And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light
Sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast; And oft I think, fair planet of the night!
That in thy orb the wretched may have rest: The sufferers of the earth perhaps may go,
Released by death, to thy benignant sphere, And the sad children of despair and woe
Forget in thee their cup of sorrow here. Oh! that I soon may reach thy world serene, Poor wearied pilgrim in this troubled scene.
Charlotte Smith.
Who does the best his circumstance allows Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more. Our outward act, indeed, admits restraint: 'Tis not of things o'er thought to domineer. Guard well thy thought: our thoughts are heard in Heav'n.
Young.
Whatever turns the soul inward on itself tends to concentre its forces, and to fit it for greater and stronger flights of science. Bcjrke.
CANZONET.
O.weep not thus—we both shall know
Ere long a happier doom; There is a place of rest below, Where thou and I shall surely go, And sweetly sleep, released from woe,
Within the tomb.
