![]() |
||
Poets •
Biographies •
Poems by Themes •
Random Poem •
The Rating of Poets • The Rating of Poems |
||
Poem by Thomas Parnell The Happy Man How bless'd the man, how fully so, As far as man is bless'd below, Who taking up his cross essays To follow Jesus all his days, With resolution to obey, And steps enlarging in his way. The Father of the saints above Adopts him with a Father's love, And makes his bosom throughly shine With wond'rous stores of grace divine; Sweet grace divine the pledge of joy That will his soul above employ; Full joy, that when his time is done Becomes his portion as a son. Ah me! the sweet infus'd desires The fervid wishes, holy fires, Which thus a melted heart refine, Such are his and such be mine. From hence, despising all besides That earth reveals or ocean hides, All that men in either prize, On God alone he sets his eyes. From hence his hope is on the wings, His health renews, his safety springs, His glory blazes up below, And all the streams of comfort flow. He calls his Saviour, King above, Lord of mercy, Lord of love, And finds a kingly care defend, And mercy smile, and love descend, To chear, to guide him in the ways Of this vain world's deceitful maze: And tho' the wicked earth display Its terrors in their fierce array, Or gape so wide that horrour shews Its hell replete with endless woes; Such succour keeps him clear of Ill Still firm to good and dauntless still. So fix'd, by Providence's hands A rock amidst an ocean stands; So bears without a trembling dread The tempest beating round its head, And with its side repels the wave Whose hollow seems a coming grave; The skies the deeps are heard to roar The rock stands settled as before. I, all with whom he has to do, Admire the life which blesses you, That feeds a foe, that aids a friend, Without a bye designing end; Its knowing real int'rest lies On the bright side of yonder skies, Where having made a title fair It mounts and leaves the world to care. While he that seeks for pleasing days In earthly joys and evil ways, Is but the fool of toil or fame, (Tho' happy be the specious name) And made by wealth, which makes him great, A more conspicuous wretch of state. Thomas Parnell Thomas Parnell's other poems:
Poems of the other poets with the same name: ![]() 1233 Views |
||
|
||
English Poetry. E-mail eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |