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• Farewell—let hope thy bliss supply, we • And count thy gains with fancy's eye ; • Be thine the wings that time shall send, * Believing and obliging friend. "

He said, and, sneering sly disdain, The neighb'ring leaf attempts to gain ; He falls—all bruis'd on earth he lies ;' Too late repents, and groans, and dies.

His friendly Monitor, with care, Avoids each pleasure-baited snare, Shoot False pleasure, false and fatal too! Superior joys he keeps in view : They come--the genial spring supplies The wings he hop'd, and, lo! he flies; Tastes all that summer suns prepare, And all the joys of earth and air!


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My waking dreams are best conceal'd,
Much folly, little good they yield;
But now and then I gain when sleeping,
A friendly hint that's worth the keeping:
Lately I dream'd of one who cried,
• Beware of self, beware of pride;
• When you are prone to build a Babel,
• Recal to mind this little Fable.'

Once on a time a Paper Kite
Was mounted to a wond'rous height,
Where, giddy with its elevation,
It thus express'd self-admiration:

See how yon crowds of gazing people • Admire my flight above the steeple ;

How would they wonder if they knew • All that a Kite like me can do! • Were I but free, I'd take a flight, • And pierce the clouds beyond their sight, • But, ah! like a poor pris’ner bound, * My string confines me near the ground:


• I'd brave the eagle's tow'ring wing, • Might I but fly without a string.'

It tugg’d and pull’d, while thus it spoke, To break the string,--at last it broke. Depriv'd at once of all its stay, In vain it tried to soar away; Unable its own weight to bear, It flutter'd downward thro' the air; Unable its own course to guide,) YOU A HOC The winds soon plung’d it in the tide. For hver Ah! foolish Kite, thou had'st no wing, How could'st thou fly without a string ?

My heart replied, O Lord, I see great • How much this Kite resembles med logo • Forgetful that by thee I stand, • Impatient of thy ruling hand; elke vor • How oft I've wish'd to break the lines salyut • Thy wisdom for my lot assigns ? Ne bomo • How oft indulg'd a vain desire sbobie & sit . For something more, or something higher? • And, but for grace and love divine, som A fall thus dreadful had been mine.

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Some Author (no great matter who, ó ria
Provided what he says be true)
Relates he saw, with hostile rage,
A Spider and a Toad engage: · 14
For, tho' with poison both are stor’d, ..!! 1,5
Each by the other is abhorr’d, linik Get
It seems as if their common venoms išlint
Provok'd an enmity between 'em... v liik, her?
Implacable, malicious, cruel, .;.. ;... indo
Like modern hero in a duel, . .ste!
The Spider darted on his foe,
Infixing death at every blow.
The Toad, by ready instinct taught, 1817
An antidote, when wounded, sought ! !
From the herb Plantane, growing near, 7 A
Well known to Toads its virtues rare, --- DV
The Spider's poison to repel; 'Sparen it
It cropp'd the leaf, and soon was well. com
This remedy it often tried, borgarin n
And all the Spider's rage defied. -mies!
The person who the contest view'd, coon
While yet the battle doubtful stood,

Remov’d the healing plant away-
And thus the Spider gain'd the day :
For, when the Toad return’d once more
Wounded, as it had done before,
To seek relief, and found it not,
It swellid and died upon the spot.

In ev'ry circumstance, but one,
(Could that hold too, I were undone,)
No glass can represent my face bienfaisance
More justly than this tale my case.
The Toad's an emblem of my heart, then
And Satan acts the Spider's part.

A Envenom'd 'by his poison, Irskesi taleying 10 Am often at the point to die;

a But He who hung upon the tree, easy to From guilt and woe to set me free, so bulego Is like the Plantane leaf to me. isos olhos To him my wounded soul repairs, asbon 931 He knows my pain, and hears my prayers; adT From Him I virtue draw by faith, 6 guirond Which saves me from the jaws of death:T 50 From Him fresh life and strength I gain, no na And Satan spends his rage in vain. Inico: No secret arts, or open force, - STHRO W Can rob me of this sure resource, 501 2 art. Tho' banish'd to some distant land, o guono il My med'cine would be still at hand merairit Tho' foolish men its worth dény,? schelle bora Experience gives them all the lies mesos

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