No king nor nation one moment can retard the appointed hour.
And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.
For all have not the gift of martyrdom.
If passion rules, how weak does reason prove!
Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
The province of the soul is large enough to fill up every cranny of your time, and leave you much to answer for if one wretch be damned by your neglect.