lives in this tumultuous State of things,
Where ev'ry Morning some new Trouble brings;
But bold Inquietudes will break his rest,
And gloomy Thoughts disturb his anxious Breast.
Angelick Forms, and happy Spirits are
Above the Malice of perplexing Care:
But that's a Blessing too sublime, too high
For those who bend beneath Mortality.
If in the Body there was but one part
Subject to Pain, and sensible of Smart,
And but one Passion could torment the Mind,
That Part, that Passion busy Fate would find,
But since Infirmities in both abound,
Since Sorrow both so many ways can wound,
'Tis not so great a wonder that we grieve
Sometimes, as 'tis a miracle we live.