Classic Poem

Nature courts happiness, although it be
Unknown as the Athenian Deity
It dwells not in man's sence, but he supplys
That want by growing fond of its disguise
The false appearances of Joy deceive,
And seeking her unto her like we cleave;
For sinking man hath scarce sence left to know
Whether the Plank he grasps will hold or no;
While all the business of the world is this:
To seek that good which by mistake they misse;
And all the severall passions men expresse
Are but for pleasure in a diff'rent dresse
They hope for happiness in being Great,
Or rich, or lov'd, then hug their own conceit;
And those which promise what they never had
I'th' midst of Laughter leave the Spirit sad
But the Good man can find this Treasure out,
For which in vaine others doe dig and doubt;
And hath such secret full content within,
Though all abroad be stormes, yet he can sing
His peace is made; all's quiet in that place
Where Nature's tun'd and exercis'd by Grace.
His inward calme prevents his Enemys,
For he can neither envy nor despise:
But in the beauty of his ordred mind
Doth still a new rich satisfaction find
Innocent Epicure! whose single Brest
Can furnish him with a continuall Feast.
A Prince at home! and Scepters can refuse;
Valuing onely what he cannot loose.
He study's to doe good, (a man may be
Harmeless for want of opportunity:)
But hee's industrious kindness to dispence,
And therein onely covets Eminence.
Others doe court applause and fame, but he
Thinks all that giddy noise but Vanity
He takes no paines to be observ'd or seen,
While all his acts are eccho'd from within
Hee's still himself when company are gone,
Too well employ'd ever to be alone;
For studying God in all his volumes, he
Begins the business of Eternity;
And unconcern'd without, retains a pow'r
To suck (like Bees) a sweet from every Flower
And as the Manna of the Israellites
Had severall tasts to please all appetites:
So his contentment is that Catholique food,
That makes all states seem fit as well as good.
He dares not wish, nor his own fate propound;
But (if God sends) reads Love in every wound:
And would not loose, for all the Joys of sence,
The Glorious pleasure of Obedience.
His better part can neither change nor loose,
And all God's will can doe, and beare, and choose.