Classic Poem

If join'd to make up virtue's glorious tale,
A weak, but pious aid can aught avail,
Each sacred study, each diviner page
That once inspir'd my youth, shall soothe my age.
Deaf to ambition, and to interest's call;
Honour my titles, and enough my all;
No pimp of pleasure, and no slave of state,
Serene from fools, and guiltless of the great,
Some calm and undisturb'd retreat I'll choose
Dear to myself and friends. Perhaps the Muse
May grant, while all my thoughts her charms employ,
If not a future fame, a present joy,
Pure from each feverish hope, each weak desire;
Thoughts that improve, and slumbers that inspire,
A stedfast peace of mind, rais'd far above
The guilt of hate and weaknesses of love;
Studious of life, yet free from anxious care,
To others candid, to myself severe:
Filial, submissive to the Sovereign Will,
Glad of the good, and patient of the ill;
I'll work in narrow sphere what Heaven approves,
Abating hatreds, and increasing loves,
My friendship, studies, pleasures, all my own,
Alike to envy, and to fame unknown:
Such in some blest asylum let me lie,
Take of my fill of life, and wait, not wish to die.