Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment but in purchase of its worth, And what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.
Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, "That all men are about to live."
To know the world, not love her, is thy point; She gives but little, nor that little, long.
Ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
By night an atheist half-believes in God.