202
See, to her scenes they rush in frantic haste,
All her delusion, all her folly taste;
In crowded scenes they waste their youthful health,
In midnight visits spend the heart's best wealth;
In fashion's fooleries lose each nobler aim,
And every manly wish for better fame.
Where is the generous hope, the great design,
In those who study but to dress and shine;
Lose all superior thought and holier trust,
To hold communion with the things of dust;
Sparkle a moment, like some gilded fly,
Flutter away their being, and then die?
O is this life? is this that sacred gift,
The soul to virtue and to heaven to lift,
Given in the circle of this fleeting time,
To sow the seed for a celestial clime;
To cultivate those feelings, hopes, and deeds,
To which eternal happiness succeeds;
And teach to blossom, 'mid the thorns of earth,
The flowers whose beauty is of heavenly birth?
What! is this life? to every scene to fly,
Yet ne'er to the Great Giver raise the eye;
To view his power in nature's wide expanse,
Yet never lift up one adoring glance;
In the world's mockeries still to play a part,
Till pride and vanity obscure the heart,
All her delusion, all her folly taste;
In crowded scenes they waste their youthful health,
In midnight visits spend the heart's best wealth;
In fashion's fooleries lose each nobler aim,
And every manly wish for better fame.
Where is the generous hope, the great design,
In those who study but to dress and shine;
Lose all superior thought and holier trust,
To hold communion with the things of dust;
Sparkle a moment, like some gilded fly,
Flutter away their being, and then die?
O is this life? is this that sacred gift,
The soul to virtue and to heaven to lift,
Given in the circle of this fleeting time,
To sow the seed for a celestial clime;
To cultivate those feelings, hopes, and deeds,
To which eternal happiness succeeds;
And teach to blossom, 'mid the thorns of earth,
The flowers whose beauty is of heavenly birth?
What! is this life? to every scene to fly,
Yet ne'er to the Great Giver raise the eye;
To view his power in nature's wide expanse,
Yet never lift up one adoring glance;
In the world's mockeries still to play a part,
Till pride and vanity obscure the heart,
