The Journey Of Life Poem by Robert Anderson

As we journey thro' life, often tost to and fro,
Nurs'd by Hope, at each phantom we catch as we go,
And the prospects around us enraptur'd we view,
Till they vanish, as shrinks from the sun--beams the dew:
On the soft lap of Pleasure awhile we are borne;
Yet, in seizing the rose, are oft pierc'd by its thorn.
Ah! how thoughtless is man, who pursues a false glare,
That soon hastens his ruin, or adds to his care,
When Religion alone can life's sorrows remove,
And lead to the mansion of Pleasure above.