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An infant's hand might stop the breach with clay;
But let the stream grow wider, and Philosophy,
Ay, and Religion too, may strive in vain
To stem the headlong current.

1674 HABITS. Holy

SLOWLY fashion'd, link by link,

Slowly waxing strong,

Till the spirit never shrink,

Save from touch of wrong.

Holy habits are thy wealth,

Golden pleasant chains;
Passing earth's prime blessing-health,
Endless, priceless gains.

Holy habits give thee place
With the noblest, best,
All most god-like, of thy race,
And with seraphs blest.

Holy habits are thy joy,

Wisdom's pleasant ways, Yielding good without alloy, Lengthening, too, thy days.

Seek them, Christian, night and morn, Seek them noon and even ;

Seek them till thy soul be born

Without stains-in heaven.-Davis.

1675. HAIRS. Grey

THESE hairs of age are messengers,
Which bid me fast, repent, and pray;
They be of death the harbingers

That do prepare and dress the way:
Wherefore I joy that you may see
Upon my head such hair to be.-Lord Vaux.

The great in honour are not always wise,
Nor judgment under silver tresses lies.-Sandys.

1676. HALF-VIEWS: deceptive.

Look up! the moon to-night
Shows us but half her light,
And yet we know her round and fair.
At other things how oft
We, in our blindness, scoff'd,
Because we saw not what was there!

1677. HAND. The

THE Hand,-what wondrous Wisdom plann'd
This instrument so near divine!
How impotent, without the Hand,
Proud Reason's light would shine!

Invention might her power apply,

And Genius see the forms of heaven, And firm Resolve his strength might try ;But vain the Will, the Soul, the Eye, Unquarried would the marble lie,

The oak and cedar flout the sky,

Had not the hand been given !—Mrs Hale.

1678. HAPPINESS. Aiming for

To aim at thine own happiness, is an end idolatrous and evil;

In earth, yea, in heaven, if thou seek it for thyself, seeking thou shalt not find.

Happiness is a roadside flower, growing on the high

ways of Usefulness;

Pluck'd, it shall wither in thy hand; pass'd by, it is

a fragrance to thy spirit;

Love not thine own soul, regard not thine own weal, Trample the thyme beneath thy feet; be useful, and be happy.-Tupper.

1679. HAPPINESS. by whom it is found.

How happy is he, born or taught,

That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought,

And simple truth his highest skill;

Whose passions not his masters are ;

Whose soul is still prepared for death; Not tied unto the world with care

Of princes' ear, or vulgar breath;

Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice who never understood
How deepest wounds are given with praise,
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;
Who God doth late and early pray

More of His grace than gifts to lend ;
And entertains the harmless day
With a chosen book, or friend.

This man is free from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,

And having nothing, yet hath all.-Wotton.

Happy the man, and happy he alone,

He who can call to-day his own:
He who secure within can say,

To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day.

Dryden.

1680. HAPPINESS: by whom it is found.
THIS earthly phantom, Happiness, what is she?
Of whom we hear so much and see so little,
Whose promises are made but to be broken,
Yet constantly and eagerly believed.
Anticipation is her chosen herald,

And Disappointment is her close companion:
The first addresses our imagination

That would believe the latter scornful frowns

On our experience that must believe.
In self-denying wisdom, Socrates-
In pleasure, Aristippus-follow'd her,

Yet found her not. Warn'd by their failure,
The Stoic thought by slandering to obtain her-
By shunning her to win her-all in vain.
She is deceitful as the dreaded calm
Foreboding hurricanes; and fair she is
As is the smiling daughter of the storm,
The rainbow; but like the desert mirage,
She tantalizes us with rosy pictures

That distance paints, and nearer view destroys.
Yet often she is found when all unsought,
And often, unexpected, visits us,

While those who seek for her with closest search
Fail-because they seek her where she is not.

Rapt Antony in reckless love pursued her,
Brutus in glory, Cæsar in dominion:
The first found shame, the next satiety,
The last ingratitude-and all destruction.

To some she is more kind, but not less cruel;
She hands them her full cup, and then they drink
To stupefaction; till they, nodding, doubt
If they be men-like aggrandizing Philip;
Or dream that they are gods-like Alexander.

On some she smiles, as on Napoleon,
With aspect more bewitching than the sky
Of radiant Italy; but 'tis to frown
More terribly, and by one short caress
To multiply the pangs of separation.

