POWER: BOOK III. THE ARGUMENT. Solomon considers man through the several stages and con· ditions of life; and concludes in general, that we are all miserable. He reflects more particularly upon the trouble and uncertainty of greatness and power; gives some instances thereof from Adam down to himself; and still concludes that all is vanity. He reasons again upon life, death, and a future being; finds human wisdom too imperfect to resolve his doubts; has recourse to religion; is informed by an angel what shall happen to himself, his family, and his kingdom, till the redemption of Israel: and, upon the whole, resolves to submit his inquiries and anxieties to the will of his Creator. OME then, my soul: I call thee by that name, Thou busy thing, from whence I know For, knowing that I am, I know thou art; From force of instinct more than choice of will; 10 Conscious of fear or valour, joy or pain, 20 Or if thy great existence would aspire Which now the pile, or sepulchre contains; 30 Whate'er thou art, where'er ordain'd to go (Points which we rather may dispute, than know), Come on, thou little inmate of this breast, Which for thy sake from passions I divest ; For these, thou say'st, raise all the stormy strife, Which hinder thy repose, and trouble life. Be the fair level of thy actions laid, 40 As temperance wills, and prudence may persuade : Be thy affections undisturb'd and clear, Guided to what may great or good appear: 51 Amass'd in man, there justly is beheld To his young sense how various forms appear, 60 70 80 His deeds examin'd by the people's will, 90 101 Thus, through what path soe'er of life we rove, Rage companies our hate, and grief our love: Vex'd with the present moment's heavy gloom, Why seek we brightness from the years to come? Disturb'd and broken like a sick man's sleep, Our troubled thoughts to distant prospects leap: Desirous still what flies us to o'ertake; For hope is but the dream of those that wake: But, looking back, we see the dreadful train Of woes, anew which were we to sustain, We should refuse to tread the path again. Still adding grief, still counting from the first; Judging the latest evils still the worst; And, sadly finding each progressive hour Heighten their number, and augment their Till, by one countless sum of woes oppress'd, Hoary with cares, and ignorant of rest, power: 110 We find the vital springs relax'd and worn: Born to lament, to labour, and to die. 121 131 Pass we the ills, which each man feels or dreads, The weight or fallen, or hanging o'er our heads; The bear, the lion, terrors of the plain, The sheepfold scatter'd, and the shepherd slain; The frequent errors of the pathless wood, The giddy precipice, and the dangerous flood: The noisome pestilence, that in open war Terrible, marches through the midday air, And scatters death; the arrow that by night Cuts the dank mist, and fatal wings its flight; The billowing snow, and violence of the shower, That from the hills disperse their dreadful store, And o'er the vales collected ruin pour; The worm that gnaws the ripening fruit, sad guest, Canker or locust hurtful to infest The blade; while husks elude the tiller's care, And eminence of want distinguishes the year. Pass we the slow disease, and subtil pain, Which our weak frame is destin'd to sustain ; The cruel stone, with congregated war Tearing his bloody way; the cold catarrh, With frequent impulse, and continued strife, Weakening the wasted seats of irksome life; The gout's fierce rack, the burning fever's rage, The sad experience of decay; and age, Herself the sorest ill; while death, and ease, 140 |