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. 'Tis 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 Ne'er Prevail To Reach The Distant Coast; The Breath Of Heaven Must Swell The Sail, Or All The Toil Is Lost.