The vast concerns of an eternal scene. 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 applaud; How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! Time lodged in their own hands is Folly's vails; That lodged in Fate's to wisdom they consign; The thing they can't but purpose, they postpone. 'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool, And scarce in human wisdom to do more. All promise is poor dilatory man, And that through every stage. When young, indeed, As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; At fifty chides his infamous delay, In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same. EDWARD YOUNG, 1681-1765. -Night Thoughts. THE PLOUGHSHARE OF OLD ENGLAND. THE sailor boasts his stately ship, the bulwark of the isle ; The soldier loves his sword, and sings of tented plains the while; But we will hang the ploughshare up within our fathers' halls, And guard it as the deity of plenteous festivals. We'll pluck the brilliant poppies, and the far-famed barley-corn, To wreathe with bursting wheat-ears that outshine the saffron morn ; We'll crown it with a glowing heart, and pledge our fertile land; The Ploughshare of Old England, and the sturdy peasant band! The work it does is good and blest, and may be proudly told; We see it in the teeming barns, and fields of waving gold; Its metal is unsullied, no blood-stain lingers there : God speed it well, and let it thrive unshackled everywhere. The bark may rest upon the wave, the spear may gather dust; But never may the prow that cuts the furrow lie and rust. Fill up, fill up, with glowing heart, and pledge our fertile land, The Ploughshare of Old England, and the sturdy peasant band! ELIZA COOK, 1818— 'TIS INDUSTRY SUPPORTS US ALL. NATURE expects mankind should share Who's born for sloth? To some we find Thus, from each other's useful aid, By turns are obligations paid: And, when in all his glory drest, Do not the mason's toil and care THOMAS GAY, 1688-1732. WHERE IS HE? “MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST, AND WHERE IS HE?" WHERE is he? Hark! his lonely home Is answering to the mournful call! The setting sun with dazzling blaze E Where is he? Hark! the friend replies: And then the ruin coldly cast, Where is he? Hark! the marble says, They came, and sorrow'd for the dead; To sink in unobserved decay A nameless and neglected stone." Where is he? Hark! 'tis Heaven replies: -American. WILLIAM O. PEABODY, 1799-1847. |