Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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 | Alfred |  |
‘Ask of the world's great Author, to subdue
‘All evil in thy heart, but chiefly, wrath—
‘The source of ills unnumber'd, which, around,
‘Spreads direful burdens—making hell of earth,
‘And fiends of men. Sigbert! remember thou—
‘This shadowy world, this transient state of being,
‘But ill deserves of man, the sacrifice
‘Anger demands. What is there here on earth
‘Deserving passion? what below the sky
‘Worthy a creature's wrath? Few are our days,
‘And all our little evils, sent to cleanse
‘Minds wayward, and our faculties, from dross,
‘Debasing, and unworthy that high name—
‘The sons of God. Precious to Heaven is he,
‘Who sees, in mortal things, their real worth,
‘And looks beyond them! Here on earth we sow,
‘After, we reap the fruit. The race is here,
‘The prize hereafter. Here the ocean raves,
‘There is our haven. And that man shall find,
‘Who thro' this howling wilderness preserves
‘Spotless his mind, and in a tainted world
‘Holds converse with his Maker; sees how great
‘The worth of holiness, and truly knows
‘How to respect himself, and to preserve
‘God's temple pure, still trusting in His name,
‘Our only righteousness! that man shall find
‘Life's evils fleeting, and his mind prepared
‘For the fruition, full, unspeakable,
‘God hath reserved above.—
‘All evil in thy heart, but chiefly, wrath—
‘The source of ills unnumber'd, which, around,
‘Spreads direful burdens—making hell of earth,
‘And fiends of men. Sigbert! remember thou—
‘This shadowy world, this transient state of being,
‘But ill deserves of man, the sacrifice
‘Anger demands. What is there here on earth
‘Deserving passion? what below the sky
‘Worthy a creature's wrath? Few are our days,
‘And all our little evils, sent to cleanse
‘Minds wayward, and our faculties, from dross,
‘Debasing, and unworthy that high name—
‘The sons of God. Precious to Heaven is he,
‘Who sees, in mortal things, their real worth,
‘And looks beyond them! Here on earth we sow,
‘After, we reap the fruit. The race is here,
‘The prize hereafter. Here the ocean raves,
‘There is our haven. And that man shall find,
‘Who thro' this howling wilderness preserves
‘Spotless his mind, and in a tainted world
‘Holds converse with his Maker; sees how great
260
‘How to respect himself, and to preserve
‘God's temple pure, still trusting in His name,
‘Our only righteousness! that man shall find
‘Life's evils fleeting, and his mind prepared
‘For the fruition, full, unspeakable,
‘God hath reserved above.—
| Alfred | |