1 If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breasts this jewel lies;
And they are fools who roam.
The world has little to bestow:
From our own selves our joys must flow;
Our bliss begins at home.
2 We'll therefore relish with content
Whate'er kind providence has sent,
Nor aim beyond our pow'r:
And if our store of wealth be small,
With thankful heart improve it all,
Nor waste the present hour.
3 To be resign'd, when ills betide,
Patient, when favours are denied,
And pleas'd with favours giv'n:
This is the wise, the virtuous part:
This is that incense f the heart,
Whose fragrance reaches heav'n.
4 Thus thro' life's changing scenes we'll go,
Its checker'd paths of joy and woe
With cautious steps we'll tread;
Quit its vain scenes without a tear;
Without a trouble or a fear,
And mingle with the dead:
5 While conscience, like a faithful friend,
Shall thro' the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath;
Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel, whisper peace,
And smooth the bed of death.
|First Line:||If solid happiness we prize|