 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
270
HORACE'S PHILOSOPHY.
Wisely for us within night's sable veilGod hides the future; and, if men turn pale
For dread distrusting, laughs their fear to scorn:
For thee, the present calmly order well;
All else as on a river's tide is borne,
Now flowing peaceful to the Tuscan sea
Down the mid-channel on a gentle swell,
Now, as the hoarse fierce mandate of the flood
Stirs up the quiet stream, time-eaten rocks
Go hurrying down, with houses herds and flocks,
And echoes from the mountain and the wood:
He stands alone glad, self-possess'd and free,
Who grateful for to-day can say, I live;
To-morrow let my Father take or give.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |