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Learn From The Birds What Food The Thickets Yield; Learn From The Beasts The Physic Of The Field; The Arts Of Building From The Bee Receive; Learn Of The Mole To Plow, The Worm To Weave.

-Alexander Pope

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Learn From The Birds

Alexander Pope

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Learn From The Birds What Food The Thickets Yield; Learn From The Beasts The Physic Of The Field; The Arts Of Building From The Bee Receive; Learn Of The Mole To Plow, The Worm To Weave.

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More From Alexander Pope

The Way Of The Creative Works Through Change And Transformation, So That Each Thing Receives Its True Nature And Destiny And Comes Into Permanent Accord With The Great Harmony: This Is What Furthers And What Perseveres.

Heaven Breathes Thro' Ev'ry Member Of The Whole One Common Blessing, As One Common Soul.

Like Bubbles On The Sea Of Matter Borne, They Rise, They Break, And To That Sea Return.

Ah! What Avails It Me The Flocks To Keep, Who Lost My Heart While I Preserv'd My Sheep.

Authors, Like Coins, Grow Dear As They Grow Old.

Unthought-of Frailties Cheat Us In The Wise.

And Each Blasphemer Quite Escape The Rod, Because The Insult's Not On Man, But God?

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.

Learn Of The Little Nautilus To Sail, Spread The Thin Oar, And Catch The Driving Gale.

To Balance Fortune By A Just Expense, Join With Economy, Magnificence.

Unblemish'd Let Me Live Or Die Unknown; Oh, Grant An Honest Fame, Or Grant Me None!

Here Am I, Dying Of A Hundred Good Symptoms.

Famous Last Words

Wit Is The Lowest Form Of Humor.

For Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife, Though Meant Each Other's Aid, Like Man And Wife.

The Blest To-day Is As Completely So, As Who Began A Thousand Years Ago.

You Eat, In Dreams, The Custard Of The Day.

Some Positive Persisting Fops We Know, Who, If Once Wrong, Will Needs Be Always So; But You With Pleasure Own Your Errors Past, And Make Each Day A Critique On The Last.

But Thinks, Admitted To That Equal Sky, His Faithful Dog Shall Bear Him Company.

Hills Peep O'er Hills, And Alps On Alps Arise.

Pretty Conceptions, Fine Metaphors, Glittering Expressions, And Something Of A Neat Cast Of Verse Are Properly The Dress, Gems, Or Loose Ornaments Of Poetry.

With The Mistake Your Life Goes In Reverse. Now You Can See Exactly What You Did Wrong Yesterday And Wrong The Day Before And Each Mistake Leads Back To Something Worse.

Lulled In The Countless Chambers Of The Brain, Our Thoughts Are Linked By Many A Hidden Chain; Awake But One, And In, What Myriads Rise!

True Self-love And Social Are The Same.

Pretty! In Amber To Observe The Forms Of Hairs, Of Straws, Or Dirt, Or Grubs, Or Worms! The Things, We Know, Are Neither Rich Nor Rare, But Wonder How The Devil They Got There.

Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread.

Consult The Genius Of The Place, That Paints As You Plant, And As You Work.

All Nature's Diff'rence Keeps All Nature's Peace.

Therefore They Who Say Our Thoughts Are Not Our Own Because They Resemble The Ancients, May As Well Say Our Faces Are Not Our Own, Because They Are Like Our Fathers: And Indeed It Is Very Unreasonable, That People Should Expect Us To Be Scholars, And Yet Be Angry To Find Us So.

A Field Of Glory Is A Field For All.

Ask For What End The Heavenly Bodies Shine, Earth For Whose Use? Pride Answers, 'tis For Mine For Me Kind Nature Wakes Her Genial Power, Suckles Each Herb, And Spreads Out Every Flower.

Whoe'er He Be That Tells My Faults, I Hate Him Mortally.

Let Opening Roses Knotted Oaks Adorn, And Liquid Amber Drop From Every Thorn.

Women, As They Are Like Riddles In Being Unintelligible, So Generally Resemble Them In This, That They Please Us No Longer Once We Know Them.

In The Nice Bee, What Sense So Subtly True From Pois'nous Herbs Extracts The Healing Dew?

The Ruling Passion, Be It What It Will. The Ruling Passion Conquers Reason Still.

