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Oh, Popular Applause! What Heart Of Man Is Proof Against Thy Sweet Seducing Charms? The Wisest And The Best Feel Urgent Need Of All Their Caution In Thy Gentlest Gales; But Swell'd Into A Gust--who Then, Alas! With All His Canvas Set, And Inexpert, And Therefore, Heedless, Can Withstand Thy Power?

-William Cowper

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Oh, Popular Applause! What

William Cowper

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Oh, Popular Applause! What Heart Of Man Is Proof Against Thy Sweet Seducing Charms? The Wisest And The Best Feel Urgent Need Of All Their Caution In Thy Gentlest Gales; But Swell'd Into A Gust--who Then, Alas! With All His Canvas Set, And Inexpert, And Therefore, Heedless, Can Withstand Thy Power?

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Philologists, Who Chase A Painting Syllable Through Time And Space Start It At Home, And Hunt It In The Dark, To Gaul, To Greece, And Into Noah's Ark.

O Winter, Ruler Of The Inverted Year!

Sends Nature Forth The Daughter Of The Skies... To Dance On Earth, And Charm All Human Eyes.

All We Behold Is Miracle.

God Moves In A Mysterious Way, His Wonders To Perform. He Plants His Footsteps In The Sea, And Rides Upon The Storm.

Made Poetry A Mere Mechanic Art.

Is Base In Kind, And Born To Be A Slave.

Built God A Church And Laughed His Word To Scorn.

Ever Let The Fancy Roam, Pleasure Never Is At Home.

Transforms Old Print To Zigzag Manuscript, And Cheats The Eyes Of Gallery Critics By A Thousand Arts.

Spring Hangs Her Infant Blossoms On The Trees, Rock'd In The Cradle Of The Western Breeze.

True Modesty Is A Discerning Grace And Only Blushes In The Proper Place; But Counterfeit Is Blind, And Skulks Through Fear, Where 'tis A Shame To Be Asham'd T' Appear: Humility The Parent Of The First, The Last By Vanity Produc'd And Nurs'd.

Th' Embroid'ry Of Poetic Dreams.

Scenes Must Be Beautiful Which Daily View'd Please Daily, And Whose Novelty Survives Long Knowledge And The Scrutiny Of Years.

How Various His Employments Whom The World Calls Idle; And Who Justly In Return Esteems That Busy World An Idler Too!

Visits Are Insatiable Devourers Of Time, And Fit Only For Those Who, If They Did Not That, Would Do Nothing.

Unmissed But By His Dogs And By His Groom.

My Soul Is Sick With Every Day's Report Of Wrong And Outrage With Which Earth Is Filled.

An Idler Is A Watch That Wants Both Hands; As Useless If It Goes As When It Stands.

An Inadvertent Step May Crush The Snail That Crawls At Evening In The Public Path. But He That Has Humanity, Forewarned, Will Turn Aside And Let The Reptile Live.

If My Resolution To Be A Great Man Was Half So Strong As It Is To Despise The Shame Of Being A Little One.

This Fond Attachment To The Well-known Place Whence First We Started Into Life's Long Race, Maintains Its Hold With Such Unfailing Sway, We Feel It E'en In Age, And At Our Latest Day.

Man May Dismiss Compassion From His Heart, But God Never Will.

Necessity Invented Stools, Convenience Next Suggested Elbow-chairs, And Luxury The Accomplish'd Sofa Last.

There Is In Souls A Sympathy With Sounds.

A Teacher Should Be Sparing Of His Smile.

Friends, Books, A Garden, And Perhaps His Pen, Delightful Industry Enjoy'd At Home, An Nature, In Her Cultivated Trim Dress'ed To His Taste, Inviting Him Abroad - Can He Want Occupation Who Has These?

What Peaceful Hours I Once Enjoy'd! How Sweet Their Memory Still! But They Have Left An Aching Void The World Can Never Fill.

Folly Ends Where Genuine Hope Begins.

What Is There In The Vale Of Lifehalf So Delightful As A Wife;when Friendship, Love And Peace Combineto Stamp The Marriage-bond Divine?

Friendship Love

Gardening Imparts An Organic Perspective On The Passage Of Time.

