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Bliss ! sublunary Bliss! Proud words and 'vain?


What numbers, once in Fortune's lap high-fed,
Solicit the cold hand of Charity ? 5:25:32 CHI
Td shockus

more, solicit it in vain tali terii SH

Be Wise to-day ; 'tis madness to defer;
Procrastination is the thief of time;

is the thief of time; 307 yiy va Year'after year'it steals, till all are féd,

nei suo ih And to the mercies of a moment leaves

Theevast concerns of an eternal state'?uT*
: 091591 of stod vst 2003 rw on: 26 km
"Althårty’man suspects himself a fool';

Des Werk
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;
At fifty "chides his infamous đelay,
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ;
In all the magnanimity of thought orici
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. '' /
PL nu 110,11,

1, 2018 Salı 1 Qytimel!, than-gold more saered ; more a'load Than lead to fools! Its losswe dearly buyuks

Who does the best this circumstance allows, sod2
Does well, acts 'nobly, angels could no more?

ilier badaisyw citi iu BUGET!' 530in 1.012

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Guard well thy thought; our thoughts are heard

in heaven.

Life's cares are comforts: such by Heav'n design'd; He that has none, must make them, or be wretched.

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o consecrates his hours

The man who
By vig'rous effort, and an honest aim,
At once he draws the sting of life and death.

'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


Their answers form what men experience call


To hope the best is pious, brave, and wise!

Wishing, of all employments, is the worst :
Wishing, that constant hectic of a fool.

Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ?
What tho' we wade in wealth, or soar in fame ?
Earth's highest station ends in— Here he lies :"
And « dust to dust” concludes her noblest song.

Shall we, shall aged men, like aged trees,
Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling,
Still more enamour'd of this wretched soil ?

Shall our pale wither'd hands, be still stretch'd out, Trembling, at once, with eagerness and age ? With avarice and convulsions, grasping hard? Man wants but little ; nor that little, long.

'Tis impious in a good man to be sad.

A CHRISTIAN is the highest stile of man :
And is there who the blessed cross wipes off,
As a foul blot, from his dishonoured brow ?
If angels, tremble 'tis at such a sight.

Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.

Fondness for fame is avarice of air.

The world's infectious; few bring back at eve,
Immaculate, the manners of the morn.
We see, we hear, with peril; safety dwells
Remote from multitude.

Genius, too hard for right, can prove


wrong, And loves to boast, where blush men less inspir’d.

By night, an atheist half believes a God.

“Oh! let me die his death !” all nature cries ; 66 Then live his life." -All nature falters there,

Tho grey our heads; our thoughts and aims are green;

OLSET Like damaged clocks, whose hand and bell dissent; Folly sings six, while nature points out twelve:

But peace begins just where ambition ends: : ? What makes man wretched? Happiness denied ? Lorenzo ! no : 'tis happiness disdained.'); She comes too meanly drest to win qur.smile, And calls herself Content, a homely name!

30.12. sider 21: v.5 -2.5 Unknowing what our mortal state admits, Life's modest joys we ruin, while we raise ; And all our ecstacies are wounds to peace : Peace, the full portion of mankind below.

When such friends part, 'tis the survivor dies...

117C in Sri His nature no man can o'er-rate ; and none Can under-rate his merit.

Nothing this world unriddles but the nextend cosa

e. Talents, angel bright, If wanting worth, give infamy renown. un ! If wrong our hearts, our heads are right in vain. Right ends and means make wisdom; worldly

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Is but half-witted at its highest praise.
Our hearts ne'er bow but to superior worth.

Consider man as an immortal being,
Intelligible all;-and all is great;
Consider man as mortal, all is dark
And wretched; Reason weeps at the survey.

Conscience of guit is prophecy of pain.

Admit a God, all other wonders cease:
Deny Him-all is mystery besides !

If there is weight in an eternity,
Let the grave listen, and be graver still.

Life's little joys go out by one and one,
And leave poor man, at length, in perfect night.

I give him joy, that's awkward at a lie.

"Tis great, 'tis manly, to disdain disguise.

And some forgiveness needs the best of friends.

From purity of thought, all pleasure springs,
And from an humble spirit, all our peace.

Th’ALMIGHTY, from his throne, on earth surveys Nought greater than an honest humble heart.


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