Here you will find thePoemBy Philemonof poet William Cowper
Oft we embrace our ills by discontent, And give them bulk beyond what nature meant. A parent, brother, friend deceased, to cry-- 'He's dead indeed, but he was born to die'-- Such temperate grief is suited to the size And burden of the loss; is just and wise. But to exclaim, 'Ah! wherefore was I born, Thus to be left forever thus forlorn?' Who thus laments his loss invites distress, And magnifies a woe that might be less, Through dull despondence to his lot resign'd, And leaving reason's remedy behind.
