Article #44 - On Vain Amusements

 Pocopson Literary Association

                 On Vain Amusements

To me there is nor charm nor joy

            In music’s softest strain,

Nor in the wanton, giddy round

            Of pleasure’s festal train.

My soul they seem to bear away

            Into “some distant land”

Where “e’en the husks the swine did eat”

            Are not at my command.

Because the “still small voice” in man,

            The Truth’s inspeaking word,

By music tones, the play, the dance

            Is stifled and unheard.

For these impart but sensual joy,

            By forms of art refined,

They please the ear, benumb the brain, 

            Intoxicate the mind.

They lead us not in virtue’s paths,

            Nor from the ways of sin,

But the dark mire of Error still

            They plunge us deeper in.

By fixing our affections on

            The vain things of this life,

With Truth’s directing power within

            We keep incessant strife.

And if we thus continual thwart

            The law of duty shown

That light, to scenes of purer bliss,

            From us may be withdrawn.

For heaven’s decree of old went forth –

            When human life began;

“My spirit shall not always strive

            With” willful, erring “man.”

But when concerned to walk aright

            In this, our trial day,

True peace of mind and heavenly joy

            Still cheer us on our way.

T’is then we find that sensual things

            But Sensual pleasures give;

That while amusements vain we seek

            To transient joys we live.

And is there not some useful toil,

            Of which these take the place,

Whereby to soothe our neighbor’s woe

            And benefit our race?

At early morn, or close of day

            When needful toil is o’er,

Can we not from some valued tome

            Our minds with wisdom store?

Or while our daily works pursue

            Some useful lesson learn;

From nature’s mighty volume e’er

            Exalting truth discern?

In contemplation’s lovely bowers

            Creation’s God adore,

While striving to each passion curb,

            His mercy’s still implore?

The time, for all we have to do,

            Is short, allotted here;

Immortal mind is heir unto

            A higher, purer sphere;

Where all that’s pleasing to the ear

            In music’s varying din,

And joys of taste, and smell, and sight

            Can never enter in.

Then may the short-lived charms of sense

            No more engage our minds,

Nor lead us from that joyful course

            That duty’s law assigns.

For those who seek the path of right

            Substantial joys shall find –

Who daily bear the cross to wrong

            Peace of celestial kind.

                                    F? E? D. 1853