I do not starve,' not yet, not yet: But wait to-morrow! Famine will be here. It seems it is as proper to our age In the mean time, we've still grim Care-(whose | As it is common for the younger sort Suckling's Brennoralt. This is a cause which our ambition fills; To lack discretion. Shaks. Hamles When clouds are seen, wise men put or. their cloaks; When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; Shaks. Richard II Be advis'd; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot A cause, in which our strength we should not For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer cakes, waste And hold-fast is the only dog. Shaks. Henry V. He knows the compass, sail, and oar, Gay's Fables. Shaks. Troi and Cres. CEREMONY-CHALLENGE - CHANGE. 61 f I am fair, 't is for myself alone; I do not wish to have a sweetheart near me, Nor would I call another's heart my own, For surely I would plight my faith to none, Then ceremony leads her bigots forth, Prepar'd to fight for shadows of no worth; Though many an amorous wit might jump to They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand; Happy to fill religion's vacant place O. W. Holmes. And what art thou, thou idol, ceremony? What kind of god art thou? that sufferest more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers. Weep not that the world changes-did it keep A stable, changeless course, 't were cause to weep Not in vain the distance beckons, Down the ringing grooves of change. I ask not what change Has come over thy heart, I seek not what chances Have doomed us to part; What are thy rents? What are thy comings in? I know thou hast told me O ceremony, show me but thy worth: What is thy toll, O adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, To love thee no more, And I still must obey Where I once did adore. Bryant Tennyson Heffinen In bower and garden rich and rare What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure. you know Stand free and fast, And judge him by no more than what Ingenuously, and by the right laid line Of truth, he truly will all styles deserve, Of wise, good, just; a man both soul and nerve. Shirley's Admiral of France. She can't be parallel'd by art, much less By nature she'd battle painters to decypher Her exactly, as bad as agues puzzle doctors. Robert Neville's Poor Scholar. As through the hedgerows'shade the violet steals, And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals, Her softer charms, but by their influence known, Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own. Rogers. l'hough gay as mirth, as curious thoughts sedate; As elegance polite, as power elate; Profound as reason, and as justice clear; Soft as compassion, yet as truth severe. His talk is like a stream which runs With rapid change from rocks to roses; He slips from politics to puns, Passes from Mahomet to Moses; Beginning with the laws that keep The planets in their radiant courses, It is not mirth, for mirth she is too still; Savage. The angels sang in heaven when she was born. Longfellow. With more capacity for love than earth lestows on most of mortal mould and birth, [lis early dreams of good out-stripped the truth, And troubled manhood followed baffled youth. Byron. Devoted, anxious, generous, void of guile, Though time her bloom is stealing, There's still beyond his artThe wild flower wreath of feeling, The sunbeam of the heart. Bold in the cause of God he stood Like Templar in the Holy Land; And never knight of princely blood In lady's bower more bland. The gentle deeds of mercy thou hast done, His high broad forehead, marble fair, CHARITY. Good is no good, but if it be spend; God giveth good for none other end. Though the ungrateful subjects of their favours Are barren in return. Rowe's Tamerlane. The secret pleasure of a generous act Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar. Is the great mind's great bribe. Charity ever Finds in the act reward, and needs no trumpet Beaumont and Fletcher's Sea Voyage. Though ne'er so secret finds a just reward. There was no winter in 't an autumn 't was Shaks. Ant. and Cleo. Middleton. Dryden's Don Sebastian Despairing quacks with curses left the place, Pope's Moral Essays. Self-love thus push'd to social,-to divine, Extend it let thy enemies have part, The generons pride of virtue, Thomson's Coriolanus. Thomson's Seasons. The truly generous is the truly wise; And he who loves not others, lives unblest. Home's Douglas. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings but reliev'd their pain: The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd. Goldsmith's Deserted Village. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Goldsmith's Deserted Village. There are, while human miseries abound, Armstrong's Art of Preserving Health. True charity, a plant divinely nurs'd, Cowper's Charity. and charity prevail, the press would prove A venicie of virtue. truth and love. That all you give will God restore? The poor man may deserve it better, Cooper's Charity. And surely, surely wants it more, |