There buds the promise of celestial worth.
Nothing in Nature, much less conscious being, Was e'er created solely for itself.
Too low they build who build below the skies.
Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat defects of judgment, and the will subdue; walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore of that vast ocean it must sail so soon.
Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
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.