Revenge, Ambition, Avarice, and Love
All seek her, but she will not come to them
Because she does not know them; but she sends
Her messengers attendant. To Revenge
She sends Remorse, and Wealth to Avarice;
To Ambition Power, and Jealousy to Love.
But what are these but names for Disappointment?
None bid so high for her as crownèd kings;
Few more willing, none more able, to obtain
Her favours at the fullest price, but she
Has less respect for kings than for their subjects:
She mocks them with the shadow of a visit,
By sending to them all her equipage,

Her pomp and train, but comes not near herself.

Then what detains her? She is meekly serving The man of conscience pure and soul content, Who 'places not his trust in men or princes,' But has laid his treasures in the Eternal World, 'Where moth nor rust corrupts, nor thieves break through and steal.'-D. C. Macdonald.

1681. HAPPINESS. Caution of

How sad a sight is human happiness,

To those whose thought can pierce beyond an hour!
Know, smiler! at thy peril thou art pleased:
Thy pleasure is the promise of thy pain.

Is Heaven tremendous in its frowns? Most sure;
And in its favours formidable too:

Its favours here are trials, not rewards;
A call to duty, not discharge from care;
And should alarm us full as much as woes;
Awake us to their cause and consequence;
O'er our scann'd conduct give a jealous eye,
And make us tremble, weigh'd with our desert;
Awe nature's tumult, and chastise her joys,
Lest, while we clasp, we kill them: nay, invert
To worse than simple misery their charms.
Revolted joys, like foes in civil war,
Like bosom friendships to resentment sour'd,
With rage envenom'd rise against our peace.
Beware what earth calls happiness: beware
All joys but joys that never can expire.
Who builds on less than an immortal base,
Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death.
Young.

1682. HAPPINESS. Christian

LONG did I toil, and knew no earthly rest;
Far did I rove, and found no certain home;
At last I sought them in His sheltering breast,

Who spreads His arms and bids the weary come.
With Him I found a home, a rest divine;
And I since then am His, and He is mine.

Yes, He is mine! and nought of earthly things, Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or power, The fame of heroes, or the pomp of kings,

Could tempt me to forego His love an hour. 'Go, worthless world,' I cry, 'with all that's thine; Go! I my Saviour's am, and He is mine.'

The good I have is from His store supplied;

The ill is only what He deems the best; With Him my Friend, I'm rich with nought beside, And poor without Him, though of all possess'd. Changes may come,-I take, or I resign,Content while I am His, while He is mine.

Whate'er may change, in Him no change is seen: A glorious Sun that wanes not, nor declines,

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MAN's greatest strength is shown in standing still. . .
The first sure symptom of a mind in health
Is rest of heart, and pleasure felt at home.
False pleasure from abroad her joys imports:
Rich from within, and self-sustain'd, the true,
The true is fix'd and solid as a rock:
Slippery the false, and tossing as the wave.
This, a wild wanderer on earth, like Cain :
That, like the fabled self-enamour'd boy,
Home-contemplation her supreme delight;
She dreads an interruption from without,
Smit with her own condition; and the more
Intense she gazes, still it charms the more.
No man is happy, till he thinks, on earth
There breathes not a more happy than himself. . .
Then, envy dies, and love o'erflows on all;
And love o'erflowing makes an angel here.- Young.

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Cowper.

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THE Greeks said grandly, in their tragic phrase,
'Let no one be call'd happy till his death.'
To which I add, Let no one till his death
Be call'd unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out, and the labour done;

Then bring your gauges. If the day's work's scant,
Why, call it scant; affect no compromise ;
And, in that we have nobly striven, at least
Deal with us nobly, women though we be,
And honour us with truth, if not with praise.
E. B. Browning.

1690. HAPPINESS. Haunts of
TRUE Happiness had no localities,
No tones provincial, no peculiar garb.
Where duty went, she went, with justice went,
And went with meekness, charity, and love.
Where'er a tear was dried, a wounded heart
Bound up, a bruised spirit with the dew
Of sympathy anointed, or a pang
Of honest suffering soothed, or injury
Repeated oft, as oft by love forgiven;
Where'er an evil passion was subdued,
Or virtue's feeble embers fann'd; where'er
A sin was heartily abjured and left;
Where'er a pious act was done, or breathed
A pious prayer, or wish'd a pious wish,-
There was a high and holy place, a spot
Of sacred light, a most religious fane,
Where Happiness, descending, sat and smiled.

1691. HAPPINESS. Hours of

Pollok.

FROM the sad years of life We sometimes do short hours, yea, minutes, strike, Keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten, Which, through the dreary gloom of time o'erpast, Shine like fair sunny spots on a wild waste.

Joanna Baillie.

