Book vi
. Winter Walk at Noon. Line 560._
An honest man, close-button'd to the chin, Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.
_Epistle to Joseph Hill._
Shine by the side of every path we tread With such a lustre, he that runs may read.[422-1]
_Tirocinium. Line 79._
What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.
_Walking with God._
And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.
_Exhortation to Prayer._
God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea And rides upon the storm.
_Light shining out of Darkness._
Behind a frowning providence He hides a shining face.
_Light shining out of Darkness._
Beware of desperate steps! The darkest day, Live till to-morrow, will have pass'd away.
_The Needless Alarm. Moral._
Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
_On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture._
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.
_On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture._
The man that hails you Tom or Jack, And proves, by thumping on your back,[423-1] His sense of your great merit,[423-2] Is such a friend that one had need Be very much his friend indeed To pardon or to bear it.
_On Friendship._
A worm is in the bud of youth, And at the root of age.
_Stanzas subjoined to a Bill of Mortality._
Toll for the brave!-- The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore!
_On the Loss of the Royal George._
There is a bird who by his coat, And by the hoarseness of his note, Might be supposed a crow.
_The Jackdaw._ (Translation from Vincent Bourne.)
He sees that this great roundabout The world, with all its motley rout, Church, army, physic, law, Its customs and its businesses, Is no concern at all of his, And says--what says he?--Caw.
_The Jackdaw._ (Translation from Vincent Bourne.)
For 't is a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it come to light, In every cranny but the right.
_The Retired Cat._
He that holds fast the golden mean,[424-1] And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door.
_Translation of Horace.