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A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,
A miser filling his most hoarded chest,
Feel rapture: but not such true joy are reaping
As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping.
A miser filling his most hoarded chest,
Feel rapture: but not such true joy are reaping
As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping.
For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved,
All that it hath of life with us is living;
So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved,
And all unconscious of the joy 'tis giving;
All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved,
Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's diving;
There lies the thing we love, with all its errors
And all its charms, like death without its terrors !
Byron.
All that it hath of life with us is living;
So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved,
And all unconscious of the joy 'tis giving;
All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved,
Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's diving;
There lies the thing we love, with all its errors
And all its charms, like death without its terrors !
Byron.
He that would pass the latter part of his days with honour and decency, must, when he is young, consider that he shall one day be old; and remember, when he is old, that he once was young. Johnson.
'Tis night, when meditation bids us feel
We once have loved, though love is at an end!
The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal,
Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend.
Byron.
We once have loved, though love is at an end!
The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal,
Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend.
Byron.
Religion refines our moral sentiments, disengages the heart from every vain desire, renders it tranquil under misfortune, humble in the presence of God, and steady in the society of men.
Zimmermann.
