We push time from us, and we wish him back; * * * * * * Life we think long and short; death seek and shun.

Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes; They love a train, they tread each other's heel.

The weak have remedies, the wise have joys; superior wisdom is superior bliss.

Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.

Ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.

Procrastination is the thief of time; year after year it steals, till all are fled, and to the mercies of a moment leaves the vast concerns of an eternal state. At thirty, man suspects himself a fool; knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; at fifty chides his infamous delay, pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; in all the magnanimity of thought, resolves, and re-resolves, then dies the same.

How blessings brighten as they take their flight.