When To Mischief Mortals Bend Their Will, How Soon They Find It Instruments Of Ill.

For I, Who Hold Sage Homer's Rule The Best, Welcome The Coming, Speed The Going Guest.

Our Plenteous Streams A Various Race Supply, The Bright-eyed Perch With Fins Of Tyrian Dye, The Silver Eel, In Shining Volumes Roll'd, The Yellow Carp, In Scales Bedropp'd With Gold, Swift Trouts, Diversified With Crimson Stains, And Pikes, The Tyrants Of The Wat'ry Plains.

Hope Travels Through, Nor Quits Us When We Die.

How Do We Know That We Have A Right To Kill Creatures That We Are So Little Above, As Dogs, For Our Curiosity Or Even For Some Use To Us?

Whether With Reason, Or With Instinct Blest, Know, All Enjoy That Pow'r Which Suits Them Best.

I Am Satisfied To Trifle Away My Time, Rather Than Let It Stick By Me.

True Politeness Consists In Being Easy One's Self, And In Making Every One About One As Easy As One Can.

Envy, To Which Th' Ignoble Mind's A Slave, Is Emulation In The Learn'd Or Brave.

Strength Of Mind Is Exercise, Not Rest.

Beauty That Shocks You, Parts That None Will Trust, Wit That Can Creep, And Pride That Licks The Dust.

Good God! How Often Are We To Die Before We Go Quite Off This Stage? In Every Friend We Lose A Part Of Ourselves, And The Best Part.

By Flatterers Besieged And So Obliging That He Ne'er Obliged.

And Hence One Master-passion In The Breast, Like Aaron's Serpent, Swallows Up The Rest.

A King Is A Mortal God On Earth, Unto Whom The Living God Hath Lent His Own Name As A Great Honour; But Withal Told Him, He Should Die Like A Man, Lest He Should Be Proud, And Flatter Himself That God Hath With His Name Imparted Unto Him His Nature Also. John Locke, "of A King", The Conduct Of The Understanding: Essays, Moral, Economical, And Political A King May Be A Tool, A Thing Of Straw; But If He Serves To Frighten Our Enemies, And Secure Our Property, It Is Well Enough: A Scarecrow Is A Thing Of Straw, But It Protects The Corn.

Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.

They Dream In Courtship, But In Wedlock Wake.

Two Purposes In Human Nature Rule. Self- Love To Urge, And Reason To Restrain.

Pride Is Still Aiming At The Best Houses: Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods. Aspiring To Be Gods, If Angels Fell; Aspiring To Be Angels Men Rebel.

Plays Round The Head, But Comes Not To The Heart. One Self-approving Hour Whole Years Outweighs Of Stupid Starers And Of Loud Huzzas; And More True Joy Marcellus Exil'd Feels Than Cæsar With A Senate At His Heels. In Parts Superior What Advantage Lies? Tell (for You Can) What Is It To Be Wise? 't Is But To Know How Little Can Be Known; To See All Others' Faults, And Feel Our Own.

He Best Can Paint Them Who Shall Feel Them Most.

Let Fortune Do Her Worst, Whatever She Makes Us Lose, So Long As She Never Makes Us Lose Our Honesty And Our Independence.

Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife.

Chaste To Her Husband, Frank To All Beside, A Teeming Mistress, But A Barren Bride.

Who Combats Bravely Is Not Therefore Brave, He Dreads A Death-bed Like The Meanest Slave: Who Reasons Wisely Is Not Therefore Wise,- His Pride In Reasoning, Not In Acting Lies.

And You, My Critics! In The Chequer'd Shade, Admire New Light Thro' Holes Yourselves Have Made.

The Life Of A Wit Is A Warfare Upon Earth.

Order Is Heaven's First Law; And This Confessed, Some Are, And Must Be, Greater Than The Rest, More Rich, More Wise; But Who Infers From Hence That Such Are Happier, Shocks All Common Sense. Condition, Circumstance, Is Not The Thing; Bliss Is The Same In Subject Or In King.

But Touch Me, And No Minister So Sore. Whoe'er Offends, At Some Unlucky Time Slides Into Verse, And Hitches In A Rhyme, Sacred To Ridicule His Whole Life Long, And The Sad Burthen Of Some Merry Song.

