THE MOST EXTENSIVE
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Death wounds to cure: we fall; we rise; we reign!
Spring from our fetters; fasten in the skies;
Where blooming Eden withers in our sight:
Death gives us more than was in Eden lost.
This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
Dreams where thought, in fancy's maze, runs mad.
Earth's highest station ends in--Here he lies.
Even the best must own patience and resignation are the pillars of human peace on earth.
Faith is not reason's labor, but repose.
Fame is the shame of immortality, and is itself a shadow.
Fancy and pride seeks things at vast expense.
Far beneath a soul immortal is a mortal joy.
Fathers alone a fathers heart can know
What secret tides of still enjoyment flow
When brothers love, but if their hate succeeds,
They wage the war, but 'tis the father bleeds.
Few are the faults we flatter when alone.
First on thy friend deliberate with thyself;
Pause, ponder, sift; not eager in the choice;
Nor jealous of the chosen; fixing, fix;--
Judge before friendship, then confide till death.
For envy, to small minds, is flattery.
Friendship is the wine of life.
From his big heart o'ercharg'd with generous sorrow;
See the tide working upward to his eye,
And stealing from mm in large silent drops,
Without his leave.
Gay mellow silks her mellow charms infold, and nought of Lyce but herself is old.
Gold glitters most where virtue shines no more, as stars from absent suns have leave to shine.
Graceful to sight and elegant to thought.
Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
Guard well thy thoughts: our thoughts are heard in heaven.
Hast thou ne'er seen the comets flaming light?
Th' illustrious stranger passing, terror sheds
On gazing nations, from his fiery train
Of length enormous, takes his ample round
Through depths of ether; coasts unnumber'd worlds,
Of more than solar glory; doubles wide
Heaven's mighty cape; and then re-visits earth,
From the long travel of a thousand years.
He that is ungrateful has no guilt but one; all other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
He that lives in perpetual suspicion lives the life of a sentinel,--of a sentinel never relieved, whose business it is to look out for and expect an enemy, which is an evil not very far short of perishing by him.
He who, superior to the checks of Nature, dares make his life the victim of his reason, does in some sort that reason deify, and take a flight at heaven.
Heaven gives us friends to bless the present scene;
Resumes them, to prepare us for the next.
Heaven looks down on earth with all her eyes.
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