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adore ambition angels archangels art thou awful beneath bids bless'd bliss blood divine boast boundless Busiris call'd charms creation dark death deep Deity delight divine dost dread dust earth EDWARD YOUNG endless eternal ethereal fair fate fire flame fond fool gaze genius George Gilfillan give glorious glory gods grandeur grave grief guilt happiness heart heaven hope hour human illustrious indulge infidels life's light live Lorenzo man's mankind midnight mind mismeasured mortal Narcissa nature nature's ne'er night Night Thoughts nought numbers o'er Omnipotence pain passions peace Philander pleasure praise pride proud rapture reason rise sacred scene sense shines sigh sight skies smile song soul immortal sphere stars stings strange tempest thee theme thine thought throne thy disease tomb triumph truth virtue virtue's Voltaire wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched Young
Page 18 - Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves and re-resolves; then dies the same.
Page 17 - tis madness to defer ; Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. Procrastination is the thief of time ; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
Page 6 - Silence and darkness ! solemn sisters! twins From ancient night, who nurse the tender thought! To reason, and on reason build resolve (That column of true majesty in man,) Assist me : I will thank you in the grave ; The grave, your kingdom : there this frame shall fall A victim sacred to your dreary shrine.
Page 34 - 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.
Page 67 - The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave ; The deep damp vault, the darkness, and the worm ; These are the bugbears of a winter's eve, The terrors of the living, not the dead. Imagination's fool, and error's wretch, Man makes a death, which nature never made : Then on the point of his own fancy falls ; And feels a thousand deaths, in fearing one.
Page 17 - Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, " That all men are about to live," For ever on the brink of being born. All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel : and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise ; At least, their own ; their future selves...
Page 10 - And is it in the flight of threescore years To push eternity from human thought, And smother souls immortal in the dust? A soul immortal, spending all her fires, Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, Thrown into tumult, raptur'd, or alarm'd At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
Page 9 - This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule; Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free...
Page 11 - Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? Thy shaft flew thrice; and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.
Page 26 - If nothing more than purpose in thy power, Thy purpose firm, is equal to the deed : Who does the best his circumstance allows, Does well, acts nobly ; angels could no more* In faith and hope the world will disagree ; But all mankind's concern is charity.