with it in its daily course;
So I at least have seem'd to find,
Myself a fellow-victim too;
And as an antidote I now
Commend it, dearest Friend, to you;—

434

The thought of that momentous change
So quickly, quickly, drawing near,
Surpassing all we can conceive
Of all excess of changes here!
O Change intense!—from life to death!
O state to which it leads the way!
A state of which no human words
The proper image can convey!
Because no images subsist
Save what the senses first supply
But all the senses fail to reach
Beyond the limit where we die!
Great God! no more in listless ease,
Or dreariness of dull routine,
Be mine to doze upon the verge
Of everlasting worlds unseen.
But mindful of my coming doom
To endless weal or endless woe,
So let me use thy solemn trust
Of this diurnal life below;
That at the last, O Love divine,
I be not all unworthy found
Of what Thy bounty may design
In that eternal life beyond!