This fib'rous frame, by nature's kindly law

This fib'rous frame, by nature's kindly law, Which gives each joy to keen sensation here, O'er purer scenes of bliss the veil may draw, And cloud reflection's more exalted sphere. When death's cold hand, with all-dissolving pow'r, Shall the close tie with friendly stroke unbind; Alike our mortal as our natal hour May to new being wake the rising mind; On death's new genial day the soul may rise, Born to some higher life, and hail some brighter skies.

THIS is the state of man; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And—nips his root.