Misses! The Tale That I Relate This Lesson Seems To Carry-- Choose Not Alone A Proper Mate, But Proper Time To Marry.

They Love The Country, And None Else, Who Seek For Their Own Sake Its Silence And Its Shade. Delights Which Who Would Leave, That Has A Heart Susceptible Of Pity, Or A Mind Cultured And Capable Of Sober Thought.

Without One Friend, Above All Foes, Britannia Gives The World Repose.

I Am Out Of Humanity's Reach.

The Slaves Of Custom And Established Mode, With Pack-horse Constancy We Keep The Road Crooked Or Straight, Through Quags Or Thorny Dells, True To The Jingling Of Our Leader's Bells.

The Fall Of Waters And The Song Of Birds, And Hills That Echo To The Distant Berds, Are Luxuries Excelling All The Glare The World Can Boast, And Her Chief Favorites Share.

Sin Let Loose Speaks Punishment At Hand.

The Darkest Day, If You Live Till Tomorrow, Will Have Passed Away.

Me Howling Blasts Drive Devious, Tempest-tossed, / Sails Ripped, Seams Opening Wide, And Compass Lost.

Time, As He Passes Us, Has A Dove's Wing, Unsoil'd, And Swift, And Of A Silken Sound.

All Constraint, / Except What Wisdom Lays On Evil Men, / Is Evil.

I Will Venture To Assert, That A Just Translation Of Any Ancient Poet In Rhyme Is Impossible. No Human Ingenuity Can Be Equal To The Task Of Closing Every Couplet With Sounds Homotonous, Expressing At The Same Time The Full Sense, And Only The Full Sense Of His Original.

And Diff'ring Judgments Serve But To Declare That Truth Lies Somewhere, If We Knew But Where.

There Is Mercy In Every Place. And Mercy, Encouraging Thought Gives Even Affliction A Grace And Reconciles Man To His Lot.

The Rich Are Too Indolent, The Poor Too Weak, To Bear The Insupportable Fatigue Of Thinking.

The Spleen Is Seldom Felt Where Flora Reigns; The Low'ring Eye, The Petulance, The Frown, And Sullen Sadness, That O'ershade, Distort, And Mar The Face Of Beauty, When No Cause For Such Immeasurable Woe Appears; These Flora Banishes, And Gives The Fair Sweet Smiles, And Bloom Less Transient Than Her Own.

Heaven's Harmony Is Universal Love.

Remorse, The Fatal Egg By Pleasure Laid, In Every Bosom Where Her Nest Is Made, Hatched By The Beams Of Truth, Denies Him Rest, And Proves A Raging Scorpion In His Breast.

Blest Be The Art That Can Immortalize.

God Forbid That Judges Upon Their Oath Should Make Resolutions To Enlarge Jurisdiction.

If A Great Man Struggling With Misfortunes Is A Noble Object, A Little Man That Despises Them Is No Contemptible One.

The Parson Knows Enough Who Knows A Duke.

It Is A General Rule Of Judgment, That A Mischief Should Rather Be Admitted Than An Inconvenience.

Fate Steals Along With Silent Tread, Found Oftenest In What Least We Dread; Frowns In The Storm With Angry Brow, But In The Sunshine Strikes The Blow.

Fanaticism, The False Fire Of An Overheated Mind.

Habits Are Soon Assumed; But When We Strive To Strip Them Off, 'tis Being Flayed Alive.

There Goes The Parson, Oh Illustrious Spark! And There, Scarce Less Illustrious, Goes The Clerk.

Man In Society Is Like A Flow'r, Blown In Its Native Bed. 'tis There Alone His Faculties Expanded In Full Bloom Shine Out, There Only Reach Their Proper Use.

Solitude, Seeming A Sanctuary, Proves A Grave; A Sepulchre In Which The Living Lie, Where All Good Qualities Grow Sick And Die

I Pity Bashful Men, Who Feel The Pain Of Fancied Scorn And Undeserved Disdain, And Bear The Marks Upon A Blushing Face, Of Needless Shame, And Self-impos'd Disgrace.

