“What avails it that indulgent HeavenFrom mortal eyes has wrapt the woes to come,If we, ingenious to torment ourselves,Grow pale at hideous fictions of our own?Enjoy the present; nor with needless caresOf what may spring from blind misfortune’s womb,Appal the surest hour that life bestows.Serene, and master of yourself, prepareFor what may come; and leave the rest to Heaven.”

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About John Armstrong (poet)

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