In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd
And never won. Dream after dream ensues;
And still they dream that they shall still succeed,
And still are disappointed. Rings the world
With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind,
And add two-thirds of the remaining half,
And find the total of their hopes and fears
Dreams, empty dreams."[18]—Cowper's Task.
Let him who would solve this great problem of Happiness go to that parable of nature—the hunted Stag seeking the water-brooks, the thirsty soul seeking its God. God is the home of the soul, and he is away from home who pitches his tent and weaves his heart-affections around anything short of Him. Who has not heard of "home-sickness"—the desolate feelings of the lonely stranger in a strange land? Let affection, and friendship, and pity do what they may to alleviate the pang of distance and separation, though beaming faces be around, and hands of love and sympathy be extended, still will the heart (despite of all) be roaming the old hallowed haunts, climbing in thought the hills of childhood, gazing on the old village church with its festoons of ivy, seated under the aged elm, or listening to the music of the passing brook and the music of voices sweeter and lovelier than all! The soul is that stranger, dwelling in the tents of Kedar, and panting for Heaven and God. Its language is, "I am not at home, I am a stranger here." Manifold, too, are the voices in this the land of its exile, whispering, "Arise ye and depart, for this is NOT your rest!"[19]