Classic Poem

A better plan of life you form,
Not wholly launching out from land,
Nor over-jealous of a storm,
Too much for shore to stand.
Whoever loves the golden mean,
From sordid want himself supports,
Nor, safe and sober, is he seen
In envy-moving courts.
Tall pines are shaken, and the tow'r
Comes heaviest from the highest wall,
And thunderbolts, with greater pow'r,
On topmost mountains fall.
Hearts, well prepar'd, will see a dawn
Of hope in woe — in wealth will pray
'Gainst change — heav'n brings the winter on,
And drives the hag away.
If times are evil, by and by
They shall be better — Phoebus plays
At times upon his minstrelsy,
Not always shoots his rays.
When times are hardest, then a face
Of constancy and spirit wear;
But wise contract your sails apace,
When once the wind's too fair.