  There is not a day, There is not an hour, But carries away Or offers us power. Which is the better The winner or loser? To fortune a debtor, Or fortune’s wise user? To other men’s view, Though steadily striving, How little we do Unless we are thriving. The quaint artist Time Close student of Duty, Is a master sublime In painting soul beauty. We may not improve On what he has shown us, But forward must move Or he will disown us. The higher we stand For prizes contending, The more rigid demand For delicate blending. |
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