TIME. 
71 
FIR. 
Pinus balsamea. 
Language — TIME. 
That brow was fair to see, love, 
That looks so shaded now ; 
But for me it bore the care, love, 
That spoiled a bonny brow. 
And though no longer there, love, 
The gloss it had of yore, 
Still memory looks and dotes, love, 
Where hope admired before. 
Hood. 
To-morrow you will live, you always cry. 
In what far country doth this morrow lie, 
That ’tis so mighty long ere it arrive ? 
Beyond the Indies doth this morrow live ? 
’Tis so far-fetched, this morrow, that I fear 
’Twill be both very old and very dear. 
To-morrow will I live, the fool doth say ■ 
To-day itself’s too late; the wise lived yesterday. 
Why should we count our life by years, 
Since years are short, and pass away ? 
Or why by fortune’s smiles or tears, 
Since tears are vain, and smiles decay ? 
O, count by virtues : these shall last 
When life’s lame-footed race is o’er : 
And these, when earthly joys are past, 
May cheer us on a brighter shore. 
