Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?

From toil he wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful night; Rich, from the very want of wealth, In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

We frolic while 'tis May.

Men will believe anything at all provided they are under no obligation to believe it.

And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?