Poems (Hornblower)/Lines (Deem them not blest whom prosperous fortune guides)
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For works with similar titles, see Lines.
LINES.
Deem them not blest whom prosperous fortune guides
O'er life's smooth shores, or on her level tides;
Who see the sunshine of one cloudless sky,
No warning cloud, no saving breezes nigh,
Do hope and rapture fill then summer sail,
All gaily wafted by the passing gale?
Does every hour some light-winged pleasure give,
Supplied with all fate's richest hand can give?
Deem them not blest—for to their darkened eyes,
A world presents its store of vanities;
Wooes them to taste, to trust, and to admire,
And kindles in the soul each weak desire.
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,
Till the last scene of latest life be trod,
And it is past—a life without a God!
Oh happier they who feel his chastening hand,
And by affliction learn His high command;
Whom sorrow leads to tremble, and adore,
To know Him better, and to seek Him more;
Who, as the world, and its vain hope recedes,
Welcome the brighter prospect that succeeds;
Pour in humility, and hope, their tears,
And with religion hallow all their years.
What though by grief, by pain, by sufferings,
They learnt the value of eternal things;
And the rapt soul, that seemed on earth to hang,
Was slowly weaned by many a silent pang,
And many a bitter conflict—many a strife
Lingered around the vanities of life;
Yet patience, virtue, persevering love,
At length have borne the chastened heart above,
And holier tastes, and purer joys arise,
And peace descends—such peace as glads the skies.
O deem them blest—in every scene they try,
They live as children 'neath their Father's eye,
Guard every virtue, feed each pure desire,
And watch through life o'er the ethereal fire.
Does disappointment sadden o'er their youth,
They seek the refuge of eternal truth;
These only are the joys that cannot fail:
And their hearts glow, although their cheek be pale.
Does strong temptation try them, there they fly,
And put on their immortal panoply,
Own their own weakness, but in Christian strength
Grow strong, and come off conquerors at length,
Higher and holier rising,till at last
Temptation's self shall weaken and be past;
And. making theirs His high and blessed will,
Who bids the human heart beat, or be still,
Resigned, and happy, they receive their lot,
No mortal change to them, where God is not.
Being of Beings! whose unbounded love
Exceeds all thought that human heart can prove:
Whose mercy, felt in every moment's breath,
Guides us through life, and succours us in death;
Whose providential care, whose tenderness,
Nor mind can reach, nor human power express;
To whom the incense of one grateful prayer,
From the weak creatures thou hast made thy care.
Is more than all the pomp of sacrifice;
Who, though enthroned beyond the radiant skies,
Yet watchest mortal virtue—to thy shrine
Would I devote this humble verse of mine,
Aware, though million worlds seek thy behest,
Yet is Thy temple in the human breast.
O'er life's smooth shores, or on her level tides;
Who see the sunshine of one cloudless sky,
No warning cloud, no saving breezes nigh,
Do hope and rapture fill then summer sail,
All gaily wafted by the passing gale?
Does every hour some light-winged pleasure give,
Supplied with all fate's richest hand can give?
Deem them not blest—for to their darkened eyes,
A world presents its store of vanities;
Wooes them to taste, to trust, and to admire,
And kindles in the soul each weak desire.
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,
Till the last scene of latest life be trod,
And it is past—a life without a God!
Oh happier they who feel his chastening hand,
And by affliction learn His high command;
Whom sorrow leads to tremble, and adore,
To know Him better, and to seek Him more;
Who, as the world, and its vain hope recedes,
Welcome the brighter prospect that succeeds;
Pour in humility, and hope, their tears,
And with religion hallow all their years.
What though by grief, by pain, by sufferings,
They learnt the value of eternal things;
And the rapt soul, that seemed on earth to hang,
Was slowly weaned by many a silent pang,
And many a bitter conflict—many a strife
Lingered around the vanities of life;
Yet patience, virtue, persevering love,
At length have borne the chastened heart above,
And holier tastes, and purer joys arise,
And peace descends—such peace as glads the skies.
O deem them blest—in every scene they try,
They live as children 'neath their Father's eye,
Guard every virtue, feed each pure desire,
And watch through life o'er the ethereal fire.
Does disappointment sadden o'er their youth,
They seek the refuge of eternal truth;
These only are the joys that cannot fail:
And their hearts glow, although their cheek be pale.
Does strong temptation try them, there they fly,
And put on their immortal panoply,
Own their own weakness, but in Christian strength
Grow strong, and come off conquerors at length,
Higher and holier rising,till at last
Temptation's self shall weaken and be past;
And. making theirs His high and blessed will,
Who bids the human heart beat, or be still,
Resigned, and happy, they receive their lot,
No mortal change to them, where God is not.
Being of Beings! whose unbounded love
Exceeds all thought that human heart can prove:
Whose mercy, felt in every moment's breath,
Guides us through life, and succours us in death;
Whose providential care, whose tenderness,
Nor mind can reach, nor human power express;
To whom the incense of one grateful prayer,
From the weak creatures thou hast made thy care.
Is more than all the pomp of sacrifice;
Who, though enthroned beyond the radiant skies,
Yet watchest mortal virtue—to thy shrine
Would I devote this humble verse of mine,
Aware, though million worlds seek thy behest,
Yet is Thy temple in the human breast.