Why Did I Write? Whose Sin To Me Unknown Dipt Me In Ink, My Parents', Or My Own? As Yet A Child, Nor Yet A Fool To Fame, I Lisp'd In Numbers, For The Numbers Came.

The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man.

Occupy Yourself

No Creature Smarts So Little As A Fool.

Soft O'er The Shrouds Aerial Whispers Breathe, That Seemed But Zephyrs To The Train Beneath.

I Am His Highness' Dog At Kew; Pray Tell Me, Sir, Whose Dog Are You?

Trace Science, Then, With Modesty Thy Guide, First Strip Off All Her Equipage Of Pride, Deduct What Is But Vanity Or Dress, Or Learning's Luxury Or Idleness, Or Tricks, To Show The Stretch Of The Human Brain Mere Curious Pleasure Or Ingenious Pain.

To Be Angry Is To Revenge The Faults Of Others On Ourselves.

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confused; Still By Himself Abused Or Disabused; Created Half To Rise, And Half To Fall; Great Lord Of All Things, Yet A Prey To All; Sole Judge Of Truth, In Endless Error Hurled,- The Glory, Jest, And Riddle Of The World.

Fair Tresses Man's Imperial Race Ensnare; And Beauty Draws Us With A Single Hair.

Our Passions Are Like Convulsion Fits, Which, Though They Make Us Stronger For A Time, Leave Us The Weaker Ever After.

Who Taught That Heaven-directed Spire To Rise?

When I Die, I Should Be Ashamed To Leave Enough To Build Me A Monument If There Were A Wanting Friend Above Ground. I Would Enjoy The Pleasure Of What I Give By Giving It Alive And Seeing Another Enjoy It.

Consult The Genius Of The Place In All.

See Plastic Nature Working To This End, The Single Atoms Each To Other Tend, Attract, Attracted To, The Next In Place Form'd And Impell'd Its Neighbor To Embrace.

All Looks Yellow To The Jaundiced Eye. [and Therefore The Solution Is To Fix The Jaundiced Eye.]

Dulness! Whose Good Old Cause I Yet Defend, With Whom My Muse Began, With Who Shall End.

An Atheist Is But A Mad, Ridiculous Derider Of Piety, But A Hypocrite Makes A Sober Jest Of God And Religion; He Finds It Easier To Be Upon His Knees Than To Rise To A Good Action.

The Flower's Are Gone When The Fruits Appear To Ripen.

See How The World Its Veterans Rewards! A Youth Of Frolics, An Old Age Of Cards; Fair To No Purpose, Artful To No End, Young Without Lovers, Old Without A Friend; A Fop Their Passion, But Their Prize A Sot; Alive Ridiculous, And Dead Forgot.

Men Must Be Taught As If You Taught Them Not, And Things Unknown Proposed As Things Forgot.

The Enormous Faith Of Many Made For One.

Vast Chain Of Being! Which From God Began, Natures Ethereal, Human, Angel, Man, Beast, Bird, Fish, Insect, What No Eye Can See, No Glass Can Reach, From Infinite To Thee, From Thee To Nothing.

The Time Shall Come, When, Free As Seas Or Wind, Unbounded Thames Shall Flow For All Mankind, Whole Nations Enter With Each Swelling Tide, And Seas But Join The Regions They Divide; Earth's Distant Ends Our Glory Shall Behold, And The New World Launch Forth To Seek The Old.

Be Not The First By Whom The New Are Tried, Nor Yet The Last To Lay The Old Aside.

Let Such Teach Others Who Themselves Excel, And Censure Freely Who Have Written Well.

And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

A Brave Man Struggling In The Storms Of Fate, And Greatly Falling With A Falling State.

Truths Would You Teach, Or Save A Sinking Land? All Fear, None Aid You, And Few Understand.

You Beat Your Pate, And Fancy Wit Will Come: Knock As You Please, There's No Body At Home.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing.

Self-love, The Spring Of Motion, Acts The Soul; Reason's Comparing Balance Rules The Whole. Man, But For That No Action Could Attend, And, But For This, Were Active To No End: Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate, And Rot; Or, Meteor-like, Flame Lawless Thro' The Void, Destroying Others, By Himself Destroy'd.

No One Should Be Ashamed To Admit They Are Wrong, Which Is But Saying, In Other Words, That They Are Wiser Today Than They Were Yesterday.

