Beauty! Thou Pretty Plaything! Dear Deceit, That

Beauty! Thou Pretty Plaything! Dear Deceit, That Steals So Softly O'er The Stripling's Heart, And Gives It A New Pulse Unknown Before!

Its Visits, Like Those Of Angels, Short, And Far Between.

Action, So To Speak, Is The Genius Of Nature.

That Discipline Which Corrects The Eagerness Of Worldly Passions, Which Fortifies The Heart With Virtuous Principles, Which Enlightens The Mind With Useful Knowledge, And Furnishes To It Matter Of Enjoyment From Within Itself, Is Of More Consequence To Real Felicity Than All The Provisions Which We Can Make Of The Goods Of Fortune.

Our Time Is Fixed, And All Our Days Are Number'd; How Long, How Short, We Know Not:—this We Know, Duty Requires We Calmly Wait The Summons, Nor Dare To Stir Till Heaven Shall Give Permission.