Hast thou a thought upon thy brain, catch it while thou canst;
Or other thoughts shall settle there, and this shall soon take wing:
Thine uncompounded unity of soul, which argueth and maketh it immortal,
Yieldeth up its momentary self to every single thought;
Therefore, to husband thine ideas, and give them stability and substance,
Write often for thy secret eye; so shalt thou grow wiser.
The commonest mind is full of thoughts; some worthy of the rarest:
And could it see them fairly writ, would wonder at its wealth.
O precious compensation to the dumb, to write his wants and wishes;
O dear amends to the stammering tongue, to pen his burning thoughts!