_Life_ is most enjoyed When courted least; most worth when disesteemed; Then ’tis the seat of comfort, rich in peace, In prospect richer far; important, awful, Not to be mentioned, but with shouts of praise! Not to be thought on, but with tides of joy! The mighty basis of eternal bliss! * * * * * In the same brook, none ever bathed him twice: To the same _life_, none ever twice awoke. We call the brook the same; the same we think Our _life_, though still more rapid in its flow; Nor mark the much irrevocably lapsed, And mingled with the sea. _Young._ Opening the map of God’s expansive plan, We find a little isle, this _life_ of man; Eternity’s unknown expanse appears Circling around, and limiting his years. The busy race examine and explore Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore, With care collect what in their eyes excels, Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells, Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great, And happiest be that groans beneath his weight. The waves o’ertake them in their serious play, And every hour sweeps multitudes away; They shriek and sink--survivors start and weep, Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. _Cowper._ This mortal _life_, Seeming so fair, is like a feather tossed, Borne on the wind, and in a moment lost. Or if with sudden wheel it flies Further sometimes, and upwards springs, And then upon its wings Sustained in air, as if self-balanced, lies, The lightness of its nature is the cause-- And swiftly, after little pause, With thousand turns, and thousand idle stops, Because it is of earth, to earth it drops. _From the Italian of Sanazzaro._ Transient, fickle, light, and gay, Flattering only to betray; What, alas! can _life_ contain! _Life_ like all its circles,--vain. _Moore._ Man’s _life_’s a book of history; The leaves thereof are days; The letters, mercies closely joined; The title is God’s praise. _Mason._ How short is human _life_! the very breath Which frames my words, accelerates my death. _Hannah More._