When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
In an active life is sown the seed of wisdom... And age, if it has not esteem, has nothing.
Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid, A soldier should be modest as a maid.
We see time's furrows on another's brow, And death intrench'd, preparing his assault; How few themselves in that just mirror see!
On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
We are all born originals - why is it so many of us die copies?