Classic Poem

Short and precarious is the life of man;
The line seems fathomless, but proves a span;
A youth of follies, an old-age of sorrow;
Like flowers, to-day we bloom, we die to-morrow.
Say then, what specious reasons can we give?
And why this longing, fond desire to live?
Blind as we are to what the Lord ordains,
We stretch our troubles, and prolong our pains.
But you, blest genius, dear departed shade,
Now wear a chaplet that shall never fade;
Now fit exalted in those realms of rest,
Where virtue reigns, and innocence is blest.
Relentless death's inevitable doom
Untimely wrapt you in the silent tomb,
Ere the first tender down o'erspread your chin,
A stranger yet to sorrow, and to sin.
As some sweet rose-bud, that has just begun
To ope its damask beauties in the sun,
Cropt by a virgin's hand, remains confest
A sweeter rose-bud in her balmy breast.
Thus the fair youth, when heav'n requir'd his breath,
Sunk, sweetly smiling, in the arms of death;
For endless joys exchanging endless strife,
And bloom'd renew'd in everlasting life.