Oft-times a work, through many a patient year
Must toil to reach its finished fair display;
The glittering gaud may fix the passing gaze,
But the pure gem gains Time’s enduring praise.
Merryfellow.
Pshaw! Time will reap his own; but in our power
The moment lies, and we must use the hour.
The Future, no doubt, is the Present’s heir,
But we who live must first enjoy our share.
Methinks the present of a goodly boy