Where, where for shelter shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale?
Read nature; nature is a friend to truth.
Be wise to-day; 't is madness to defer.
There buds the promise of celestial worth.
O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.
Ah! what is human life? How, like the dial's tardy-moving shade, Day after day slides from us unperceiv'd! The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth; Too subtle is the movement to be seen; Yet soon the hour is up--and we are gone.