Habit With Him Was All

't Was Good Advice, And Meant, My Son, Be Good.

Men Famed For Wit, Of Dangerous Talents Vain, Treat Those Of Common Parts With Proud Disdain; The Powers That Wisdom Would, Improving, Hide, They Blaze Abroad, With Inconsid'rate Pride; While Yet But Mere Probationers For Fame, They Seize The Honor They Should Then Disclaim: Honor So Hurried To The Light Must Fade, The Lasting Laurels Nourish In The Shade.

Life's Bloomy Flush Was Lost.

Circles In Water As They Wider Flow The Less Conspicuous In Their Progress Grow, And When At Last They Trench Upon The Shore, Distinction Ceases And They're View'd No More.

Who Often Reads, Will Sometimes Wish To Write.