Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/44

34 But still the ocean craves for more.

'Tis endless labour everywhere!

Sound cannot satisfy the ear,

Light cannot fill the craving eye,

Nor riches half our wants supply;

Pleasure but doubles future pain,

And joy brings sorrow in her train;

Laughter is mad, and reckless mirth—

What does she in this weary earth?

Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ,

Death comes, our labour to destroy;

To snatch the untasted cup away,

For which we toiled so many a day.

What, then, remains for wretched man?

To use life's comforts while he can,

Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows,

Assist his friends, forgive his foes;

Trust God, and keep his statutes still,

Upright and firm, through good and ill;

Thankful for all that God has given,

Fixing his firmest hopes on heaven;

Knowing that earthly joys decay,

But hoping through the darkest day.