Classic Poem

Poor were the pleasures of the feast
Persia's high monarch held;
Though all the luxury of the east
The sumptuous banquet swell'd.

The luscious dish and flavorous bowl
A flash of rapture give:
But starving, dying, is the soul;
Only the senses live.

Raise nobler appetites in me,
My God, exalt my taste;
Thy will my meal, and hope in thee
My festival repast.

There vast unlimited desires
Untir'd fruition find.
Fruition still new thirst inspires,
For new delights design'd.

There lively and heart-strength'ning joys
From self-inspection flow;
While life divine each hour employs;
A paradise below!

With meditation's wing the soul
Springs, up th' eternal hills:
At length, the stars beneath her roll,
And heav'n her bliss fulfills.