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النشر الإلكتروني

Little vices


Out-Herod felonies and crimes;
And little virtues in the sum
Great excellencies do become.


How fair is the rose ! what a beautiful flower!

The glory of April and May ;-
But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,

And they wither and die in a day.

Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast,

Above all the flowers of the field : When its leaves are all dead, and fine colors are lost,

Still how sweet a perfume it will yield !

So frail is the youth and the beauty of men,

Though they bloom and look gay like a rose : For all our fond care to preserve them is vain;

Time kills them as fast as he goes.

Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty,

Since both of them wither and fade,
But gain a good name by well doing my duty;

This will scent like a rose when I'm dead.





COME, Henry, and list what an old man says,

Whose voice must now soon be still ;
And perhaps the remembrance in after days,
Among life's many and toilsome ways,

May aid to preserve you from ill.
My boy, to the impulse always yield

Of the Holy Voice within ;
But when a thought springs in the heart concealed,
Which you would not be willing to have revealed,

Be sure 't is a thought of sin.
When you stand in doubt if a deed be right

Or wrong, which you wish to do,
Remember 't is better, in God's pure sight,
To reliquish at once the desired delight,

Than a doubtful course pursue. Never think, my dear boy, that your life was given

To be spent for yourself alone; From the circle of human affections riven, You'd be wretched, though earth were as bright as

heaven, And you on a monarch’s throne. To your kindred, your neighbors, let kindness flow,

In a bright perennial stream;

Be true to your friend ;-be just e'en to your foe;
And on him, should his bosom its malice forego,

Let the rays of forgiveness beam.

To your country a wise and affectionate son,

Her interests ever revere :
Unseen let the streams of your charity run,
Save by Him in whose sight every action is done,

And adore Him with love and with fear.

Thus shall He crown your days with his blessings

below, With friendship, and honor, and peace; Or if storms o'er your head in wild fury should blow, And your fond hopes be laid by adversity low,

Fear not, but await your release.



THESE emmets, how little they are in our eyes !
We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies,

Without our regard or concern;
Yet, wise as we are, if we went to their school,
There 's many a sluggard, and many a fool,

Some lessons of wisdom might learn.

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They wear not their time out in sleeping or play,
But gather up corn in a sunshiny day,

And for winter they lay up their stores;
They manage their work in such regular forms,
One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the

And so brought their food within doors. [storms,

But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant,
If I take not due care for the things I shall want,

Nor provide against dangers in time;
When death or old


shall once stare in my face, What a wretch I shall be in the end of my days,

If I trifle away all their prime !

Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom,

[come, Let me think what shall serve me when sickness shall

And pray that my sins be forgiven; Let me read in good books, and believe and obey, That when death turns me out of this cottage of clay,

I may dwell in a palace in heaven.

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“You are old, Father William,” the young man cried,

The few locks that are left you are gray ; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man;

Now tell me the reason, I pray."

“In the days of my youth,” Father William replied,

“I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abus'd not my health and my vigor at first,

That I never might need them at last.'

“You are old, Father William," the young man cried,

“And pleasures with youth pass away; And yet you lament not the days that are gone;

Now tell me the reason, I pray."

“ In the days of my youth,” Father William replied;

“I remember'd that youth would not last ; I thought of the future, whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past.”

“You are old, Father William,” the young man cried,

“ And life must be hast'ning away; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon

death! Now tell me the reason, I pray."

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