When All Within Is Peace How Nature Seems To Smile Delights That Never Cease The Live-long Day Beguile

How Soft The Music Of Those Village Bells, Falling At Interval Upon The Ear In Cadence Sweet; Now Dying All Away, Now Pealing Loud Again, And Louder Still, Clear And Sonorous, As The Gale Comes On! With Easy Force It Opens All The Cells Where Memory Slept.

Events Of All Sorts Creep Or Fly Exactly As God Pleases.

Nor Rural Sights Alone, But Rural Sounds, Exhilirate The Spirit, And Restore The Tone Of Languid Nature.

Tis Pleasant, Through The Loopholes Of Retreat, To Peep At Such A World; To See The Stir Of The Great Babel, And Not Feel The Crowd.

The Statesman, Lawyer, Merchant, Man Of Trade Pants For The Refuge Of Some Rural Shade, Where All His Long Anxieties Forgot Amid The Charms Of A Sequester'd Spot, Or Recollected Only To Gild O'er And Add A Smile To What Was Sweet Before, He May Possess The Joys He Thinks He Sees, Lay His Old Age Upon The Lap Of Ease, Improve The Remnant Of His Wasted Span. And Having Lived A Trifler, Die A Man.

I Venerate The Man Whose Heart Is Warm, Whose Hands Are Pure, Whose Doctrine And Whose Life, Coincident, Exhibit Lucid Proof That He Is Honest In The Sacred Cause.

We Turn To Dust, And All Our Mightiest Works Die Too.

Call'd To The Temple Of Impure Delight He That Abstains, And He Alone, Does Right. If A Wish Wander That Way, Call It Home; He Cannot Long Be Safe Whose Wishes Roam.

A Lawyer's Dealings Should Be Just And Fair; Honesty Shines With Great Advantage There.

No Traveler E'er Reached That Blest Abode Who Found Not Thorns And Briers In His Road.

Good Sense, Good Health, Good Conscience, And Good Fame,--all These Belong To Virtue, And All Prove That Virtue Has A Title To Your Love.

Truth Is The Golden Girdle Of The Globe.

Trials Make The Promise Sweet, Trials Give New Life To Prayer; Trials Bring Me To His Feet, Lay Me Low, And Keep Me There.

Lord, It Is My Chief Complaint, That My Love Is Weak And Faint; Yet I Love Thee And Adore, Oh For Grace To Love Thee More!

The Bud May Have A Bitter Taste, But Sweet Will Be The Flower.

Oh To Have A Lodge In Some Vast Wilderness. Where Rumors Of Oppression And Deceit, Of Unsuccessful And Successful Wars May Never Reach Me Anymore.

Not To Understand A Treasure's Worth Till Time Has Stole Away The Slighted Good, Is Cause Of Half The Poverty We Feel, And Makes The World The Wilderness It Is.

A Story, In Which Native Humour Reigns, Is Often Useful, Always Entertains; A Graver Fact, Enlisted On Your Side, May Furnish Illustration, Well Applied; But Sedentary Weavers Of Long Tales Give Me The Fidgets, And My Patience Fails.

But Many A Crime Deemed Innocent On Earth Is Registered In Heaven; And These No Doubt Have Each Their Record, With A Curse Annex'd.

But Slaves That Once Conceive The Glowing Thought Of Freedom, In That Hope Itself Possess All That The Contest Calls For; Spirit, Strength, The Scorn Of Danger, And United Hearts, The Surest Presage Of The Good They Seek.

The Frenchman, Easy, Debonair, And Brisk, Give Him His Lass, His Fiddle, And His Frisk, Is Always Happy, Reign Whoever May, And Laughs The Sense Of Mis'ry Far Away.

Blind Unbelief Is Sure To Err, And Scan His Work In Vain; God Is His Own Interpreter, And He Will Make It Plain.

God Works In Mysterious Ways

Great Contest Follows, And Much Learned Dust Involves The Combatants; Each Claiming Truth, And Truth Disclaiming Both.

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.

That Good Diffused May More Abundant Grow.

The Dogs Did Bark, The Children Screamed, Up Flew The Windows All; And Every Soul Bawled Out, Well Done! As Loud As He Could Bawl.

