If good we plant not, vice will…

If good we plant not, vice will fill the mind, And weeds despoil the space for flow'rs design'd. The human heart ne'er knows a state of rest, Bad tends to worse, and better leads to best; We either gain or lose, we sink or rise, Nor rests our struggling nature 'till she dies; Those very passions that our peace invade, If rightly pointed, blessings may be made; Then rise, my friend, above terrestrial aims, Direct the ardour which your breast inflames To that pure region of eternal joys, Where fear disturbs not, nor possession cloys; Beyond what fancy forms of rosy bow'rs Or blooming chaplets of unfading flow'rs; Fairer than e'er imagination drew, Or poets warmest visions ever knew; Press eager onward to those blissful plains, Where one unbounded spring forever reigns.