Classic Poem

1

Fruitless the toils which harrass man;
His anxious cares for wealth or pow'r;
Life's longest period's but a span,
And soon he meets his destined hour.

2

Death strikes! fell tyrant! less he lies,
And those that loved him round him mourn;
But vain their tears & vain their sighs,
For life once fled has no return.

3

And is there nothing that can boast,
Its various ills to make us bear?
Is all in disappointment lost,
Without one prospect worth our care?

4

Yes, there's a brighter, a heavenly prize
Deserves our care, our utmost pains;
You blooming fields above the skies,
Where Seraphs sing, where Jesus reigns.

5

With these in view & these our aim,
Life's deepest woes we can support.
And immortality our claim,
Who'll dare to say that life is short?