Progress of life

How gayly is at first begun
Our Life's uncertain Race!
Whilst yet that sprightly Morning Sun,
With which we just set out to run
Enlightens all the Place.

How smiling the World's Prospect lies
How tempting to go through !
Not Canaan to the Prophet's Eyes,
From Pisgah with a sweet Surprise,
Did more inviting shew.

How promising the Book of Fate,
Till thoroughly understood!
Whilst partial Hopes such Lots create,
As may the youthful Fancy treat
With all that's Great and Good.

How soft the first Ideas prove,
Which wander through our Minds!
How full the Joys, how free the Love,
Which does that early Season move;
As Flowers the Western Winds!

Our Sighs are then but Vernal Air;
But April–drops our Tears,
Which swiftly passing, all grows Fair,
Whilst Beauty compensates our Care,
And Youth each Vapor clears.

But oh! too soon, alas, we climb;
Scarce feeling we ascend
The gently rising Hill of Time,
From whence with Grief we see that Prime,
And all its Sweetness end.

The Die now cast, our Station known,
Fond Expectation past;
The Thorns, which former Days had sown,
To Crops of late Repentance grown,
Through which we toil at last.

Whilst every Care's a driving Harm,
That helps to bear us down;
Which faded Smiles no more can charm,
But every Tear's a Winter-Storm,
And every Look's a Frown.

Till with succeeding Ills oppressed,
For Joys we hoped to find;
By Age too, rumpled and undressed,
We gladly sinking down to rest,
Leave following Crowds behind.