Yes! there are pleasures some ne'er know,
And there are pains too many prove;
And bliss is oft the source of woe,
Ev'n when it springs from virtuous love.
Hope, fair deceiver,
Lures us for ever!
Sweet her smiles in life's gay morn;
But, ah! her roses,
Reason shews us,
Hide full many a cank'ring thorn.

We toil for wealth, we seek for fame,
And various phantoms we pursue:
This oft brings care, that's but a name;
At last reflection whispers true.--
''Poor murmuring creature,
Weak by nature,
Swell'd by hopes, oppressed by fears;
Proud and ungrateful,
Vain, deceitful,
Man makes life a Vale of Tears!''