The Complaint: Or Night-thoughts: On Life, Death, and Immortality. To which is Added, a Paraphrase on Part of the Book of Job

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A. Manson, T. Chamber, J. Durfey, and E. Dalton, 1775 - 388 oldal

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16. oldal - tis madness to defer: Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. Procrastination is the thief of time; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
17. oldal - 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.
16. oldal - 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.
5. oldal - 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.
33. oldal - Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours ; And ask them, what report they bore to heaven ; And how they might have borne more welcome news.
85. oldal - Religion's All. Descending from the skies To wretched man, the goddess in her left Holds out this world, and, in her right, the next...
17. oldal - ... immortal. All men think all men mortal but themselves ; Themselves, when some alarming shock of Fate Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread : But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, Soon close; where past the shaft no trace is found.
16. oldal - How excellent that life they ne'er will lead! Time lodg'd in their own hands is Folly's vails ; That lodg'd in Fate's to wisdom they consign ; The thing they can't but purpose they postpone.
103. oldal - Virtue, for ever frail, as fair, below, Her tender nature suffers in the crowd, Nor touches on the world, without a stain : The world's infectious ; few bring back at eve, Immaculate, the manners of the morn.
7. oldal - Embryos we must be till we burst the shell, Yon ambient azure shell, and spring to life, The life of gods, O transport ! and of man. Yet man, fool man ! here buries all his thoughts ; Inters celestial hopes without one sigh.

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