There Are Some Solitary Wretches Who Seem To Have Left The Rest Of Mankind, Only, As Eve Left Adam, To Meet The Devil In Private.

Love Seldom Haunts The Breast Where Learning Lies, And Venus Sets Ere Mercury Can Rise.

Now Warm In Love, Now With'ring In My Bloom Lost In A Convent's Solitary Gloom!

All Nature Is But Art, Unknown To Thee All Chance, Direction, Which Thou Canst Not See; All Discord, Harmony Not Understood; All Partial Evil, Universal Good.

So Upright Quakers Please Both Man And God.

When Much Dispute Has Past, We Find Our Tenets Just The Same As Last.

Our Proper Bliss Depends On What We Blame.

The Most Positive Men Are The Most Credulous, Since They Most Believe Themselves, And Advise Most With Their Falsest Flatterer And Worst Enemy--their Own Self-love.

Satire Or Sense, Alas! Can Sporus Feel? Who Breaks A Butterfly Upon A Wheel?

And Not A Vanity Is Given In Vain.

Fondly We Think We Honor Merit Then, When We But Praise Ourselves In Other Men.

O Happiness! Our Being's End And Aim! Good, Pleasure, Ease, Content! Whate'er Thy Name: That Something Still Which Prompts The Eternal Sigh, For Which We Bear To Live, Or Dare To Die.

Nay, Fly To Altars; There They'll Talk You Dead; For Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread.

Sure Of Their Qualities And Demanding Praise, More Go To Ruined Fortunes Than Are Raised.

And Soften'd Sounds Along The Waters Die: Smooth Flow The Waves, The Zephyrs Gently Play.

One Science Only Will One Genius Fit; So Vast Is Art, So Narrow Human Wit.

Mark What Unvary'd Laws Preserve Each State, Laws Wise As Nature, And As Fixed As Fate.

If Faith Itself Has Different Dresses Worn, What Wonder Modes In Wit Should Take Their Turn?

Know Then, Unnumber'd Spirits Round Thee Fly, The Light Militia Of The Lower Sky.

Dear, Damned, Distracting Town, Farewell! Thy Fools No More I'll Tease: This Year In Peace, Ye Critics, Dwell, Ye Harlots, Sleep At Ease!

To Him No High, No Low, No Great, No Small; He Fills, He Bounds, Connects And Equals All!

Oh! Be Thou Blest With All That Heaven Can Send, Long Health, Long Youth, Long Pleasure-and A Friend.

Is Pride, The Never-failing Vice Of Fools.

The Villain's Censure Is Extorted Praise.

Then, At The Last And Only Couplet Fraught With Some Unmeaning Thing They Call A Thought, A Needless Alexandrine Ends The Song, That, Like A Wounded Snake, Drags Its Slow Length Along.

Tis Strange The Miser Should His Cares Employto Gain Those Riches He Can Ne'er Enjoy;is It Less Strange The Prodigal Should Wastehis Wealth To Purchase What He Ne'er Can Taste?

Search Then The Ruling Passion; There Alone, The Wild Are Constant, And The Cunning Known; The Fool Consistent, And The False Sincere; Priests, Princes, Women, No Dissemblers Here.

Pleasure, Or Wrong Or Rightly Understood, Our Greatest Evil, Or Our Greatest Good.

Trust Not Yourself, But Your Defects To Know, Make Use Of Every Friend And Every Foe.

Some Are Bewildered In The Maze Of Schools, And Some Made Coxcombs Nature Meant But Fools.

Art Still Followed Where Rome's Eagles Flew.

Who Shall Decide When Doctors Disagree, And Soundest Casuists Doubt, Like You And Me?

Oh, Sons Of Earth! Attempt Ye Still To Rise. By Mountains Pil'd On Mountains To The Skies? Heav'n Still With Laughter The Vain Toil Surveys, And Buries Madmen In The Heaps They Raise.

Gentle Dullness Ever Loves A Joke.

I Begin Where Most People End, With A Full Conviction Of The Emptiness Of All Sorts Of Ambition, And The Unsatisfactory Nature Of All Human Pleasures.

I Lose My Patience, And I Own It Too, When Works Are Censur'd, Not As Bad But New; While If Our Elders Break All Reason's Laws, These Fools Demand Not Pardon But Applause.

