Small service is true service, while it lasts.
To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!