It hopes in time to roam no more.
The mariner, not vainly brave,
Combats the storm, and rides the wave,
To rest at last on shore.
Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe,
How vain your mask of state;
The good alone have joy sincere,
The good alone are great!
Great, when amid the vale of peace,
They bid the plaint of sorrow cease,