To
the
Reverend
Mr.
John
Howe
.
THE
Vanity
of
Human
Cares
.
1704.
I.
GREAT
Man
,
permit
the
Muse
to
climb
And
seat
her
at
thy
Feet
,
Bid
her
attempt
a
Thought
sublime
,
And
consecrate
her
Wit
.
I
feel
,
I
feel
th'
attractive
Force
Of
thy
superiour
Soul
,
My
Chariot
flies
her
upward
Course
,
The
Wheels
Divinely
roll
.
Now
let
me
chide
the
mean
Affairs
And
mighty
Toyl
of
Men
:
How
they
grow
grey
in
trifling
Cares
,
Or
wast
the
Motions
of
the
Spheres
Upon
Delights
as
vain
!
II
.
A
Puff
of
Honour
fills
the
Mind
,
And
Yellow
Dust
is
solid
Good
;
Thus
like
the
Ass
of
Savage
Kind
We
snuff
the
Breezes
of
the
Wind
,
Or
steal
the
Serpents
Food
.
Could
all
the
Choirs
That
charm
the
Poles
But
strike
one
doleful
Sound
,
'Twould
be
imploy'd
to
mourn
our
Souls
,
Souls
that
were
fram'd
of
Sprightly
Fires
In
Floods
of
Folly
drown'd
.
Souls
made
of
Glory
seek
a
Brutal
Joy
,
How
they
disclaim
their
Heavenly
Birth
,
Melt
their
Bright
Substance
down
with
drossy
Earth
,
And
hate
to
be
refin'd
from
that
impure
Alloy
.
III
.
Oft
has
thy
Genius
rouz'd
us
hence
With
Elevated
Song
,
Bid
us
renounce
this
World
of
Sence
,
Bid
us
divide
th'
Immortal
Prize
With
the
Seraphick
Throng
:
"
Knowledge
and
Love
make
Spirits
blest
,
"
Knowledge
their
Food
and
Love
their
Rest
;
But
Flesh
,
the
unmanageable
Beast
,
Resists
the
Pity
of
thine
Eyes
And
Musick
of
thy
Tongue
.
Then
let
the
Worms
of
groveling
Mind
Round
the
short
Joys
of
Earthy
Kind
In
restless
Windings
Roam
;
HOWE
hath
an
ample
Orb
of
Soul
,
Where
shining
Worlds
of
Knowledge
roll
,
Where
Love
the
Center
and
the
Pole
Compleats
the
Heaven
at
Home
.