Emblems

You rose, that bows her graceful head to hail
The welcome visitant that brings the morn,
And spreads her leaves to gather from the gale
The coolness on its early pinions borne,
Listing the music of its whisper'd tale,
And giving stores of perfume in return —
Though fair she seem, full many a thorn doth hide;
Perhaps a worm pollutes her bosom's pride.
Yon oak, that proudly throws his arms on high,
Threshing the air that flies their frequent strokes,
And lifts his haughty crest towards the sky,
Daring the thunder that its height provokes,
And spreads his foliage wide, a shelter nigh,
From noonday heats to guard the weary flocks —
Though strong he seem, must dread the bursting storm,
And e'en the malice of the feeble worm,
The moon, that sits so lightly on her throne,
Gliding majestic on her silent way,
And sends her silvery beam serenely down,
'Mong waving boughs and frolic leaves to play,
To sleep upon the bank with moss o'ergrown,
Or on the clear waves, clearer far than they —
Seems purity itself; but if again
We look, and closely, we perceive a stain.
Fit emblems all, of those unworthy joys
On which our passions and our hopes dilate:
We wound ourselves to seize on Pleasure's toys,
Nor see their worthlessness until too late;
And Power, with all its pomp and all its noise,
Meets oft a sudden and a hapless fate;
And Fame of gentle deeds and daring high,
Is often stain'd by blots of foulest dye.
Where then shall man, by his Creator's hand
Gifted with feelings that must have an aim,
Aspiring thoughts and hopes, a countless band;
Affections glowing with a quenchless flame,
And passions, too, in dread array that stand,
To aid his virtue or to stamp his shame:
Where shall he fix a soul thus form'd and given?
Fix it on God, and it shall rise to Heaven.