Life's Bloomy Flush Was Lost.

Beauties, When Disposed To Sleep, Should From The Eye Of Keen Inspector Keep: The Lovely Nymph Who Would Her Swain Surprise, May Close Her Mouth, But Not Conceal Her Eyes; Sleep From The Fairest Face Some Beauty Takes, And All The Homely Features Homelier Makes.

Anger Makes Us Strong, Blind And Impatient, And It Leads Us Wrong; The Strength Is Quickly Lost; We Feel The Error Long.

Say, Ye Oppress'd By Some Fantastic Woes, Some Jarring Nerve That Baffles Your Repose; Who Press The Downy Couch, While Slaves Advance With Timid Eye, To Read The Distant Glance; Who With Sad Prayers The Weary Doctor Tease, To Name The Nameless Ever-new Disease; Who With Mock Patience Dire Complaints Endure, Which Real Pain And That Alone Can Cure; How Would Ye Bear In Real Pain To Lie, Despised, Neglected, Left Alone To Die? How Would Ye Bear To Draw Your Latest Breath, Where All That's Wretched Paves The Way For Death?

Better To Love Amiss Than Nothing To Have Loved.

How Often Do We Sigh For Opportunities For Doing Good, Whilst We Neglect The Openings Of Providence In Little Things, Which Would Frequently Lead To The Accomplishment Of Most Important Usefulness. Good Is Done By Degrees. However Small In Proportion The Benefit Which Follows Individual Attempts To Do Good, A Great Deal May Thus Be Accomplished By Perseverance, Even In The Midst Of Discouragements And Disappointments.