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And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Bounties
Bounty
Belong
Hour
Eternity
Hours
Poor

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A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
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The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
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Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!
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They most the world enjoy who least admire.
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Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
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Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.
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Old men love novelties the last arriv'd Still pleases best the youngest steals their smiles.
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A land of levity is a land of guilt.
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'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.
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Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.
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It is great and manly to disdain disguise it shows our spirit and proves our strength.
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Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
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On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
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He sins against this life, who slights the next.
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Unlearned men of books assume the care, As eunuchs are the guardians of the fair.
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Truth never was indebted to a lie
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Be wise to-day 't is madness to defer.
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Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother's heart?
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One to destroy, is murder by the law and gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe to murder thousands, takes a specious name, 'War's glorious art', and gives immortal fame.
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The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.
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