The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.
A foe to God ne'er was true friend to man, Some sinister intent taints all he does.
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
A friend is worth all hazards we can run.
Man wants little, nor that little long.