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Poem by William Cowper
Weak and irresolute is man; The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan, To-morrow rends away. The bow well bent, and smart the spring, Vice seems already slain; But passion rudely snaps the string, And it revives again. Some foe to his upright intent Finds out his weaker part; Virtue engages his assent, But Pleasure wins his heart. СTis here the folly of the wise Through all his art we view; And, while his tongue the charge denies, His conscience owns it true. Bound on a voyage of awful length And dangers little known, A stranger to superior strength, Man vainly trusts his own. But oars alone can neТer prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.
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