Improve the shining hours of youth,
For soon, alas, they will be gone,
Strive hard for learning, zeal and truth,
For ev'ry soul must fight alone.
TO A FRIEND.
Within this little book of thine,
Are thoughts of many a friendly mind,
Express'd in words, on which you'll gaze
In after years, with feelings kind.
And while you're scanning o'er each page,
These lines I write, perchance you'll see,
And tho' they're penn'd by careless hand,
You'll know that they are penn'd by me.
Perhaps you'll think of school-days then,
Of happy school-days, long since past,
When you and I, in careless youth,
Thought that those days would always last.
TO MASTER GEORGE TWIDDY.
G o on your way, my youthful friend,
E arth's joys and woes to feel,
O 'er rough and smooth, your course will tend,
R ight on, thro' woe and weal,
G ird up yourself then, for the fight,
E ach foe to meet without affright.
T hink not too much of joy or woe,
W hich one and all must meet,
I n duty's path still onward go,
D ark days and bright to greet,
D etermin'd still to do your best,
Y our work, be sure, will then be blest.
TO MISS ——
The fairest flowers often fade,
And die, alas! too soon,
Ere half their life is sped, they droop,
And wither in their bloom.