  The isle of contentment we view from afar, And it dazzles our eyes like a beautiful star; A region which thousands gaze wistfully at, And would dwell there, if ’twasn’t for this or for that. The lord in his palace, the cotter obscure, The high and the lowly, the rich and the poor, Are all discontented whate’er be the case, Because they are not in some other man’s place. In youth, how we long for mature years of men; In age, how we sigh for our childhood again; Wherever our station, whate’er be our lot, We miss countless blessings for joys we have not. Thus, ever thro’ life, from our earliest prime, We look and we long for some happier clime, Until the bright portals of Paradise ope, And we soar away home on the pinions of hope. |
|
