FOUR PROVERBS.
I
An hour of Good, a day of Ill,
This is the lot of mourning Man,
Who leaves the world whene'er he will,
But goes to Heaven whene'er he—can.
II
The steed to the man who bestrides it newly,
The sabre to him who best can wield it,
The damsel to him who has wooed her truly,
And the province to him who refuses to yield it.
III
Thy thoughts are but Silver when told;
Locked up in thy breast they are Gold.
IV
Nought, I hear thee say,
Can fill the greedy eye;
Yet a little clay
Will fill it by and by.
