Far distant I see a grim throng
Shake horrible lances at me!

One day--I remember it still--
For pranks I had played on the clown
Who lived on the neighbouring hill,
My cabin was trod to the ground.
Who ever felt grief such as I
When crashed by this terrible blow?
Not Priam, the monarch of Troy,
When all his proud towers lay low.

And grief upon grief was my lot:
Soon after, my lambkin was slain;
My hare, having strayed from its cot,
Was chased by the hounds o'er the plain.
What countless calamities teem
From memory's page on my view!--
How trifling soever you seem,
Yet once I have wept over you.

Then cease, foolish heart, to repine;
No stage is exempted from care:
If you would true happiness find,
Come follow! and I'll show you where.
But, first, let us take for our guide
The Word which Jehovah has penned;
By this the true path is descried
Which leads to a glorious end.