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Tis Providence Alone Secures In Every Change Both Mine And Yours.

-William Cowper

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Tis Providence Alone Secures

William Cowper

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Tis Providence Alone Secures In Every Change Both Mine And Yours.

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How Sweet, How Passing Sweet, Is Solitude! But Grant Me Still A Friend In My Retreat, Whom I May Whisper, Solitude Is Sweet.

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

Ye Therefore Who Love Mercy, Teach Your Sons To Love It, Too.

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

And In That Hour, The Seeds Of Cruelty, That Since Have Swell'd To Such Gigantic And Enormous Growth, Were Sown In Human Nature's Fruitful Soil. Hence Date The Persecution And The Pain That Man Inflicts On All Inferior Kinds, Regardless Of Their Plaints.

Some To The Fascination Of A Name, Surrender Judgment Hoodwinked.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

In Man Or Woman, But Far Most In Man, And Most Of All In Man That Ministers, And Serves The Altar, In My Soul I Loathe All Affectation. 'tis My Perfect Scorn: Object Of My Implacable Disgust.

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

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

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

Strange As It May Seem, The Most Ludicrous Lines I Ever Wrote Have Been Written In The Saddest Mood.

A Moral, Sensible, And Well-bred Manwill Not Affront Me, And No Other Can.

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.

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.

As If The World And They Were Hand And Glove.

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

Pleasure Is Labour Too, And Tires As Much.

Elegant As Simplicity, And Warm As Ecstasy.

Blest Be The Art That Can Immortalize,--the Art That Baffles Time's Tyrannic Claim To Quench It.

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.

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

Gardening Imparts An Organic Perspective On The Passage Of Time.

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

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

No Man Can Be A Patriot On An Empty Stomach.

How Much A Dunce That Has Been Sent To Roam, Excels A Dunce That Has Been Kept At Home.

When Nations Are To Perish In Their Sins, 'tis In The Church The Leprosy Begins.

There Is A Mixture Of Evil In Everything We Do; Indulgence Encourages Us To Encroach, While We Crabbe Exercise The Rights Of Children, We Become Childish.

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

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.

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

Mercy To Him That Shows It, Is The Rule.

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.

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.

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.

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

War's A Game, Which, Were Their Subjects Wise, Kings Would Not Play At.

The Cross! There, And There Only (though The Deist Rave, And The Atheist, If Earth Bears So Base A Slave); There And There Only, Is The Power To Save.

How Readily We Wish Time Spent Revoked, That We Might Try The Ground Again Where Once--through Inexperience, As We Now Perceive--we Missed That Happiness We Might Have Found!

Sacred Interpreter Of Human Thought, How Few Respect Or Use Thee As They Ought! But All Shall Give Account Of Every Wrong, Who Dare Dishonor Or Defile The Tongue; Who Prostitute It In The Cause Of Vice, Or Sell Their Glory At A Market-price!

Meditation Here May Think Down Hours To Moments. Here The Heart May Give A Useful Lesson To The Head And Learning Wiser Grow Without His Books.

I Was A Poet Too; But Modern Taste Is So Refined And Delicate And Chaste, That Verse, Whatever Fire The Fancy Warms, Without A Creamy Smoothness Has No Charms. Thus, All Success Depending On An Ear, And Thinking I Might Purchase It Too Dear, If Sentiment Were Sacrific'd To Sound, And Truth Cut Short To Make A Period Round, I Judg'd A Man Of Sense Could Scarce Do Worse Than Caper In The Morris-dance Of Verse.

Built God A Church And Laughed His Word To Scorn.

Happy The Man Who Sees A God Employed In All The Good And Ills That Checker Life.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

The Beggarly Last Doit.

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

Hast Thou Not Learnd What Thou Art Often Told, A Truth Still Sacred, And Believed Of Old, That No Success Attends On Spears And Swords Unblest, And That The Battle Is The Lords?

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.

A Noisy Man Is Always In The Right.

The Still Small Voice Is Wanted.

I Have A Kitten,the Drollest Of All Creatures That Ever Wore A Cat's Skin.

Laugh At All You Trembled At Before.

Folly Ends Where Genuine Hope Begins.

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.

To Trace In Nature's Most Minute Design The Signature And Stamp Of Power Divine. ... The Invisible In Things Scarce Seen Revealed, To Whom An Atom Is An Ample Field.

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

Remorse, The Fatal Egg That Pleasure Laid.

Some Write A Narrative Of Wars And Feats, Of Heroes Little Known, And Call The Rant A History.

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

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.

There Is A Pleasure In Poetic Pains / Which Only Poets Know.

The Path Of Sorrow, And That Path Alone, Leads To The Land Where Sorrow Is Unknown.

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

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.

