Tis human actions paint the chart of time.
The tulip's petals shine in dew, All beautiful, but none alike.
When evening closes Nature's eye, The glow-worm lights her little spark To captivate her favorite fly And tempt the rover through the dark.
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent, a day's march nearer home.
The Dove, on silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.
While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue, But coyly linger'd on the thorn.