VII.

Enjoy the present smiling hour, And put it out of fortune's power; The tide of business, like the running stream, Is sometimes high, and sometimes low, A quiet ebb, or a tempestuous flow, And always in extreme. Now with a noiseless gentle course It keeps within the middle bed; Anon it lifts aloft the head, And bears down all before it with impetuous force: And trunks of trees come rolling down, Sheep and their folds together drown; Both house and homested into seas are borne, And rocks are from their old foundations torn, And woods, made thin with winds, their scattered honours mourn.