THE AIM OF LIFE.

Mark well, and do not pass in heedless haste, Nor all your time in needless folly waste; But, if with you a solemn thought doth dwell, Pray lend it here, and think it may be well Awhile to set aside the world’s stern care, And for a true, though passing, glance prepare Upon a theme which is too often hid By pleasure’s streams and vanities which thread The onward path which through the wide world wends, Which chequered is, and many a snare attends. The theme I speak of is the aim of life. Who fails to see, amid the passing strife Where man appears, and in a season dies, Forgotten soon in mouldering dust he lies, That he has strayed from the good purpose far, That all his joys are vain, and such as mar His hope to an unmitigated peace. The bonds grow stronger, and his lusts increase The while his chances are for ever lost, And he is now before the tempest toss’d. A thoughtful mind in question thus may dwell; And who is found an answer fit to tell? When man was formed, what aim was held in view By the Creator, ever just and true, Who all things made but for a purpose wise? Behold, his work an ample proof supplies What feelings stirred His breast when man was made, And all creation to him subject laid. Discretion lent to shew the ill from good, Portrayed in him the Maker’s image stood; Nor was it meant that he should time employ In foolish pleasure and licentious joy, Less far that self should be his only theme; A fallen state soon had he to redeem. More thus the purpose, and the Maker’s law Held it as good, and man the duty saw— That God, the Maker, should true worship have, And reverence and love; and, as to prove Obeyance, it was held that he should love His neighbour as himself. This from above Bestowed, and from conditions free, save one, And which was sweet and pleasing to be done In the true spirit of a perfect life, Where no fear came, or jealousy, or strife— No earthly thing should have the honor due Unto the Maker; yet how sadly few Can say they have endeavoured to be true!