No True Happiness Below

By daily observation are we taught
(Experience too confirms the mournful truth)
That perfect bliss on earth is never found.
When roses, gay and blooming, strew the path,
Sharp thorns intrude among them, scattered thick.
Nor can we scape unwounded; sense of pain
Forbids delight; and all we ask is ease.
We taste a moment's ease; our wishes rise
In vain for happiness, the restless sigh
Still heaves, the painful vacancy remains.
If pleasure laughs a moment, is the joy,
Or is the sigh which follows, most sincere?
When sweet content serenely smiles around,
Like a fair summer evening, ah, how soon
The charming scene is lost! the deep'ning shades
Prevail, and night approaches dark and sad,
Till the last beam faint-glimm'ring dies away.

Father of spirits, who hast form'd my soul
Capacious of immortal happiness,
O send a beam of heav'n, dispel the gloom,
Direct my upward view, and point my path
To thee, in whom alone my soul can find
That perfect bliss I seek in vain below.