In fame some search for bliss,
   Some seek content in gain,
In search of happiness
   Some give the slackened rein
      To passions fierce,
         And down the stream
      Through giddy life,
         Of pleasures dream.

These all mistake the way,
   As many more have done: 
The narrow path of bliss
   Through God’s Eternal Son
      Directly tends;
         And only he
      Who treads this path
         Can happy be.

Who anchors all above
   Has still a happy lot,
Though doomed for life to dwell
   E’en in a humble cot,
      And when he lays
         This covering down
      He’ll wear a bright
         Immortal crown.

THE RAINBOW.

The shower is past, and the sky
   O’erhead is both mild and serene,
Save where a few drops from on high,
   Like gems, twinkle over the green: 
And glowing fair, in the black north,
   The rainbow o’erarches the cloud;
The sun in his glory comes forth,
   And larks sweetly warble aloud.

That dismally grim northern sky
   Says God in His vengeance once frowned,
And opened His flood-gates on high,
   Till obstinate sinners were drowned: 
The lively bright south, and that bow,
   Say all this dread vengeance is o’er;
These colours that smilingly glow
   Say we shall be deluged no more.

Ever blessed be those innocent days,
   Ever sweet their remembrance to me;
When often, in silent amaze,
   Enraptured, I’d gaze upon thee! 
Whilst arching adown the black sky
   Thy colours glowed on the green hill,
To catch thee as lightning I’d fly,
   But aye you eluded my skill.

From hill unto hill your gay scene
   You shifted—­whilst crying aloud,
I ran, till at length from the green,
   You shifted, at once to the cloud! 
So, vain worldly phantoms betray
   The youths who too eager pursue,
When ruined and far led astray,
   Th’ illusion escapes from their view.

Those peaceable days knew no care,
   Except what arose from my play,
My favourite lambkin and hare,
   And cabin I built o’er the way. 
No cares did I say?  Ah!  I’m wrong: 
   Even childhood from cares is not free: 
Far distant I see a grim throng
   Shake horrible lances at me!

One day—­I remember it still—­
   For pranks I had played on the clown
Who lived on the neighbouring hill,
   My cabin was trod to the ground. 
Who ever felt grief such as I
   When crashed by this terrible blow? 
Not Priam, the monarch of Troy,
   When all his proud towers lay low.

And grief upon grief was my lot: 
   Soon after, my lambkin was slain;
My hare, having strayed from its cot,
   Was chased by the hounds o’er the plain. 
What countless calamities teem
   From memory’s page on my view!—­
How trifling soever you seem,
   Yet once I have wept over you.