Classic Poem

Alas! how great and num'rous pains
The little space of life contains!
We think that happiness we've found,
Whilst dangers thick, unseen, are round.
Still on this stormy ocean tost,
Our darling schemes and wishes crost;
Unable to allay our care,
We scarce can hope, nor must despair,
To all the same distresses fall,
And must be felt alike by all;
Nor virtue in the human frame
Can from its ills exemption claim.
But see a nobler prospect rise,
To those, whom now affliction tries,
If firmly they support the load,
And humbly trust for aid to God:
Though now they with the storm contend,
They'll reach the haven in the end,
And learn with gratitude to prize
The ills that led them to the skies.