Tho’ all men aim at happiness,
And some their boasted schemes profess,
Yet few, alas! too few we find,
Take the right course, by nature blind.
Th’ ambitious man directs his way
Thro’ title, honours, night and day:
The miser hovers o’er his gold,
With heaps on heaps, each farthing told:
But sooner or later they’ll perceive,
These trifling things the mind bereave
Of ev’ry solid, dear delight,
The soul o’erspread with gloom of night;
That envied titles, honours, fame,
Are but a sounding, empty name:
That riches fly on wings away;
The brightest name will soon decay:
Yet riches ne’er will satisfy, }
Tho’ e’er so certain, still they cloy }
The dupe, that on them doth rely. }
Still surer doth the sensualist
His pleasures, and his good resist;
With loss of health, misfortunes rues
The man, who sensual paths pursues:
For pleasures dissipate the mind,
Bring on diseases, death unkind;
Ruin his fortune, robs his soul
Of all true joy, without controul.
The philosophic sage also,
Unless the fear of God he know,
Unless his Maker’s works he scan, }
Is but a poor bewilder’d man; }
Much knowledge will more sorrows gain. }
But he who would true pleasure find,
Delight of a superior kind,
Must firmly virtue’s steps pursue,
To worldly folly bid adieu;
Dispos’d, all heav’n’s decrees to meet
With fortitude, or harsh, or sweet;
If fortune blows in prosp’rous gales,
Or adverse wind his skiff assails,
Still he is happy, pleas’d, content,
With what kind heav’n, not him hath sent;
Nor pines with grief, himself alone }
Bears all the shock of fortune’s frown, }
Untouch’d, resign’d, God’s will his own: }
In patience tastes a greater joy,
Than all the world’s variety.
Religion doth a good afford,
To all, with gladsome pleasure stor’d,
Such as the world to give in vain }
May boast for all its pleasures pain, }
Compar’d with virtue’s smiling train, }
Of joy refin’d, of peace and health,
The greatest good, the best of wealth.
For there’s that sweetness, and that peace
In virtue’s blessed, wholesome ways,
Which no disaster can defeat,
Its transports so divinely great.
Who would not then this course pursue,
Which only leads to bliss, and pleasures ever new?
NEW-YORK: _+Printed by THOMAS BURLING, Jun. No. 115, Cherry-street+--
where +Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 6s. per quarter) will be
gratefully received--And at No. 33, +Oliver-Street+._
* * * * *
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_UTILE DULCI._
THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE;
or, Miscellaneous Repository.
+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, February 8, 1797.+ [+No. 84.+
For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+.
ESSAYIST. No. III.
“Fav’rite of heaven and friend of earth!
Philanthropy, benignant power!
Whose sons display no doubtful worth,
The pageant of the passing hour.”
HALEY’s ode to HOWARD.
In man there appears to be a natural affection for his fellow creatures,
this as a general remark is evident, when the whole bulk of mankind is
considered; but if we descend to particulars and examine how his
affection exists, with regard to individuals, how often do we find him
defective. Some under the smiling aspect of friendship conceal the
envenomed sting of hatred, while others openly declare their enmity. But
philanthropy extends its kindness to all whether friend or foe. It
encircles in the arms of love, alike the rich and poor--the bondman and
the free. Anger, revenge, and all the rougher passions which divest the
mind of its serenity, and immerse it in gloom and despondence, as if
driven by supernatural power, fly at its approach. It delights to assist
the distressed and infuse hope and comfort into the heart almost broken
by misfortune. The soul that is warmed by the genial sparks of
philanthropy and benevolence, looks with pleasure on his companions,
feels himself interested in all their transactions, and participates in
their prosperity. The persecuted are ever sure to find in him a
protector, and the wretched a friend. He exposes himself to the breath
of contagion, that he may bring assistance to those who are sinking
under the accumulated load of poverty and disease. He explores the
gloomy dungeon and softens the bonds of the captive: his whole life
presents a series of benevolent and worthy actions. Such is the
philanthropist; justly admired by the world at large, and sincerely
beloved by the small circle of his friends.
And such was Howard---the benevolent, the philanthropic Howard--more
worthy of our admiration and more deserving of our envy, while imbibing
the deadly vapours of the lazaretto, or exposing his constitution to the
chill damps of the subterranean dungeon, than pompous royalty clothed
with the ensigns of power and encircled with all the splendors of a
court.