What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
Body and soul, like peevish man and wife, United jar, and yet are loth to part.
We are all born originals - why is it so many of us die copies?
A death-bed's a detector of the heart.
'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.
Man wants but little, nor that little long; How soon must he resign his very dust, Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!