How childish griefs and disappointments bowed down the childish mind?
How sorrow sat upon your pillow, and terror hath waked you up betimes,
Dreading the strict hand of justice, that would not wait for a reason,
Or the whims of petty tyrants, children like yourselves,
Or the pestilent extract of evil poured into the ear of innocence?
Behold the coral island, fresh from the floor of the Atlantic,
It is dinted by every ripple, and a soft wave can smooth its surface;
But soon its substance hardeneth in the winds and tropic sun,
And weakly the foaming billows break against its adamantine wall:
Even thus, though sin and care dash upon the firmness of manhood,