 | A Collection of Original Poems |  |
On OLD AGE.
A Soliloquy.
Happy the man—his giddy circuit run,
Who virtue's purer joys can call his own;
In peaceful thought, who thinks his follies o'er,
By youth's strong passion tost, and vext no more;
Without one wish, those follies to repeat,
Without one sigh, prepar'd this world to quit,
And risk the next, without the least regret.
Or long—or short the date, it matters not;
Be this, kind heav'n, thy humble creature's lot!—
Who virtue's purer joys can call his own;
In peaceful thought, who thinks his follies o'er,
By youth's strong passion tost, and vext no more;
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Without one sigh, prepar'd this world to quit,
And risk the next, without the least regret.
Or long—or short the date, it matters not;
Be this, kind heav'n, thy humble creature's lot!—
So when the setting sun's more sober light,
Slopes downward, and brings on the sable night;
Chearful we bless his mild, his parting ray,
Too strongly dazzled with his brighter day.
Slopes downward, and brings on the sable night;
Chearful we bless his mild, his parting ray,
Too strongly dazzled with his brighter day.
| A Collection of Original Poems | |