Trust not to that.-Act you your part; What this, what t'other son shall be. Consider man in every sphere; How false we judge by what appears! How weak, how vain is human pride! The prince who kept the world in awe, YOUNG. NIGHT THOUGHTS, Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, At thirty man suspects himself a fool; Resolves; and re-resolves; then dies the same. And why? Because he thinks himself immortal. All men think all men mortal, but themselves; Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate Strikes through their wounded hearts. Guard well thy thought! our thoughts are heard in heaven. The man who consecrates his hours By vig'rous effort, and an honest aim, 'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them, what report they bore to heaven; And how they might have borne more welcome news. Their answers form what men experience call. To hope the best is pious, brave, and wise ! Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? Talents, angel bright, If wanting worth, give infamy renown. If wrong our hearts, our heads are right in vain. + Right ends and means make wisdom; worldly-wise 'Tis great, 'tis manly, to disdain disguise. And some forgiveness needs the best of friends. From purity of thought, all pleasure springs, Th' ALMIGHTY, from his throne, on earth surveys Wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought; The first sure symptom of a mind in health, Patience and resignation are the pillars Eternity, depending on an hour, Makes serious thoughts man's wisdom, joy, and praise. Haste, haste! a man by nature is in haste; Some ills we wish for, when we wish to live. Since Adam fell, no mortal uninspir'd How kind is GOD, how great (if good) is man. Thus the three Virtues least alive on earth, Are welcom❜d on Heav'n's coast with most ap plause, An humble, pure, and heav'nly-minded heart. In ev'ry storm that either frowns or falls, Art thou ashamed to bend thy knee to God? Not deeply to discern, not much to know, LOVE OF FAME. Who, for the poor renown of being smart, How oft the noon, how oft the midnight bell, Knocks at our hearts and finds our thoughts from home! Our ardent labours, for the toys we seek, What's female beauty, but an air divine, Some none resist, though not exceeding fair. In simple manners all the secret lies, Be kind and virtuous, you'll be blest and wise. Few to good breeding make a just pretence : Can wealth give happiness? Look round and see What gay distress! What splendid misery! Think nought a trifle, though it small appear; Small sands the mountain, moments make the year, And trifles life. J Distrust mankind, with your own heart confer, Oh! sacred Solitude, divine retreat, The man who pardons disappoints his foe, Be wise with speed, A fool at forty is a fool indeed. Women were made to give our eyes delight: Our greatest good, and what we least can spare, Is Hope; the worst of all our evils, Fear. |