Maxioms by Edward Young
Think nought a trifle, though it small appear;
Small sands the mountain, moments make the year,
And read more
Think nought a trifle, though it small appear;
Small sands the mountain, moments make the year,
And trifles life.
And can eternity belong to me,
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
And can eternity belong to me,
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
Their feet through faithless leather met the dirt,
And oftener chang'd their principles than shirt.
Their feet through faithless leather met the dirt,
And oftener chang'd their principles than shirt.
Our birth is nothing but our death begun, As tapers waste the moment they take fire.
Our birth is nothing but our death begun, As tapers waste the moment they take fire.
On the soft bed of luxury most kingdoms have expired.
On the soft bed of luxury most kingdoms have expired.