The Light Of Heaven Restore; Give Me To See, And Ajax Asks No More.

Persons Of Genius, And Those Who Are Most Capable Of Art, Are Always Most Fond Of Nature: As Such Are Chiefly Sensible, That All Art Consists In The Imitation And Study Of Nature.

Good-humor Only Teaches Charms To Last, Still Makes New Conquests And Maintains The Past.

Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?

Saying Good Bye

But Just Disease To Luxury Succeeds, And Ev'ry Death Its Own Avenger Breeds.

Disease And Death

Index-learning Turns No Student Pale, Yet Holds The Eel Of Science By The Tail. Index-learning Is A Term Used To Mock Pretenders Who Acquire Superficial Knowledge Merely By Consulting Indexes.

Superficial Knowledge

Superstition Is The Spleen Of The Soul.

Then Marble, Soften'd Into Life, Grew Warm.

Eve Left Adam, To Meet The Devil In Private.

Content If Hence Th' Unlearn'd Their Wants May View, The Learn'd Reflect On What Before They Knew.

I Believe No One Qualification Is So Likely To Make A Good Writer, As The Power Of Rejecting His Own Thoughts.

Who Know But He, Whose Hand The Lightning Forms, Who Heaves Old Ocean, And Who Wings The Storms, Pours Fierce Ambition In A Caesar's Mind.

A Fellow Feeling Makes Us Wondrous Kind.

I Was Not Born For Courts And Great Affairs, But I Pay My Debts, Believe And Say My Prayers.

The Grave Unites; Where E'en The Great Find Rest, And Blended Lie Th' Oppressor And Th' Oppressed!

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing; Drink Of It Deeply, Or Taste It Not, For Shallow Thoughts Intoxicate The Brain, And Drinking Deeply Sobers Us Again.

Conceit Is To Nature What Paint Is To Beauty; It Is Not Only Needless, But It Impairs What It Would Improve.

Soft Is The Strain When Zephyr Gently Blows, And The Smooth Stream In Smoother Numbers Flows; But When Loud Surges Lash The Sounding Shore, The Hoarse Rough Verse Should Like The Torrent Roar. When Ajax Strives Some Rock's Vast Weight To Throw, The Line Too Labours, And The Words Move Slow: Not So When Swift Camilla Scours The Plain, Flies O'er Th' Unbending Corn, And Skims Along The Main.

A Brave Man Thinks No One His Superior Who Does Him An Injury, For He Has It Then In His Power To Make Himself Superior To The Other By Forgiving It.

Curse On All Laws But Those Which Love Has Made.

Lo! The Poor Indian, Whose Untutored Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind.

Virtue May Choose The High Or Low Degree, 'tis Just Alike To Virtue, And To Me; Dwell In A Monk, Or Light Upon A King, She's Still The Same Belov'd, Contented Thing.

Music Resembles Poetry, In Each Are Nameless Graces Which No Methods Teach, And Which A Master Hand Alone Can Reach.

Be Silent Always When You Doubt Your Sense.

Chiefs Who No More In Bloody Fights Engage, But Wise Through Time, And Narrative With Age, In Summer-days Like Grasshoppers Rejoice - A Bloodless Race, That Send A Feeble Voice.

The People's Voice Is Odd, It Is, And It Is Not, The Voice Of God.

A Man Who Admires A Fine Woman, Has Yet Not More Reason To Wish Himself Her Husband, Than One Who Admired The Hesperian Fruit, Would Have Had To Wish Himself The Dragon That Kept It.

The Soul's Calm Sunshine, And The Heartfelt Joy.

There Is A Majesty In Simplicity.

Go, Wiser Thou! And In Thy Scale Of Sense Weigh Thy Opinion Against Providence.

Know, Nature's Children All Divide Her Care, The Fur That Warms A Monarch Warmed A Bear.

Tis Use Alone That Sanctifies Expense And Splendor Borrow All Her Rays From Sense.

Fickle Fortune Reigns, And, Undiscerning, Scatters Crowns And Chains.

But Satan Now Is Wiser Than Of Yore, And Tempts By Making Rich, Not Making Poor.

There Goes A Saying, And 'twas Shrewdly Said, ''old Fish At Table, But Young Flesh In Bed.

