To
his
Friend
under
Affliction
.
None
lives
in
this
tumultuous
State
of
things
,
Where
ev'ry
Morning
some
new
Trouble
brings
;
But
bold
Inquietudes
will
break
his
rest
,
And
gloomy
Thoughts
disturb
his
anxious
Breast
.
Angelick
Forms
,
and
happy
Spirits
are
Above
the
Malice
of
perplexing
Care
:
But
that's
a
Blessing
too
sublime
,
too
high
For
those
who
bend
beneath
Mortality
.
If
in
the
Body
there
was
but
one
part
Subject
to
Pain
,
and
sensible
of
Smart
,
And
but
one
Passion
could
torment
the
Mind
,
That
Part
,
that
Passion
busy
Fate
would
find
,
But
since
Infirmities
in
both
abound
,
Since
Sorrow
both
so
many
ways
can
wound
,
'Tis
not
so
great
a
wonder
that
we
grieve
Sometimes
,
as
'tis
a
miracle
we
live
.
The
happiest
Man
that
ever
breath'd
on
Earth
,
With
all
the
Glories
of
Estate
and
Birth
,
Had
yet
some
anxious
Care
to
make
him
know
No
Grandeur
was
above
the
reach
of
Woe
.
To
be
from
all
things
that
disquiet
,
free
,
Is
not
consistent
with
Humanity
.
Youth
,
Wit
,
and
Beauty
,
are
such
charming
things
,
O'er
which
,
if
Affluence
spreads
her
gaudy
Wings
,
We
think
the
person
,
who
enjoys
so
much
,
No
Care
can
move
,
and
no
Affliction
touch
.
Yet
could
we
but
some
secret
Method
find
To
view
the
dark
Recesses
of
the
Mind
,
We
there
might
see
the
hidden
Seeds
of
Strife
,
And
Woes
in
Embryo
rip'ning
into
Life
;
How
some
fierce
Lust
,
or
boist'rous
Passion
,
fills
The
lab'ring
Spirit
with
prolific
Ills
Pride
,
Envy
,
or
Revenge
,
distract
his
Soul
,
And
all
Right-reason's
Godlike
Pow'rs
controul
.
But
if
she
must
not
be
allow'd
to
sway
Tho'
all
without
,
appears
serene
and
gay
,
A
cank'rous
Venom
on
the
Vitals
preys
,
And
poisons
all
the
Comforts
of
his
Days
.
External
Pomp
,
and
visible
Success
,
Sometimes
contribute
to
our
Happiness
;
But
that
,
which
makes
it
genuine
,
refin'd
,
Is
a
good
Conscience
,
and
a
Soul
resign'd
:
Then
,
to
whatever
End
Affliction's
sent
,
To
try
our
Virtues
,
or
for
Punishment
,
We
bear
it
calmly
,
tho'
a
pond'rous
Woe
,
And
still
adore
the
Hand
that
gives
the
Blow
.
For
in
Misfortunes
this
Advantage
lies
,
They
make
us
humble
,
and
they
make
us
wise
.
And
he
that
can
acquire
such
Virtues
,
gains
An
ample
Recompence
for
all
his
Pains
.
Too
soft
Caresses
of
a
prosp'rous
Fate
The
pious
Fervours
of
the
Soul
abate
;
Tempt
to
luxurious
Ease
our
careless
Days
,
And
gloomy
Vapours
round
the
Spirits
raise
.
Thus
lull'd
into
a
Sleep
,
we
dosing
lie
,
And
find
our
Ruin
in
Security
;
Unless
some
Sorrow
comes
to
our
Relief
,
And
breaks
th'
Inchantment
by
a
timely
Grief
.
But
as
we
are
allow'd
,
to
chear
our
sight
,
In
blackest
Days
,
some
Glimmerings
of
Light
:
So
in
the
most
dejected
Hours
we
may
,
The
secret
Pleasure
have
,
to
weep
and
pray
.
And
those
Requests
,
the
speediest
passage
find
To
Heaven
,
which
flow
from
an
afflicted
Mind
:
And
while
to
him
we
open
our
Distress
,
Our
Pains
grow
lighter
,
and
our
Sorrows
less
.
The
finest
Musick
of
the
Grove
,
we
owe
To
mourning
Philomel's
harmonious
Woe
;
And
while
her
Grief's
in
charming
Notes
exprest
,
A
thorny
Bramble
pricks
her
tender
Breast
:
In
warbling
Melody
she
spends
the
Night
,
And
moves
at
once
Compassion
and
Delight
.
No
Choice
had
e'er
so
happy
an
Event
,
But
he
that
made
it
,
did
that
Choice
repent
.
So
weak's
our
Judgment
,
and
so
short's
our
Sight
,
We
cannot
level
our
own
Wishes
right
:
And
if
sometimes
we
make
a
wise
advance
,
T'our
selves
we
little
owe
,
but
much
to
chance
,
So
that
when
Providence
,
for
secret
Ends
,
Corroding
Cares
,
or
sharp
Affliction
sends
We
must
conclude
it
best
it
should
be
so
,
And
not
desponding
,
or
impatient
grow
.
For
he
that
will
his
confidence
remove
,
From
boundless
Wisdom
,
and
eternal
Love
,
To
place
it
on
himself
,
or
human
Aid
,
Will
meet
those
Woes
he
labours
to
evade
.
But
in
the
keenest
Agonies
of
Grief
,
Content's
a
Cordial
that
still
gives
Relief
.
Heaven
is
not
always
angry
when
he
strikes
,
But
most
Chastises
those
,
whom
most
he
likes
,
And
if
with
humble
Spirits
they
complain
,
Relieves
the
Anguish
,
or
rewards
the
Pain
.