Sonnet II.

SONNET II.

WIsely, O C*; enjoy the present hour, The present hour is all the time we have, High God the rest has plac'd beyond our pow'r, Consign'd, perhaps, to grief — or to the grave.

Wretched the man, who toils ambition's slave; Who pines for wealth, or sighs for empty fame; Who rolls in pleasures which the mind deprave, Bought with severe remorse, and guilty shame.

Virtue and knowledge be our better aim; These help us Ill to bear, or teach to shun; Let friendship cheer us with her gen'rous flame, Friendship, the sum of all our joys in one; So shall we live each moment fate has giv'n; How long, or short, let us resign to heav'n.