This page needs to be proofread.
20
The Complaint.
Night 2.
And, feeling, fly to labour for his cure;
Not, blund'ring split, on idleness for ease,
Life's care's are comforts; such by heav'n design'd:
He that has none, must make them, or be wretched▪
Cares are employments; and without employ
The soul is on a rack; the rack of rest,
To souls most adverse, action all their joy.
Here, then, the riddle, mark'd above, unfolds;
Then time turns torment, when man turns a fool.
We rave, we wrestle with great nature's plan;
We thwart the Deity; and 'tis decreed,
Who thwart His will, shall contradict their own:
Hence our unnatural quarrel with ourselves;
Our thoughts at enmity; our bosom broil;
We push time from us, and we wish him back;
Lavish of lustrums, and yet fond of life;
Life we think long, and short; death seek, and shun;
Body and soul, like peevish man and wife,
United jar, and yet are loth to part.
Oh the dark days of vanity! while here,
How [...]asteless! and how terrible, when gone!
Gone? they [...]e'er go; when past, they haunt, us still;
The spirit walks of ev'ry day deceas'd;
And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns.
Nor death, nor life delight us. If time past,
And time postest, both pain us, what can please?
That which the Deity to please ordain'd,
Time us'd. The man who consecrates his hours
By vig'rous effort, and an honest aim,
At once he draws the sting of life and death;
He walks with nature; and her paths are peace.
Our error's cause and cure are seen: She next
Time's nature, origin, importance, speed;
And thy great gain from urging his career.—
All sensual man, because untouch'd, unseen,
Not, blund'ring split, on idleness for ease,
Life's care's are comforts; such by heav'n design'd:
He that has none, must make them, or be wretched▪
Cares are employments; and without employ
The soul is on a rack; the rack of rest,
To souls most adverse, action all their joy.
Here, then, the riddle, mark'd above, unfolds;
Then time turns torment, when man turns a fool.
We rave, we wrestle with great nature's plan;
We thwart the Deity; and 'tis decreed,
Who thwart His will, shall contradict their own:
Hence our unnatural quarrel with ourselves;
Our thoughts at enmity; our bosom broil;
We push time from us, and we wish him back;
Lavish of lustrums, and yet fond of life;
Life we think long, and short; death seek, and shun;
Body and soul, like peevish man and wife,
United jar, and yet are loth to part.
Oh the dark days of vanity! while here,
How [...]asteless! and how terrible, when gone!
Gone? they [...]e'er go; when past, they haunt, us still;
The spirit walks of ev'ry day deceas'd;
And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns.
Nor death, nor life delight us. If time past,
And time postest, both pain us, what can please?
That which the Deity to please ordain'd,
Time us'd. The man who consecrates his hours
By vig'rous effort, and an honest aim,
At once he draws the sting of life and death;
He walks with nature; and her paths are peace.
Our error's cause and cure are seen: She next
Time's nature, origin, importance, speed;
And thy great gain from urging his career.—
All sensual man, because untouch'd, unseen,
