The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration: - feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.

Yet tears to human suffering are due; And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.

In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.

To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!

There is a luxury in self-dispraise; And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.