Direct thy wandering thoughts to things above—
Low at the cross bow down—in that confide,
Till doubt be lost in faith, and bliss secured in love.
C. C. Colton.
The world, in all its boasted grandeur proud,
In all its stores of dazzling splendour bright,
Is but a transient, unsubstantial cloud,
Which the sun skirts with momentary light:
Anon, the assailing winds impetuous rise,
Black lowers the tempest in the sullen sky;