When One That Holds Communion With The Skies Has Fill'd His Urn Where These Pure Waters Rise, And Once More Mingles With Us Meaner Things, 'tis E'en As If An Angel Shook His Wings.

The Art Of Poetry Is To Touch The Passions, And Its Duty To Lead Them On The Side Of Virtue.

England, With All Thy Faults I Love Thee Still, My Country!

But War's A Game, Which, Were Their Subjects Wise, Kings Should Not Play At. Nations Would Do Well To Extort Their Truncheons From The Puny Hands Of Heroes, Whose Infirm And Baby Minds Are Gratified With Mischief, And Who Spoil, Because Men Suffer It, Their Toy The World.

Dejection Of Spirits, Which May Have Prevented Many A Man From Becoming An Author, Made Me One. I Find Constant Employment Necessary, And Therefore Take Care To Be Constantly Employed. . . . When I Can Find No Other Occupation, I Think; And When I Think, I Am Very Apt To Do It In Rhyme.

When I Thinkof My Own Native Land, In A Moment I Seem To Be There; But Alas! Recollection At Hand Soon Hurries Me Back To Despair.

Religion, Richest Favor Of The Skies.

[my Kitten's] Gambols Are Not To Be Described, And Would Be Incredible, If They Could.

To Follow Foolish Precedents, And Wink With Both Our Eyes, Is Easier Than To Think.

England With All Thy Faults, I Love Thee Still-- My Country! And, While Yet A Nook Is Left Where English Minds And Manners May Be Found, Shall Be Constrained To Love Thee.

They Best Can Judge A Poet's Worth, Who Oft Themselves Have Known The Pangs Of A Poetic Birth By Labours Of Their Own.

The Cares Of Today Are Seldom Those Of Tomorrow, And When We Lie Down At Night We May Safely Say To Most Of Our Troubles, "ye Have Done Your Worst, And We Shall See You No More."

Nature Is A Good Name For An Effect Whose Cause Is God.

E'er Since, By Faith, I Saw The Stream Thy Flowing Wounds Supply, Redeeming Love Has Been My Theme, And Shall Be Till I Die.

A Man Renowned For Repartee Will Seldom Scruple To Make Free With Friendship's Finest Feeling, Will Thrust A Dagger At Your Breast, And Say He Wounded You In Jest, By Way Of Balm For Healing.

Could He With Reason Murmur At His Case, Himself Sole Author Of His Own Disgrace?

And, Of All Lies (be That One Poet's Boast) / The Lie That Flatters I Abhor The Most.

Still Ending, And Beginning Still.

All Affectation; 'tis My Perfect Scorn; Object Of My Implacable Disgust.

How! Leap Into The Pit Our Life To Save? To Save Our Life Leap All Into The Grave.

Learning Itself, Received Into A Mind By Nature Weak, Or Viciously Inclined, Serves But To Lead Philosophers Astray, Where Children Would With Ease Discern The Way.

He Is The Freeman Whom The Truth Makes Free, And All Are Slaves Besides.

Some People Are More Nice Than Wise.

Slaves Cannot Breathe In England; If Their Lungs Receive Our Air, That Moment They Are Free; They Touch Our Country, And Their Shackles Fall.

She That Asks Her Dear Five Hundred Friends, Contemns Them All, And Hates Their Coming.

Mansions Once Knew Their Own Masters, And Laborious Hinds, That Had Surviv'd The Father, Serv'd The Son. Now The Legitimate And Rightful Lord Is But A Transient Guest, Newly Arrived, And Soon To Be Supplanted. He That Saw His Patrimonial Timber Cast Its Leaf, Sells The Last Scantling, And Transfers The Price To Some Shrewd Sharper Ere It Buds Again. Estates Are Landscapes, Gazed Upon Awhile, Then Advertised And Auctioneer'd Away.

A Noisy Man Is Always In The Right.

I Crown Thee King Of Intimate Delights, Fire-side Enjoyments, Home-born Happiness, And All The Comforts That The Lowly Roof Of Undisturb'd Retirement, And The Hours Of Long Uninterrupted Ev'ning, Know.

