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THE WORTH OF HOURS.

BELIEVE not that your inner eye
Can ever in just measure try
The worth of hours as they go by:

For every man's weak self, alas!

Makes him to see them, while they pass,
As through a dim or tinted glass :

But if in earnest care you would
Mete out to each its part of good,
Trust rather to your after-mood.
Those surely are not fairly spent,
That leave your spirit bowed and bent
In sad unrest and ill-content:

And more, though free from seeming harm,
You rest from toil of mind or arm,

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Or slow retire from pleasure's charm,- 15

If then a painful sense comes on
Of something wholly lost and gone,
Vainly enjoyed, or vainly done,—

Of something from your being's chain
Broke off, nor to be linked again
By all mere memory can retain.

Upon your heart this truth may rise,-
Nothing that altogether dies

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Suffices man's just destinies :

So should we live, that every hour

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May die as dies the natural flower,
A self-reviving thing of power;

That every thought and every deed
May hold within itself the seed
Of future good and future meed;

Esteeming sorrow, whose employ
Is to develope, not destroy,
Far better than a barren joy.

LORD HOUGHTON.

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ODE TO DUTY.

STERN Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a Light to guide, a Rod
To check the erring, and reprove;

Thou, who art victory and law

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When empty terrors overawe;

From vain temptations dost set free ;

And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth:

Glad hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not :

Long may the kindly impulse last!

IO

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But thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand

fast!

Serene will be our days and bright,

And happy will our nature be,

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But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul,

Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:

I feel the weight of chance desires :

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Me this unchartered freedom tires;

My hopes no more must change their name,

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I long for a repose that ever is the same.

WORDSWORTH (abridged).

CONSTANCY.

THE STEDFAST LIFE.

WHO is the honest man?

He that doth still, and strongly good pursue;
To God, his neighbour, and himself most true :
Whom neither force nor fawning can
Unpin, or wrench from giving all their due.

Whose honesty is not

So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind

Can blow away, or glittering look it blind:

Who rides his sure and even trot,

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While the world now rides by, now lags behind. 10 Who, when great trials come,

Nor seek's, nor shuns them; but doth calmly stay, Till he the thing and the example weigh:

All being brought into a sum,

What place or person calls for, he doth pay.
Whom none can work or woo,

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To use in any thing a trick or sleight;
For above all things he abhors deceit :

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His words and works and fashion too All of a piece, and all are clear and straight. Who never melts or thaws, At close temptations: when the day is done, His goodness sets not, but in dark can run : The sun to others writeth laws, And is their virtue; Virtue is his sun.

GEORGE HERBERT.

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THE STURDY ROCK.

THE sturdy rock for all his strength
By raging seas is rent in twain :
The marble stone is pierced at length

With little drops of drizzling rain :
The ox doth yield unto the yoke,
The steel obeyeth the hammer stroke.

The stately stag, that seems so stout,
By yelping hounds at bay is set :
The swiftest bird, that flies about,

Is caught at length in fowler's net :
The greatest fish, in deepest brook,
Is soon deceived by subtle hook.

Yea, man himself, unto whose will

All things are bounden to obey,
For all his wit and worthy skill,

Doth fade at length, and fall away.
There is no thing but time doth waste;
The heavens, the earth consume at last.

But virtue sits triumphing still

Upon the throne of glorious fame : -
Though spiteful death man's body kill,
Yet hurts he not his virtuous name:
By life or death what so betides,
The state of virtue never slides.

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ΙΟ

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MODERN REASONING.

WHENCE Comes it, L—, that every fool,
In reason's spite, in spite of ridicule,

Fondly his own wild whims for truth maintains,
And all the blind deluded world disdains;
Himself the only person blest with sight,
And his opinion the great rule of right?

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'Tis strange from folly this conceit should rise, That want of sense should make us think we're wise: Yet so it is. The most egregious elf

Thinks none so wise or witty as himself.

Who nothing knows, will all things comprehend; And who can least confute, will most contend.

ΙΟ

I love the man, I love him from my soul, Whom neither weakness blinds, nor whims control; With learning blest, with solid reason fraught, Who slowly thinks, and ponders every thought: Yet conscious to himself how apt to err,

Suggests his notions with a modest fear;

Hears every reason, every passion hides,

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Debates with calmness, and with care decides; 20 More pleased to learn, than eager to confute,

Not victory, but truth his sole pursuit.

But these are very rare.

How happy he

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Who tastes such converse, L-, with thee!
Each social hour is spent in joys sublime,

Whilst hand in hand o'er learning's Alps you climb;
Through reason's paths in search of truth proceed
And clear the flow'ry way from every weed;
Till from her ancient cavern raised to light,
The beauteous stranger stands reveal'd to sight. 30.

How far from this the furious noisy crew, Who, what they once assert, with zeal pursue? Their greater right infer from louder tongues ; And strength of argument from strength of lungs, Instead of sense; who stun your ears with sound, 35 And think they conquer, when they but confound. Taurus, a bellowing champion, storms and swears, And drives his argument through both your ears; And whether truth or falsehood, right or wrong, 'Tis still maintain'd, and proved by dint of— tongue.

In all disputes he bravely wins the day,

No wonder-for he hears not what you say.

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