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confus'd.

Yet Graceful Ease, And Sweetness Void Of Pride, Might Hide Her Faults, If Belles Had Faults To Hide: If To Her Share Some Female Errors Fall, Look On Her Face, And You'll Forget 'em All.

But Those Who Cannot Write, And Those Who Can, All Rhyme, And Scrawl, And Scribble, To A Man.

Oft In Dreams Invention We Bestow To Change A Flounce Or Add A Furbelow.

First Follow Nature, And Your Judgment Frame By Her Just Standard, Which Is Still The Same: Unerring Nature, Still Divinely Bright, One Clear, Unchanged, And Universal Light, Life, Force, And Beauty Must To All Impart, At Once The Source, And End, And Test Of Art.

Great Oaks Grow From Little Acorns. He Has A Green Thumb. He Has Green Fingers. He's Sowing His Wild Oats. Here Ceres' Gifts In Waving Prospect Stand, And Nodding Tempt The Joyful Reaper's Hand.

Modest Plainness Sets Off Sprightly Wit, For Works May Have More With Than Does 'em Good, As Bodies Perish Through Excess Of Blood.

The Laughers Are A Majority.

All Nature Is But Art Unknown To Thee.

Nor Public Flame, Nor Private, Dares To Shine; Nor Human Spark Is Left, Nor Glimpse Divine! Lo! Thy Dread Empire, Chaos! Is Restored; Light Dies Before Thy Uncreating Word: Thy Hand, Great Anarch! Lets The Curtain Fall; And Universal Darkness Buries All.

Drink Is The Feast Of Reason And The Flow Of Soul.

Court-virtues Bear, Like Gems, The Highest Rate, Born Where Heav'n Influence Scarce Can Penetrate. In Life's Low Vale, The Soil The Virtues Like, They Please As Beauties, Here As Wonders Strike.

Of Manners Gentle, Of Affections Mild; In Wit A Man; Simplicity, A Child.

Thus Unlamented Pass The Proud Away, The Gaze Of Fools And Pageant Of A Day; So Perish All, Whose Breast Ne'er Learn'd To Glow For Others' Good, Or Melt At Others' Woe.

She Who Ne'er Answers Till A Husband Cools, Or, If She Rules Him, Never Shows She Rules; Charms By Accepting, By Submitting, Sways, Yet Has Her Humor Most, When She Obeys.

Destroy All Creatures For Thy Sport Or Gust, Yet Cry, If Man's Unhappy, God's Unjust.

To The Elysian Shades Dismiss My Soul, Where No Carnation Fades.

All Chance, Direction, Which Thou Canst Not See

Party-spirit At Best Is But The Madness Of Many For The Gain Of A Few.

To Buy Books As Some Do Who Make No Use Of Them, Only Because They Were Published By An Eminent Printer, Is Much As If A Man Should Buy Clothes That Did Not Fit Him, Only Because They Were Made By Some Famous Tailor.

Amusement Is The Happiness Of Those Who Cannot Think.

Seas Roll To Waft Me, Suns To Light Me Rise; My Footstool Earth, My Canopy The Skies.

There Should Be, Methinks, As Little Merit In Loving A Woman For Her Beauty As In Loving A Man For His Prosperity; Both Being Equally Subject To Change.

The Soul, Uneasy And Confin'd From Home, Rests And Expatiates In A Life To Come.

Die Of A Rose In Aromatic Pain.

Nature And Nature's Laws Lay Hid In The Night. God Said, Let Newton Be! And All Was Light!

Of Darkness Visible So Much Be Lent, As Half To Show, Half Veil, The Deep Intent.

Be Thou The First True Merit To Befriend, His Praise Is Lost Who Stays Till All Commend.

Blest Paper-credit! Last And Best Supply! That Lends Corruption Lighter Wings To Fly!

What Nothing Earthly Gives, Or Can Destroy, The Soul's Calm Sunshine, And The Heart-felt Joy, Is Virtue's Prize.

Intestine War No More Our Passions Wage, And Giddy Factions Bear Away Their Rage.

Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly. Say What The Use, Were Finer Optics Giv'n, T' Inspect A Mite, Not Comprehend The Heav'n.

New, Distant Scenes Of Endless Science Rise: So Pleas'd At First, The Towring Alps We Try.

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