Even In The Stifling Bosom Of The Town, A Garden, In Which Nothing Thrives, Has Charms That Soothes The Rich Possessor; Much Consol'd, That Here And There Some Sprigs Of Mournful Mint, Or Nightshade, Or Valerian, Grace The Well He Cultivates.

Thieves At Home Must Hang; But He That Puts Into His Overgorged And Bloated Purse The Wealth Of Indian Provinces, Escapes.

Judge Not The Lord By Feeble Sense, But Trust Him For His Grace; Behind A Frowning Providence He Hides A Smiling Face. His Purposes Will Ripen Fast, Unfolding Every Hour;the Bud May Have A Bitter Taste, But Sweet Will Be The Flow’r. Blind Unbelief Is Sure To Err And Scan His Work In Vain; God Is His Own Interpreter, And He Will Make It Plain.

Alas! If My Best Friend, Who Laid Down His Life For Me, Were To Remember All The Instances In Which I Have Neglected Him, And To Plead Them Against Me In Judgment, Where Should I Hide My Guilty Head In The Day Of Recompense? I Will Pray, Therefore, For Blessings On My Friends, Even Though They Cease To Be So, And Upon My Enemies, Though They Continue Such.

In A Fleshly Tomb, I Am Buried Above Ground.

'tis Liberty Alone That Gives The Flower Of Fleeting Life Its Lustre And Perfume; And We Are Weeds Without It.

He That Negotiates Between God And Man, As God's Ambassador, The Grand Concerns Of Judgment And Of Mercy, Should Beware Of Lightness In His Speech.

The Proud Are Ever Most Provoked By Pride.

When Scandal Has New-minted An Old Lie, Or Tax'd Invention For A Fresh Supply, 'tis Call'd A Satire, And The World Appears Gathering Around It With Erected Ears; A Thousand Names Are Toss'd Into The Crowd, Some Whisper'd Softly, And Some Twang'd Aloud, Just As The Sapience Of An Author's Brain, Suggests It Safe Or Dangerous To Be Plain.

They Fix Attention, Heedless Of Your Pain, With Oaths Like Rivets Forced Into The Brain; And E'en When Sober Truth Prevails Throughout, They Swear It, Till Affirmance Breeds A Doubt.

Would I Describe A Preacher, I Would Express Him Simple, Grave, Sincere; In Doctrine Uncorrupt; In Language Plain, And Plain In Manner; Decent, Solemn, Chaste, And Natural In Gesture; Much Impress'd Himself, As Conscious Of His Awful Charge, And Anxious Mainly That The Flock He Feeds May Feel It Too; Affectionate In Look, And Tender In Address, As Well Becomes A Messenger Of Grace To Guilty Men.

I Am Monarch Of All I Survey, My Right There Is None To Dispute, From The Centre All Round To The Sea, I Am Lord Of The Fowl And The Brute.

Fashion, Leader Of A Chatt'ring Train, Whom Man For His Own Hurt Permits To Reign Who Shifts And Changes All Things But His Shape, And Would Degrade Her Vot'ry To An Ape, The Fruitful Parent Of Abuse And Wrong, Holds A Usurp'd Dominion O'er His Tongue, There Sits And Prompts Him With His Own Disgrace, Prescribes The Theme, The Tone, And The Grimace, And When Accomplish'd In Her Wayward School, Calls Gentleman Whom She Has Made A Fool.

Go, Mark The Matchless Working Of The Power That Shuts Within The Seed The Future Flower; Bids These In Elegance Of Form Excel. In Color These, And Those Delight The Smell; Sends Nature Forth, The Daughter Of The Skies, To Dance On Earth, And Charm All Human Eyes.

As If The World And They Were Hand And Glove.

The Beggarly Last Doit.

Some Men Make Gain A Fountain, Whence Proceeds A Stream Of Liberal And Heroic Deeds; The Swell Of Pity, Not To Be Confined Within The Scanty Limits Of The Mind.

Satan Trembles When He Sees The Weakest Saint Upon Their Knees.

Greece, Sound, Thy Homer's, Rome Thy Virgil's Name, But England's Milton Equals Both In Fame.

