Classic Poem

'T IS sweet to view in safety from the shore
A vessel rolling on the stormy main;
Pleas'd to escape ourselves the dang'rous roar,
Not that we triumph in another's pain.
'Tis sweet, when loud conflicting cannons pour
Their ghastly rage, to view the gleamy plain,
Where neighing steeds toss high the floating mane,
And trample warriors gasping in their gore.
But sweeter far the tranquil heights to gain.
Of Wisdom, rais'd above the madding crowd;
Thence to look down on all their tumults vain
And needless fears, as through the maze they stray
Of Error, lost in Superstition's cloud,
Where darkling still they roam, and find no day.