English poem
ON VIRTUE.
O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach. I cease to wonder, and no more attempt Thine height t' explore, or fathom thy profound. But, O my soul, sink not into despair, Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand Would now embrace thee, hovers o'er thine head. Fain would the heav'n-born soul with her converse, Then seek, then court her for her promis'd bliss. Auspicious queen, thine heav'nly pinions spread, And lead celestial Chastity along; Lo! now her sacred retinue descends, Array'd in glory from the orbs above. Attend me, Virtue, thro' my youthful years! O leave me not to the false joys of time! But guide my steps to endless life and bliss. Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee, To give me an higher appellation still, Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay, O thou, enthron'd with Cherubs in the realms of day.
More by Phillis Wheatley
- On The Death Of J. C. An Infant
- On the Death of Mr. Snider Murder'd by Richardson
- On the Death of the Rev. Dr. Sewell
- On the Death of the Rev. Mr. GEORGE WHITEFIELD. 1770.
- Thoughts On The Works Of Providence
- To a Clergyman on the Death of his Lady.
- To a Gentleman and Lady on the Death of the Lady's Brother and Sister
- To a GENTLEMAN on his Voyage to Great-Britain