"_Agite Mais Constant_."
"Though the speed with which we are hurried through the immensity of
space, is not perceptible to our vision; yet the _truth_ that '_Time_
is ever on the wing,' should teach us to be wise while it is called
'_to-day_.'"
Pleasures of _time_ and _sense_ can give
No hope or real joy;
They leave an aching void behind,
Are mixed with base alloy.
Say, wouldst thou twine a lasting wreath
To deck thy forehead fair,
Go--wipe away the _widow's_ tear,
And sooth the _orphan's_ care.
Wouldst thou be meet to join the choir
Who sing in endless bliss,
Go--drink at that Eternal Fount,
Whose stream shall never cease.
Wouldst thou improve the talents here,
Transmitted from above;
Go--turn the sinner from his way,
And prove a Saviour's love.