Of a few evils, paid with endless joys? 2381
My soul! henceforth, in sweetest union join
The two supports of human happiness,
Which some, erroneous, think can never meet;
True taste of life, and constant thought of death!
The thought of death, sole victor of its dread!
Hope, be thy joy; and probity thy skill;
Thy patron He, whose diadem has dropp’d
Yon gems of heaven; eternity, thy prize:
And leave the racers of the world their own, 2390