Proverbial Philosophy: The First and Second Series
Philosophy
Proverbial Philosophy: The First and Second Series
Proverbs
My soul was sickened within me, so I sought the dwelling place of Joy:
And I met it not in laughter; I found it not in wealth or power;
But I saw it in the pleasant home, where religion smiled upon content,
And the satisfied ambition of the heart rejoiced in the favour of its God.
Behold the happy man, his face is rayed with pleasure,
His thoughts are of calm delight, and none can know his blessedness.
I have watched him from his infancy, and seen him in the grasp of death,
Yet, never have I noted on his brow the cloud of desponding sorrow.
He hath knelt beside his cradle; his mother's hymn lulled him to sleep:
In childhood he hath loved holiness, and drank from that fountain-head of
peace.
Wisdom took him for her scholar, guiding his steps in purity:
He lived unpolluted by the world; and his young heart hated sin.
But he owned not the spurious religion engendered of faction and
moroseness,
Neither were the sproutings of his soul seared by the brand of
superstition.
His love is pure and single, sincere, and knoweth not change;
For his manhood hath been blest with the pleasant choice of his youth:
Behold his one beloved, she leaneth on his arm,
And he looketh on the years that are past, to review the dawn of her
affection.
Memory is sweet unto him, as a perfect landscape to the sight;
Each object is lovely in itself, but the whole is the harmony of nature.
Behold his little ones around him, they bask in the warmth of his smile,
And infant innocence and joy lighten their happy faces;
He is holy, and they honour him: he is loving, and they love him:
He is consistent, and they esteem him: he is firm, and they fear him.
His friends are the excellent among men; and the bands of their
friendship are strong:
His house is the palace of peace: for the Prince of Peace is there.
As the wearied man to his couch, as the thoughtful man to his musings,
Even so, from the bustle of life, he goeth to his well-ordered home.
And though he often sin, he returneth with weeping eyes:
For he feeleth the mercies of forgiveness, and gloweth with warmer
gratitude.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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