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If solid happiness we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies, And they are fools who roam. The world has nothing to bestow From our own selves our joys must flow, And that dear hut, our home.

Nathaniel Cotton

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Nathaniel Cotton
Age: 83 †
Born: 1705
Born: January 1
Died: 1788
Died: January 1
Poet
Dr. Nathaniel Cotton
Lying
Breasts
Jewel
Happiness
Prize
Selves
Home
Dear
Jewels
Nothing
Flow
Breast
Self
Lies
Joys
Must
Fool
Deceit
Roam
World
Joy
Solid
Huts
Within
Fools
Bestow

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Yet still we hug the dear deceit.
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Be mine that silent calm repast, A conscience cheerful to the last: That tree which bears immortal fruit, Without a canker at the root That friend which never fails the just, When other friends desert their trust.
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To be resigned when ills betide, Patient when favours are deni'd, And pleas'd with favours given, - Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part This is that incense of the heart Whose fragrance smells to heaven.
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On God for all events depend You cannot want when God's your friend. Weigh well your part and do your best Leave to your Maker all the rest.
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Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee.
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Thus hand in hand through life we 'll go Its checker'd paths of joy and woe With cautious steps we 'll tread.
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We'll therefore relish with content, Whate'er kind providence has sent, Nor aim beyond our pow'r For, if our stock be very small, 'Tis prudent to enjoy it all, Nor lose the present hour.
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