From whom those blanks and trifles, but from thee? No blank, no trifle, nature made, or meant. This cancels thy complaint at once, This leaves 'Tis not things o'er thought to domineer; Guard well thy thought; our thoughts are heard in heaven. On all important Time, thro' ev'ry age, Tho' much, and warm, the wise have urg'd; the man "I've lost a day"-the prince who nobly cry'd Pregnant with all eternity can give, Pregnant with all, that makes archangels smile. Ah! how unjust to nature, and himself, (For Nature's voice unstifled would recall) Leisure is pain; takes off our chariot-wheels; Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain, To man's false optics (from his folly false) Leave to thy foes these errors, and thèse ills; We waste, not use our time; we breathe, not live. And bare existence, man, to live ordain'd, And, feeling, fly to labour for his cure; Life's cares are comforts; such by heav'n design'd; Here then, the riddle, mark'd above, unfolds; Then time turns torment, when man turns a fool. We rave, we wrestle, with Great Nature's Plan; Whose yesterdays look backward with a Smile; London: Published Aug 6797, by Vernor & Hood & the other Proprietors Page 28 |