Charm strikes the sight, but merit wins the soul.
Fondly we think we honor merit then, when we but praise ourselves in other men.
I am satisfied to trifle away my time, rather than let it stick by me.
On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale; Nor God alone in the still calm we find, He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.
But blind to former as to future fate, what mortal knows his pre-existent state?
A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.