The Complaint, Or Night-thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality: Also, The Consolation; Night 9th and Last With the Life of the Author

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Página 11 - 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.
Página 12 - ... 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.
Página 119 - tis revolution all ; All change ; no death. Day follows night ; and night The dying day ; stars rise, and set, and rise ; Earth takes th
Página 209 - Vain hope ! it is too late! Where, where, for shelter, shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale ? Great day ! for which all other days were made ; For which earth rose from chaos, man from earth ; And an eternity, the date of gods, Descended on poor earth-created man ! Great day of dread, decision, and despair!
Página 52 - And soon as man, expert from time, has found The key of life, it opes the gates of death.
Página 52 - Pursuing, and pursued, each other's prey ; As wolves, for rapine; as the fox, for wiles ; Till Death, that mighty hunter, earths them all. Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame ? Earth's highest station ends in " Here he lies :" And dust " to dust
Página 110 - Tis a proud mendicant: it boasts and begs; It begs an alms of homage from the throng, And oft the throng denies its charity.
Página 69 - Talk they of morals ! O thou bleeding Love ! Thou maker of new morals to mankind ! The grand morality is love of Thee.
Página 185 - Each branch of piety delight inspires ; Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next, O'er death's dark gulf, and all its horror hides...
Página 199 - To know the world, not love her, is thy point ; She gives but little, nor that little, long. There is, I grant, a triumph of the...

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