Existence Is A Strange Bargain. Life Owes Us Little; We Owe It Everything. The Only True Happiness Comes From Squandering Ourselves For A Purpose.

Those Flimsy Webs That Break As Soon As Wrought, Attain Not To The Dignity Of Thought.

Heaven Speed The Canvas, Gallantly Unfurl'd, To Furnish And Accommodate A World, To Give The Pole The Produce Of The Sun, And Knit The Unsocial Climates Into One.

Accomplishments Have Taken Virtue's Place, And Wisdom Falls Before Exterior Grace.

[my Kitten] Is Dressed In A Tortoise-shell Suit, And I Know You Will Delight In Her.

A Fretful Temper Will Divide The Closest Knot That May Be Tied, By Ceaseless Sharp Corrosion; A Temper Passionate And Fierce May Suddenly Your Joys Disperse At One Immense Explosion.

But What Is Truth? 'twas Pilate's Question Put To Truth Itself, That Deign'd Him No Reply.

The Few That Pray At All Pray Oft Amiss.

Knowledge Is Proud That It Knows So Much; Wisdom Is Humble That It Knows No More.

To See The Law By Christ Fulfilled, And Hear His Pardoning Voice Changes A Slave Into A Child, And Duty Into Choice.

Stamps God's Own Name Upon A Lie Just Made, To Turn A Penny In The Way Of Trade.

Give What Thou Canst, Without Thee We Are Poor; And With Thee Rich, Take What Thou Wilt Away.

Religion Caesar Never Knew Thy Posterity Shall Sway, Where His Eagles Never Flew, None As Invincible As They.

As Creeping Ivy Clings To Wood Or Stone, And Hides The Ruin That It Feeds Upon, So Sophistry, Cleaves Close To, And Protects Sin's Rotten Trunk, Concealing Its Defects.

God Moves In Mysterious Ways His Wonders To Performs

All Truth Is Precious, If Not All Divine; And What Dilates The Powers Must Needs Refine.

What We Admire We Praise; And When We Praise, Advance It Into Notice, That Its Worth Acknowledged, Others May Admire It Too.

Ages Elapsed Ere Homer's Lamp Appear'd, And Ages Ere The Mantuan Swan Was Heard: To Carry Nature Lengths Unknown Before, To Give A Milton Birth, Ask'd Ages More.

His Wit Invites You By His Looks To Come, But When You Knock, It Never Is At Home.

A Life All Turbulence And Noise May Seem To Him That Leads It Wise And To Be Praised, But Wisdom Is A Pearl With Most Success Sought In Still Waters.

Poor England! Thou Art A Devoted Deer, Beset With Every Ill But That Of Fear. The Nations Hunt; All Mock Thee For A Prey; They Swarm Around Thee, And Thou Stand'st At Bay.

... She, That Will With Kittens Jest, Should Bear A Kitten's Joke.

Lived In His Saddle, Loved The Chase, The Course, And Always, Ere He Mounted, Kiss'd His Horse.

I Am Out Of Humanity's Reach.i Must Finish My Journey Alone,never Hear The Sweet Music Of Speech;i Start At The Sound Of My Own.

No Wisdom That She May Gain By Experience And Reflection Hereafter, Will Compensate The Loss Of Her Present Hilarity.

But, Oh, Thou Bounteous Giver Of All Good, Thou Art, Of All Thy Gifts, Thyself Thy Crown!

All Zeal For A Reform, That Gives Offence To Peace And Charity, Is Mere Pretence.

The Man To Solitude Accustom'd Long, Perceives In Everything That Lives A Tongue; Not Animals Alone, But Shrubs And Trees Have Speech For Him, And Understood With Ease, After Long Drought When Rains Abundant Fall, He Hears The Herbs And Flowers Rejoicing All.

Pernicious Weed! Whose Scent The Fair Annoys, Unfriendly To Society's Chief Joys: Thy Worst Effect Is Banishing For Hours The Sex Whose Presence Civilizes Ours.

Admirals Extolled For Standing Still, Or Doing Nothing With A Deal Of Skill.

No Man Can Be A Patriot On An Empty Stomach.

Detested Sport, That Owes Its Pleasures To Another's Pain.

