Miscellaneous poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Why should we complain of this life's dreary road,
Or the thorns and the thistles that in our path lay?
Has not Heaven a portion of reason bestow'd,
To pass them o'er lightly, or brush them away?
I'll gather life's roses wherever I find them,
And smile at their folly who dread to come near;
Who cast all its joys and its pleasures behind them,
Nor pluck the sweet buds, lest the thorn should appear.

There are sorrows and cares in this life, 'tis well known;
The heart may weep blood, though the cheek may be dry;
But in soothing another's, we lighten our own,
And light falls the tear that fills Sympathy's eye.

Dear Sympathy! thou art the rose without thorns;
Dwell still in my bosom, each care to beguile:
Thy softness the cheerful face ever adorns,
And throws o'er the sad one, a meek patient smile.

Grim Poverty, too, is a thorn in our way—
Ah no! for meek Industry stands by his side;
With cheerful spring flowers she makes the path gay,
And smiles at the frowns and repinings of pride.
Come, strew round thy violets sweetly narcotic;
So calm and refreshing the rest they bestow,
The monarch supreme, or the tyrant despotic,
Such rest can ne'er take, nor such slumbers can know.

And see the gay wreath with which Heaven has bound us,
Society, friendship, and chaste mutual love;
Snatch, snatch the gay flowers! the storm gathers round us;
The roses will fade, and their fragrance remove.

Then bend, humbly bend to the storm as it passes;
Tho' sharp be the thorn that remains on the spray,
Friendship's blossom ne'er fades, and its perfume surpasses
The light summer flowers, which flitted away.