What profits us, that we from heaven derive A soul immortal, and with looks erect Survey the stars, if, like the brutal kind We follow where our _passions_ lead the way? _Claudian._ While _passions_ glow, the heart like heated steel Takes each impression, and is worked at pleasure. _Young._ The gales Of pleasure haply waft him, and he bounds Exultingly upon the flattering main; Nor heeds the inexperienced boy the hints Of prudence, and the counsel of the wise; He steers impetuously through dancing waves And oceans of illusive bliss, till now, Crashing upon the keel, his vessel lies A total wreck upon th’ undreaded reef! “Avoid the shoal!” the sacred preacher cries, The volumes of the dead and living, ope The monitory page, alas, in vain! If _passion_ hold the helm, and pleasure fill The swelling sail, though reason, conscience, say “Avoid the shoal!” the voyager is lost. _Carrington._ Thou must chain thy _passions_ down; Well to serve, but ill to sway, Like the fire they must obey. They are good, in subject state, To strengthen, warm, and animate; But if once we let them reign, They sweep with desolating train, ’Till they but leave a hated name, A ruined soul, and blackened fame. _Eliza Cook._ _Passions_, indulged beyond a certain bound, Lead to a precipice, and plunge in woe The heedless agent. _George Bally._ PAST. That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is _past_.--Ecclesiastes, iii. 15. The _past_ lives o’er again, In its effects, and to the guilty spirit The ever-frowning present is its image. _Coleridge._ Who bears no trace of passion’s evil force? Who shuns thy sting, O, terrible Remorse?-- Who does not cast On the thronged pages of his memory’s book, At times, a sad, and half-reluctant look, Regretful of the _Past_? _J. G. Whittier._ Full many a mighty name Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered; With thee are silent fame, Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. Thine for a space are they-- Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last; Thy gates shall yet give way, Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable _Past_! All that of good and fair Has gone into thy womb from earliest time, Shall then come forth, to wear The glory and the beauty of its prime. _W. C. Bryant._