Dreams of bliss by reason banish'd,
Early joys that quickly vanish'd,
And the treasured past appears
Only to augment our tears;
When, within itself retreating,
The spirit owns life's joys are fleeting,
Yet, racked with anxious doubts and fears,
Trusts, blindly trusts to future years.
"Oh, this is grief, the preacher saith,--
The world's dark woe that worketh death!