Him Of The Western Dome, Whose Weighty

Tomorrow Do Thy Worst, For I Have Lived Today: Be Fair Or Foul Or Rain Or Shine, The Joys I Have Possessed In Spite Of Fate Are Mine. Not Heaven Itself Upon The Past Has Power; But What Has Been Has Been, And I Have Had My Hour.

Old Age Creeps On Us Ere We Think It Nigh.

Content With Poverty, My Soul I Arm; And Virtue, Though In Rags, Will Keep Me Warm.

Riches Cannot Rescue From The Grave, Which Claims Alike The Monarch And The Slave.

Arts And Sciences In One And The Same Century Have Arrived At Great Perfection; And No Wonder, Since Every Age Has A Kind Of Universal Genius, Which Inclines Those That Live In It To Some Particular Studies; The Work Then, Being Pushed On By Many Hands, Must Go Forward.