At length, worn down with toil and cold,
The Wanderer sunk upon the heath;
And ere the shepherd loosed his fold,
His weary eyes were closed in death.
The last, the dreaded pang is o’er,
And low he lies, to rise no more!
Such is Life’s journey—’tis a scene
Where joy and grief alternate reign;
Where mixed emotions intervene,
Of hope and fear, of bliss and pain;
Where sunbeams dart, and tempests rage,
In every season, every age.
As through this wilderness we roam,
Fond Hope may wear her sweetest smile,
And tell of happier days to come,
The wearied bosom to beguile;
But vanished is her soothing power,
In disappointment’s languid hour.
Then happiest he whose hopes sublime
Are centred in the joys of heaven;
Calmly adown the stream of time
His peaceful bark shall then be driven.
Firm as the adamantine rock,
His heart shall brave “Misfortune’s rudest shock.”
1804.