Men Deal With Life As Children With Their Play, Who First Misuse, Then Cast Their Toys Away.

The Cares Of Today Are Seldom Those Of Tomorrow.

Laugh At All You Trembled At Before.

Whoever Keeps An Open Ear For Tattlers Will Be Sure To Hear The Trumpet Of Contention.

Forgot The Blush That Virgin Fears Impart To Modest Cheeks, And Borrowed One From Art.

Elegant As Simplicity, And Warm As Ecstasy.

How Shall I Speak Thee, Or Thy Power Address Thou God Of Our Idolatry, The Press. . . . . Like Eden's Dead Probationary Tree, Knowledge Of Good And Evil Is From Thee.

What Is It But A Map Of Busy Life, Its Fluctuations, And Its Vast Concerns?

No One Was Ever Scolded Out Of Their Sins.

Who Loves A Garden Loves A Greenhouse Too.

Mercy To Him That Shows It, Is The Rule.

Skins May Differ, But Affection Dwells In White And Black The Same.

A Tale Should Be Judicious, Clear, Succinct; The Language Plain, And Incidents Well Link'd; Tell Not As New What Ev'ry Body Knows; And, New Or Old, Still Hasten To A Close.

Anticipated Rents, And Bills Unpaid, Force Many A Shining Youth Into The Shade, Not To Redeem His Time, But His Estate, And Play The Fool, But At The Cheaper Rate.

For 'tis A Truth Well Known To Most, That Whatsoever Thing Is Lost, We Seek It, Ere It Comes To Light, In Every Cranny But The Right.

Religion! What Treasure Untold Resides In That Heavenly Word!

...so Let Us Welcome Peaceful Evening In.

Fancy, Like The Finger Of A Clock, Runs The Great Circuit, And Is Still At Home.

Religion Does Not Censure Or Exclude Unnumbered Pleasures, Harmlessly Pursued.

But Poverty, With Most Who Whimper Forth Their Long Complaints, Is Self-inflicted Woe; The Effect Of Laziness, Or Sottish Write.

Where Penury Is Felt The Thought Is Chain'd, And Sweet Colloquial Pleasures Are But Few.

But Still Remember, If You Mean To Please, To Press Your Point With Modesty And Ease.

Thus Happiness Depends, As Nature Shows, Less On Exterior Things Than Most Suppose.

Now Stir The Fire, And Close The Shutters Fast, Let Fall The Curtains, Wheel The Sofa Around, And While The Bubbling And Loud-hissing Urn Throws Up A Steamy Column, And The Cups That Cheer But Not Inebriate, Wait On Each, So Let Us Welcome Peaceful Evening In

An Epigram Is But A Feeble Thing - With Straw In Tail, Stuck There By Way Of Sting.

A Christian's Wit Is Offensive Light, A Beam That Aids, But Never Grieves The Sight; Vig'rous In Age As In The Flush Of Youth, 'tis Always Active On The Side Of Truth.

And The Tear That Is Wiped With A Little Address, May Be Follow'd Perhaps By A Smile.

I Would Not Enter On My List Of Friends (though Graced With Polished Manners And Fine Sense, Yet Wanting Sensibility) The Man Who Needlessly Sets Foot Upon A Worm.

Far Happier Are The Dead Methinks Than They Who Look For Death And Fear It Every Day.

Forced From Home, And All Its Pleasures, Afric Coast I Left Forlorn; To Increase A Stranger's Treasures, O The Raging Billows Borne. Men From England Bought And Sold Me, Paid My Price In Paltry Gold; But, Though Theirs They Have Enroll'd Me, Minds Are Never To Be Sold.

Some Drill And Bore The Solid Earth, And From The Strata There Extract A Register, By Which We Learn, That He Who Made It, And Reveal'd Its Date To Moses, Was Mistaken In Its Age.

Restraining Prayer, We Cease To Fight; Prayer Keeps The Christian's Armor Bright; And Satan Trembles When He Sees The Weakest Saint Upon His Knees.

Reasoning At Every Step He Treads, Man Yet Mistakes His Way, Whilst Meaner Things, Whom Instinct Leads, Are Rarely Known To Stray.

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