Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.
Mine is the night, with all her stars.
Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.
The person of wisdom is the person of years.
What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
Some go to Church, proud humbly to repent, And come back much more guilty than they went: One way they look, another way they steer, Pray to the Gods; but would have Mortals hear; And when their sins they set sincerely down, They'll find that their Religion has been one.