He is the happy man whose life e'en now
Shows somewhat of that happier life to come;
Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state,
Is pleased with it, and were he free to choose,
Would make his fate his choice; whom peace the I SEE there's no man but may make his paradise,

fruit

1692. HAPPINESS: how it is to be won.

And it is nothing but his love and dotage

Upon the world's foul joys, that keeps him out on't;
For he that lives retired in mind and spirit
Is still in paradise.-Beaumont and Fletcher.

The happy have whole days, and those they use;
Th' unhappy have but hours, and those they lose.
Dryden.

Know, all the good that individuals find,
Or God and nature meant to mere mankind,
Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense,
Lie in three words, health, peace, and competence.
But health consists with temperance alone;
And peace, O Virtue! peace is all thy own.
The good or bad the gifts of fortune gain;
But these less taste them, as they worse obtain.

Pope.

The mind that would be happy must be great....
Great in its wishes-great in it's surveys.
Extended views a narrow mind extend,
Push out its corrugate, expansive make,
Which, ere long, more than planets shall embrace.
A man of compass makes a man of worth. . . .
Divine contemplate, and become divine.

As man was made for glory and for bliss,
All littleness is an approach to woe. . . .
Open thy bosom, set thy wishes wide,
And let in manhood-let in happiness;
Admit the boundless theatre of thought
From nothing up to God. . . which makes a man!

Young.

No man is bless'd by accident or guess: True wisdom is the price of happiness.

Young.

The sweetest bird builds near the ground, The loveliest flower springs low;

And we must stoop for happiness

If we its worth would know.-Swain.

Rapture is not the aim of man; in bowers The serpent hides his venom, and the sting Of the dread insect lurks in fairest flowers.

We were not made to wander on the wing; But if we would be happy, we must bring Our buoy'd hearts to a plain and simple school. Percival.

True happiness (if understood)
Consists alone in doing good.-Somervile.

1693. HAPPINESS: in what it consists.

WE toss and turn about our feverish will,
When all our ease must come by lying still;
For all the happiness mankind can gain,
Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain.

No happiness can be where is no rest;
Th' unknown, untalk'd-of man is only blest.
Dryden.

1694. HAPPINESS. King's idea of

King Henry. O GOD! methinks it were a happy life,

To be no better than a homely swain;

To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run;
How many make the hour full complete ;
How many hours bring about the day;
How many days will finish up the year;
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times,-
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Pass'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
Shakespeare.

1695. HAPPINESS: more precious than gold.
CAN gold calm passion, or make reason thine?
Can we dig peace or wisdom from the mine?
Wisdom to gold prefer; for 'tis much less
To make our fortune than our happiness. — Young.

1696. HAPPINESS: never found on earth.

HAPPINESS, object of that waking dream
Which we call life, mistaking; fugitive theme
Of my pursuing verse, ideal shade,
Notional good, by fancy only made.-Prior.

We happiness pursue; we fly from pain;
Yet the pursuit, and yet the flight, is vain:
And while poor nature labours to be blest,
By day by pleasure, and by night with rest,
Some stronger power eludes our sickly will,
Dashing our rising hopes with certain ill,
And makes us, with reflective trouble, see
That all is destined which we fancy free.

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It is ever thus with happiness:
It is the gay to-morrow of the mind
That never comes.-Proctor.

There comes

For ever something between us and what
We deem our happiness.-Byron.

True happiness is not the growth of earth;
The soil is fruitless if you seek it there;
'Tis an exotic of celestial birth,

And never blooms but in celestial air.
Sweet plant of Paradise! its seeds are sown

In here and there a breast of heavenly mould; It rises slow and buds, but ne'er was known

To blossom here-the climate is too cold. Sheridan.

1697. HAPPINESS: not necessarily the portion of the gifted.

TELL me no more

Are they not vain

Of my soul's lofty gifts!
To quench its haunting thirst for happiness?
Have I not loved, and striven, and fail'd to bind

One true heart unto me, whereon my own
Might find a resting-place, a home for all
Its burden of affection? I depart

Some lone and pleasant dell,
Some valley in the west,
Where, free from toil and pain,

The weary soul may rest?
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
And sigh'd for pity as it answer'd, -'No.'

Tell me, thou mighty deep,

Whose billows round me play, Know'st thou some favoured spot,

Some island far away,

Where weary man may find

The bliss for which he sighs,Where sorrow never lives,

And friendship never dies?

The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,
Stopp'd for a while, and sigh'd to answer, -'No.'
And thou, serenest moon,

That, with such lovely face,
Dost look upon the earth,

Asleep in night's embrace; Tell me, in all thy round

Hast thou not seen some spot

Where miserable man

May find a happier lot?

Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,

Unknown, though Fame goes with me; I must leave And a voice, sweet but sad, responded, 'No.'

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