Edward Young (1683 – 1765)
English poet, best remembered for Night Thoughts.
Life's cares are comforts; such by Heav'n design'd;
He that hath none must make them, or be wretched.
Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.
And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour.
Friendship's the wine of life; but friendship new
(Not such was his) is neither strong nor pure.
Prayer ardent opens heaven.
The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art,
Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.
Be wise with speed;
A fool at forty is a fool indeed.
Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!
Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
Time flies, death urges, knells call, Heaven invites,
Hell threatens.
Like our shadows,
Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
And all may do what has by man been done.
Tomorrow is a satire on today,
And shows its weakness.
"I've lost a day!"—the prince who nobly cried,
Had been an emperor without his crown.
At thirty, man suspects himself a fool;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;
At fifty chides his infamous delay,
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve;
In all the magnanimity of thought
Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.
Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform.
How blessings brighten as they take their flight!
The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
In youth, what disappointments of our own making: in age, what disappointments from the nature of things.