C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Tickell

Vain man would trace the mystic maze

With foolish wisdom, arguing, charge his God,

His balance hold, and guide his angry rod,

New-mould the spheres, and mend the skies’ design,

And sound th’ immense with his short scanty line.

Do thou, my soul, the destined period wait,

When God shall solve the dark decrees of fate,

His now unequal dispensation clear,

And make all wise and beautiful appear.

A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers.

Now hear the trumpets’ clangor from afar, and all the dreadful harmony of war.

Sweet as dew-drops on the flowery lawns when the sky opens, and the morning dawns.

The silver empress of the night.

The sweetest garland to the sweetest maid.