Thou whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou deckt in silken stole, Grave these maxims on thy soul. Life is but a day at most, Sprung from night, in darkness lost: Hope not sunshine every hour, Fear not clouds will always lour. Happiness is but a name, Make content and ease thy aim, Ambition is a meteor-gleam; Fame, an idle restless dream; Peace, the tend'rest flow'r of spring; Pleasures, insects on the wing; Those that sip the dew alone -- Make the butterflies thy own; Those that would the bloom devour -- Crush the locusts, save the flower. For the future be prepar'd, Guard wherever thou can'st guard; But thy utmost duly done, Welcome what thou can'st not shun. Follies past, give thou to air, Make their consequence thy care: Keep the name of Man in mind, And dishonour not thy kind. Reverence with lowly heart Him, whose wondrous work thou art; Keep His Goodness still in view, Thy trust, and thy example, too. Stranger, go! Heaven be thy guide! Quod the Beadsman of Nidside. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GODS OF THE COPYBOOK HEADINGS by RUDYARD KIPLING YEW-TREES by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH PRINCE ALDFRITH'S ITINERARY THROUGH IRELAND by ALDFRITH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 23. AL-KHAFIZ by EDWIN ARNOLD THE STWONEN STEPS by WILLIAM BARNES WALKEN HWOME AT NIGHT by WILLIAM BARNES |