Man.
By Thomas Frederick Young
One day I sat me down to write,
And thought with might and main,
But neither subject fit, nor thoughts,
Came to my barren brain.
And then I laid my pen aside,
With sad, despairing mind,
And, fill'd with self-contemptuous scorn,
I thought of human kind.
I saw a trifling, feeble race,
With narrow thoughts and aims,
Each noble aspiration crush'd
By rigid duty's claims.
Selfish and hard, they toil'd along,
And, in the bitter strife,
Neglected all that sweeten'd toil,
Or that ennobl'd life.
Another day I sat me down;
A happy subject came,
And pleasant thoughts light up my mind
With bright and cheerful flame.
And, as I thought, with heart aglow,
Self-satisfied I grew,
And guag'd with ampler girt, my mind,
And minds of others, too.
With satisfaction now, I view'd
Creation's mighty plan;
And had a clearer vision too,
And juster thoughts of man.
A toiling mortal yet, I saw,
But saw no more, a clod,
For far as mind o'er matter is,
He stood, plac'd by his God.
For now I saw to man was given
The right to rule and reign,
And bend all other pow'rs to his,
In nature's wild domain.
The light of endless life gleam'd forth
From his pain'd body's eye,
And tho' in shackles now it liv'd,
That light should never die.
The window now, thro' which it look'd,
Might clos'd in darkness be,
But in a world above, beyond,
Eternal light 'twould see.
And this is what I learn'd that day,
When I sat down to write:
That man, above all earthly things,
Sits plac'd by lawful right.
And tho' he lives this life below,
'Mid accidents and pain,
There is a better life for him,
When he shall live again.
And tho' his road upon this earth
Be dusty, bleak and bare,
Another, and a joyful road,
Is his, to travel there.