Versos English Charles Prentiss Friendship and Innocence

English poem

Friendship and Innocence

by (1774–1820)

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Blest be the power, which mingles soul with soul, Each joy to heighten, and each pang control. Blest be the power, which gives to life it's wealth, And adds new flushes to the cheek of health. Blest be the power, unwelcome care which kills, And robs PANDORA's box of half its ills. Unknown the intercourse of man with man, When in wild woods the wanton savage ran, For mutual aid societies were formed; And social compact into friendship warmed, With one design the arts of peace were taught; With one bold heart contending heroes fought. But now primeval friendship's generous glow, How few the souls, the kindred souls that know. The man whom chance from humble station lifts; Whose merits are but sickle fortune's gifts; That man has friends, but if mad fortune frown, His friends turn foes to slander turns renown. So fickle is the friendship of the day; It lives with wealth, with want it dies away; But when the seeds in virtuous soil are sown, They warm, they shoot, & flourish there alone.

'TIS not the splendor of the golden ore, In chests so filled it finds not room for more; 'Tis not the loud voice of the trump of fame, Nor all the pleasures of an honored name; 'Tis not, the fount of learning to exhaust; Or bear despotic sway from coast to coast; These, these are not what real bliss impart, Or give true satisfaction to the heart. 'Tis the bright star of innocence alone, Can lead to bliss, can soften sorrow's moan. The strong enduring pectoral of peace, At her command the stings of conscience cease. Let every passion yield to her control, And let her reign the empress of the soul.

When Caesar bid war's red flag be unfurled, And raised the tide of ruin round the world: Say, when peace drove the cares of camps away, And calmer reason poured refulgent day, Was not the thought, that anger's scythe had mown Its thousands down, its millions overthrown; That private wrath, to conscience' precepts blind, Had madly made a harvest of mankind; Was not the thought the horror of the day, The MICHAEL's sword that pointed every way?