The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.

The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.

Still on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up Of such small parts as these, and men look back Worn and bewilder'd, wondering how it is.

Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.

Men's actions to futurity appear but as the events to which they are conjoined do give them consequence.

It ever is the marked propensity of restless and aspiring minds to look into the stretch of dark futurity.

Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot; Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes; Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.