Forever seeking, never found, In this wide varied scene; Sole object of unceasing search, While in this low terrene. Yet vain the search, if in the heart Some lurking passion dwell; For this will hang with cypress wreath Retirement's secret cell. In vain the outward scene is calm, In vain the world we fly; If thou, in pure religion's garb, Thy friendly aid deny.
— ELIZABETH BATH