Classic Poem

Still dark with frowns return the sullen Years,
Still move with rent and blood-stain'd robes away;
The giant Force his form terrific rears
To heaven, and bids th' astonished world obey.

Yet thou, my soul, though wrecked around thee sink
All that can wake thy love, thy reverence claim,
Lose not thy last, best hope, nor stoop to think
Truth but a sound, and Virtue but a name.

Few note the virtue that from view retires,
Few prize the worth that every moment sees;
We mark the tempest's rage, the comet's fires,
Forget the shower, the sunshine, and the breeze.