Edward Young

'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.

Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.

The spirit walks of every day deceased.

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

Ah, how unjust to Nature and himself Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man!

"I've lost a day!"—the prince who nobly cried, Had been an emperor without his crown.

Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed: Who does the best his circumstance allows Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.

And what its worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.

He mourns the dead who lives as they desire.

All men think all men mortal but themselves.

At thirty, man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.

Procrastination is the thief of time.

Be wise today; 'tis madness to defer.

Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.

To waft a feather or to drown a fly.

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; Legions of angels can't confine me there.

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour.

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time But from its loss.

On reason build resolve, that column of true majesty in man.

Creation sleeps! 'Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause; An awful pause! prophetic of her end.

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden scepter o'er a slumbering world.

How commentators each dark passage shun, And hold their farthing candle to the sun.

One to destroy, is murder by the law; And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe; To murder thousands takes a specious name, War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.

Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; Small sands the mountain, moments make the year, And trifles life.