( 69 )
Why mourn the dead? you wrong the grave,
from storm that safe resort;
We still are tossing out at sea,
our admiral in port.
from storm that safe resort;
We still are tossing out at sea,
our admiral in port.
Was death deny'd, this world, a scene
how dismal and forlorn?
To death we owe, that 'tis to man
a blessing to be born;
how dismal and forlorn?
To death we owe, that 'tis to man
a blessing to be born;
When every other blessing fails,
or sapp'd by slow decay,
Or, storm'd by sudden blasts of fate,
is swiftly whirl'd away;
or sapp'd by slow decay,
Or, storm'd by sudden blasts of fate,
is swiftly whirl'd away;
How happy! that no storm, or time,
of death can rob the just?
None pluck from their unaching heads
soft pillows in the dust?
of death can rob the just?
None pluck from their unaching heads
soft pillows in the dust?
Well pleas'd to bear heav'n's darkest frown,
your utmost pow'r employ;
'Tis noble chymistry to turn
necessity to joy.
your utmost pow'r employ;
'Tis noble chymistry to turn
necessity to joy.
Whate'er the colour of my fate,
my fate shall be my choice:
Determin'd am I, whilst I breathe,
to praise and to rejoice;
my fate shall be my choice:
Determin'd am I, whilst I breathe,
to praise and to rejoice;
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