With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.
Beautiful as sweet, And young as beautiful, and soft as young, And gay as soft, and innocent as gay!
Procrastination is the thief of time: Year after year it steals, till all are fled.
The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.
Nature delights in progress; in advance.
And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?