Classic Poem

“Worth makes the man,” as Pope has said,
And all things else must quickly fade.
The mind neglected, or disgrac'd,
Will soon become a desart waste,
And weeds and briars will take their root,
Where fair and useful plants might shoot;
Even Adders—Serpents there may dwell,
And turn the fairest spot to Hell.
Then oh beware!—In early youth
Accept the gentle cares of Truth!
Pleasure—or Vanity—or Art,
May make pretensions to the heart,
And Indolence, in rosy bow'rs,
May claim thy fleeting precious hours;
But oh! the draught her hand conveys
May prove a poison all thy days!
Regardless of the pow'r of Time,
Thy mind may wither in its prime;
Thy faculties, so bright and gay,
Which Heaven bestow'd, may shrink away;
At least, full many a toilsome hour
Must bring them to their native pow'r.
Then oh! their energy employ,
And leave the future—to enjoy!
A future, glorious and divine,
Beyond these regions, may be thine!
And know, the precious culture given
May bring their fruits to bloom in Heaven.