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THE CORAL GROVE. — Percival.
Deep in the wave is a coral grove,
green and grassy
A HAPPY LIFE.
A HAPPY LIFE. — Sir Henry Wotton.
How happy is he born and taught,
That serveth not another's will; Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill;
Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care
Of public fame or private breath;
Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Nor vice; hath ever understood
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;
Who hath his life from rumors freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend.
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.
KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM. - Cowper. KNOWLEDGE and Wisdom, far from being one, Have oft times no connection. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom, in minds attentive to their own. Knowledge, - a rude, unprofitable mass, The mere materials with which Wisdom builds,Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place, Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich ! Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much, Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
Since trifles make the sum of human things,
all may please; O, let the ungentle spirit learn from hence, A small unkindness is a great offence !
The sturdy rock, for all his strength,
By raging seas is rent in twain;
With little drops of drizzling rain;
Yea, man himself, unto whose will
All things are bounden to obey,
Doth fade at length, and fall away.
But Virtue sits, triumphing still,
Upon the throne of glorious Fame;
Yet hurts he not his virtuous name.
CONSTANCY. - George Herbert.
Who is the honest man?
Whom neither force nor frowning can
Whose honesty is not
Who rides his sure and even trot,
Who, when great trials come,
All being brought into a sum,
Whom none can work or woo
His words, and works, and fashion, too,
Who never melts or thaws
The sun to others writeth laws
Who, when he is to treat With sick folks, women, those whom passions sway, Allows for that, and keeps his constant way;
Whom others' faults do not defeat, But, though men fail him, yet his part doth play.
Whom nothing can procure, When the wide world runs bias from his will, To writhe his limbs, and share, not mend, the ill.
This is the marksman, safe and sure, , Who still is right and prays to be so still.
TIMES GO BY TURNS. - Southwell, born in 1560.
The loppéd tree in time may grow again,