Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A58474
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Religion, the only happiness a poem : in a letter to a friend.
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Dawes, William, Sir, 1671-1724.
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1694
(1694)
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Wing R903; ESTC R12713
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9,798
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38
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RELIGION THE Only Happiness A POEM In a Letter to a Friend Quid prius dicam solitis parentis Laudibus qui res hominum Deorum Qui mare terras variisque mundum Temperat Horis Horace Licensed February 23th 1693-94 LONDON Printed by J. R. for Thomas Speed at the Three Crowns near the Royal Exchange in Cornhil MDCXCIV The PREFACE THIS Poem when it was written first was far from being design'd for the Press and only sent me by my Friend as a Private Letter But on the perusal of it I found somewhat in it that affected me extremely which made me thinking it might be beneficial to the Public perswade him to let me have it Printed This I say only to free the Authour from the imputation of Vanity which perhaps some would be too apt to lay on him had he publisht it himself at a time when we have many Good Poets and most men are or at least think themselves tolerable Judges It may be easily objected against such a Poem in general that it is of no use seeing there has been already so many Excellent Treatises in Prose upon the same Subject But the Answer is as obvious for there are many who have not the Patience to read them over yet nevertheless will be drawn to a thing of this Nature under the Notion of Diverting themselves But I needed not to say this in its Defence having before me so Excellent an Example set by the Ingenious Authour of a late Poem Entitled An Anatomy of Atheisme As to this Essay in particular if I may be allow'd to give my Thoughts of it I take it to be as Poetical as the Subject will bear and much more Solid than the Poetry of our Age the more 's the Pity is generally found to be and I am very much deceiv'd if the Reader doth not find in it the two main Ends of Poetry Diversion and Information I shall say no more to its Advantage but submit it to the Public wishing that every one who reads it may find as much Benefit by it as I did for my own particular ADVERTISEMENT IN the Press and will be speedily Published a Book Entituled Conversation in Heaven Part 2d being Sacramental Devotions consisting of Meditations and Prayers Preparatory to a Worthy Receiving of the Holy Communion as also Meditations and Prayers suited to the several Parts both of Administring and Receiving it By Lawrence Smith LLD. Author of the First Part. Printed for Thomas Speed RELIGION THE Only Happiness In a Letter to a Friend ENough my Friend of Love and all its Cares False wandring hopes and true perplexing fears I 'le leave the Barren Soil and try to gain A happier Isle far distant in the main In which alone though Storms around it beat My wearied Soul can find a safe retreat She 's quite fatigu'd by her rough treatment here And by your help a fairer course wou'd steer Religion now be her ambitious Aim A worthy Object of her growing Flame And which alone deserves the Love I paid To a mistaken Goddess I my self had made Tell me by what strange pow'r I was deceiv'd How the false Story was by me believ'd That Happyness cou'd flow from Earthly Love And those weak Flames not kindled from above Which when they shou'd beyond the Clouds aspire And in our Souls produce a Sacred Fire Grow flat and languid with a meaner Joy In Childish Trifles Noble Souls employ Which ne'r can Satisfie and often Cloy Yet this I 'le grant no Crimes our Passions are While bounded in our Souls by a due Care And 't is at least a part of Happyness When bounteous Heav'n our just desires doth bless But when th' Impetuous Torrent bears away Our Anxious Souls into the Stormy Sea And no fair Banks can tempt us to the Coast But that one point from whence our Bark is tost If whilst just Heav'ns but one request deny We crosly slight what ever else w' enjoy Then sure 't is Sin and we 're ingrateful Fools Base to our God and false to our own Souls Religion shews a happier path if we Not vainly slight our own Felicity Than all the false Delights of Sin produce Those treach'rous pleasures which so oft abuse Our easie Sences and thus steal their way Thro' those false Guards which our weak Souls betray They never dare attack the Nobler part With open Force but slily gain the Heart For soon before our unbrib'd Reason all Their baffled Arguments with ease wou'd fall Reason wou'd teach us 't is not Happiness To have a short-liv'd and uncertain Bliss A Joy so mean without Variety It wont so much as bare Diversion be And oh how short are all the Joys of Vice For which we pay such a Prodigious Price Our Souls Eternal Torments must endure For those false Pleasures which our Sins procure In a few hours the Gay Delusion 's fled By which poor Man is to Destruction led Had we the brittle Thread of Destiny In our own hands and cou'd prolong our Day To reach the Space which our Fore-Fathers knew Ere Luxury and thence Diseases grew Nay cou'd we spin it out to make it stretch To the last Limits Time it self shall reach Come to its end it there must cease to be Quite swallowed up in an Eternity And what proportion has one grain of Sand To the unnumber'd Myriads on the Strand Times longest Date will not so much appear If with Eternity you it compare For Finites ne'r so much increas't will be But Finites still and not Eternity But how far short of this must we descend If we to th' common rate of Life attend Yet there has no Millennian State been tri'd 'T is rare one does a Century abide How few to what we call Old Age arrive How small a part of scanty time They live Ask one whose Crutches keep him from the Grave If yet enough of Toilsome Life he have If he 'd resign th' Expiring Snuff unforc'd Consent his parting Soul shou'd be Divorc'd Not yet he cries he hopes a while to live That he may now his Mispent Time retrieve He has not done his Work and feign wou'd stay In all his Pray'rs he adds another Day That Life is short which none can satisfie And none we find are willing yet to die For that Poor Wretch who hasts Untimely Death And who unaskt throws back his hated Breath 'T is not that length of Life 's a Burthen Grown Some mean Despair does urge him to be gone He falsly say's he 's weary of his Life He 'l not quit that if you 'l remove his Grief And hence my Friend the Sinner must deduce Not a small part unfit for his abuse Childhood and Age he must of force resign In one he knows not t'other cannot sin Childhood a Thousand soft Amusements has Diverting Pleasures Recreating Plays With harmless Converse they their time beguile Their Art 's a moving Tear and pleasing Smile With these Endearments they their wishes gain Whose Art