WHAT shall I shape my life to gain? Not Riches; lower mundane things Spread wide their swift elusive wings, And who pursues them strives in vain. Nor Fame; for she fleets faster yet, Or comes not ere the closing tomb; The sun of Glory sets in gloom, And the world hastens to forget. Nor Rank nor Honours. Were it best Dowered of some weaker soul to live, Or bear the jewel none can give, Deep in the heart, not on the breast? Nor Pleasure; for her gains elude The weary seeker's baffled eyes; The wanton spurns him when she flies, Bound fast in hopeless servitude. Nor Love; because its flower divine Blooms with the Morn, nor long can stay, But withers in Life's fuller day And leaves the lonely heart to pine. Nor Beauty; though the fictive hand Fix some faint glimpses; Time the thief Cries, "Art is long, and Life is brief," And slays us ere we understand. Nor Learning; for her laboured page Palls on the soul which nears the Truth; The thirst to know, the haste of Youth, Stir not the slower pulse of Age. To Duty only let me kneel, Her painful circlet on her brow! To her, my Queen, my head shall bow, Not knowing, but content to feel! All faint, all fade, all pass, but She Shines clear for young and aged eyes, High as the peaks which kiss the skies, Profound as the unfathomed sea! |