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Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God . .
So reads he nature, whom the lamp of truth
TO-MORROW. TO-MORROW, didst thou say ! Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow, Go to-I will not hear of it-To-morrow! A sharper 'tis, who stakes his penury Against thy plenty--who takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes, and pro
mises, The currency of idiots. Injurious bankrupt, That gulls the easy creditor!--To-morrow! It is a period no where to be found In all the hoary registers of time, Unless perchance in the fool's calendar. Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society With those who own it. No, my Horatio, 'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father; (less Wrought of such stuff as dreams are ! and as baseAs the fantastic visions of the evening.
Butsoft, my friend,-arrest the present moments, For be assur'd, they all are arrant tell-tales; And though their flight be silent, and their path Trackless as the wing'd couriers of the air, They post to Heav'n, and there record thy folly; Because, though station'd on th' important watch, Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel, Didst let them pass unnotic'd, unimprov'd. And know, for that thou slumber'dst on the guard, Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar For every fugitive: and when thou thus Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal Of hood-wink'd Justice, who shall tell thy audit?
Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio; Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings. 'Tis of more worth than kingdoms ! far more pre
Than all the crimsontreasures of life's fountain !
ON CONSCIENCE. O TREACHEROUS Conscience! while she seems to
sleep On rose and myrtle, lull’d with syren song; While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop On headlong Appetite the slacken'd rein, And give us up to License, unrecallid, Unmark'd ;-see, from behind her secret stand, The sly informer minutes every fault, And her dread diary with horror fills. Not the gross act alone employs her pen; She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band. A watchful foe! the formidable spy Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp, Our dawning purposes of heart explores, And steals our embryos of iniquity. As all-rapacious usurers conceal Their doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs, Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats Us spendthrifts of inestimable time, Unnoted, notes each moment misapply'd; In leaves more durable than leaves of brass Writes our whole history, which Death shall read In every pale delinquent's private ear, And judgment publish; publish to more worlds Than this, and endless age in groans resound. Lorenzo! such that sleeper in thy breast; Such is her slumber, and her vengeance such For slighted counsel; such thy future peace; And think'st thou still thou canst be wise too soon!
THOUGHTS ON TIME. THE BELL strikes One. We take no note of time But from its loss: to give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours. Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. It is the signal that demands despatch : How much is to be done? My hopes and fears Start up alarm’d, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down-on what? A fathomless abyss ! A dread eternity! how surely mine! And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? O TIME! than gold more sacred; more a load Than lead to fools, and fools reputed wise. What moment granted man without account? What years are squander'd, wisdom's debt unpaid! Our wealth in days all due to that discharge. Haste, haste, he lies in wait, he's at the door; Insidious Death! should his strong hand arrest, No composition sets the prisoner free. Eternity's inexorable chain Fast binds, and vengeance claims the full arrear. Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor: Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment, but in purchase of its worth; And what its worth, ask death-beds; they can tell. Part with it as with life, reluctant; big With holy hope of nobler time to come; Time higher aim'd, still nearer the great mark Of men and angels, virtue more divine.
On all important time, through ev'ry age,
Ah! how unjust to Nature and himself