How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
Affliction is the good man's shining scene; prosperity conceals his brightest ray; as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
Who lives to Nature, rarely can be poor ; who lives to fancy, never can be rich.
Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.
Ah, how unjust to Nature and himself Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man!