To greet some cousin-German’s safe return,
And of his orders crave the bliss—a share.
(Thirteen verses omitted here.)
Whoe’er to torpid indolence a prey,
His busy cares in trade hath oft resign’d;
Quitted the race of fortune for a day,
Is left by jostling brothers far behind.
Thus on the game of chance the soul relies,
’Till fading nature peace and rest requires;
’Till from the tomb are heard death’s warning cries,