We take no note of time But from its loss.

How blessings brighten as they take their flight.

A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays, And confident to-morrows.

Life's cares are comforts; such by heaven design'd He that has none, must make them or be wretched.

Thoughts shut up want air, And spoil like bales unopen'd to the sun.

How commentators each dark passage shun, And hold their farthing candle to the sun.