Oh! how impatience gains upon the soul, 
When the long-promised hour of joy draws near! 
How slow the tardy moments seem to roll! 
JvIrs. Jxghe, 
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, 
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry; 
But were we burdened with like weight of pain 
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain. 
Shakespeare. 
JANUARY 31 
Bay Leaf .~ I change but in death. 
I change but in dying, and no holier vow 
From lips mortal e’er came that I breathe to thee now; 
It comes from a heart with love for thee sighing; 
Believe me, ’tis true—I change but in dying. 
jJoHN jS. ^DAES. 
