Miss not the occasion; by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.

Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.

Me this uncharted freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.

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

Delivered from the galling yoke of time.

Books are the best type of the influence of the past.

And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.