Countless the blessings showered in its flight;
And seeming evils, turned and viewed aright,
May prove but passing clouds, and lined with light.
Our trust, deceived in earthly things, may teach
The restless, eager spirit to forego
Her crushing grasp on hollow hopes, that grow
Like fragile reeds, to mock her hold below;
And after higher, holier joys to reach.
Time, then our nobler aspirations raise!
Since few, and short, and fleeting are our days;
And since, so peaceful are her pleasant ways,
Teach us to wisdom to apply the heart:
So that, when thou hast safely led us through
Thy kingdom, with a brighter land in view,
Calm at thy bourn, and with a kind adieu,
We may, as friends, shake hands with thee and part.
[MY HEAD.]
“The day is come I never thought to see!
Strange revolutions of my farm and me.”
Dryden’s Virgil.
My head! my head! the day is come
I never, never thought to see;
When all, with fingers and a thumb,
May to thy chambers have a key!
That is, if thou wouldst but submit
To come beneath the learned touch,
And let the judge in judgment sit
Upon thy bumps, that prove so much.
I used to think our heads might let
Their own contents, at will, be shown;
I never thought mankind could get
An outward way to make them known.