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 Parable Of The Prodigal Son, The Most Beautiful Fiction That Ever Was Invented; Our Saviour's Speech To His Disciples, With Which He Closed His Earthly Ministrations, Full Of The Sublimest Dignity And Tenderest Affection, Surpass Everything That I Ever Read; And Like The Spirit By Which They Were Dictated, Fly Directly To The Heart.

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

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

...so Let Us Welcome Peaceful Evening In.

Religion! What Treasure Untold Resides In That Heavenly Word!

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

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

We Are Never More In Danger Than When We Think Ourselves Most Secure, Nor In Reality More Secure Than When We Seem To Be Most In Danger.

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

Where Thou Art Gone, Adieus And Farewells Are A Sound Unknown.

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.

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

Mountains Interposed Make Enemies Of Nations, Who Had Else Like Kindred Drops Been Mingled Into One.

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

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.

The Innocent Seldom Find An Uncomfortable Pillow.

No One Was Ever Scolded Out Of Their Sins.

God Moves In A Mysterious Way His Wonders To Perform; He Plants His Footsteps In The Sea, And Rides Upon The Storm. Deep In Unfathomable Mines Of Never Failing Skill He Treasures Up His Bright Designs, And Works His Sovereign Will. Ye Fearful Saints Fresh Courage Take, The Clouds Ye So Much Dread Are Big With Mercy, And Shall Break In Blessings On Your Head. Judge Not The Lord By Feeble Sense, But Trust Him For His Grace; Behind A Frowning Providence He Hides A Smiling Face.

Perhaps Thou Gav'st Me, Though Unseen, A Kiss; Perhaps A Tear, If Souls Can Weep In Bliss.

This Cabin, Mary, In My Sight Appears, Built As It Has Been In Our Waning Years, A Rest Afforded To Our Weary Feet, Preliminary To - The Last Retreat.

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.

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

Toil For The Brave! The Brave That Are No More.

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.

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 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.

The Man That Hails You Tom Or Jack, And Proves By Thumps Upon Your Back How He Esteems Your Merit, Is Such A Friend, That One Had Need Be Very Much His Friend Indeed To Pardon Or To Bear It.

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

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

Spare Feast! A Radish And An Egg.

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

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.

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."

The Few That Pray At All Pray Oft Amiss.

He That Runs May Read.

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

Still Ending, And Beginning Still.

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.

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

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

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

I Seem Forsaken And Alone, / I Hear The Lion Roar; / And Every Door Is Shut But One, / And That Is Mercy's Door.

Misery Still Delights To Trace Its Semblance In Another's Case.

There Is In Souls A Sympathy With Sounds: And As The Mind Is Pitch'd The Ear Is Pleased With Melting Airs, Or Martial, Brisk Or Grave; Some Chord In Unison With What We Hear Is Touch'd Within Us, And The Heart Replies.

Domestic Happiness, Thou Only Bliss Of Paradise That Has Surviv'd The Fall!

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

The Solemn Fop; Significant And Budge; A Fool With Judges, Amongst Fools A Judge

God Made Bees, And Bees Made Honey, God Made Man, And Man Made Money, Pride Made The Devil, And The Devil Made Sin; So God Made A Cole-pit To Put The Devil In.

When From Soft Love Proceeds The Deep Distress, Ah! Why Forbid The Willing Tears To Flow?

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.

All Flesh Is Grass. And All Its Glory Fades Like The Fair Flower Dishevell'd In The Wind; Riches Have Wings, And Grandeur Is A Dream; The Man We Celebrate Must Find A Tomb, And We That Worship Him, Ignoble Graves.

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?

The Only Amaranthine Flower On Earth Is Virtue; The Only Lasting Treasure, Truth.

O Winter! Ruler Of The Inverted Year, . . . I Crown Thee King Of Intimate Delights, Fireside Enjoyments, Home-born Happiness, And All The Comforts That The Lowly Roof Of Undisturbed Retirement, And The Hours Of Long Uninterrupted Evening, Know.

Tea - The Cups That Cheer But Not Inebriate.

Absence Of Occupation Is Not Rest.

The Parson Knows Enough Who Knows A Duke.

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.

Words Learn'd By Rote A Parrot May Rehearse, But Talking Is Not Always To Converse, Not More Distinct From Harmony Divine The Constant Creaking Of A Country Sign.

God Made The Country, And Man Made The Town.

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

Truth Is The Golden Girdle Of The Globe.

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

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

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

There Is No Flesh In Man's Obdurate Heart; He Does Not Feel For Man.

How Happy It Is To Believe, With A Steadfast Assurance, That Our Petitions Are Heard Even While We Are Making Them; And How Delightful To Meet With A Proof Of It In The Effectual And Actual Grant Of Them.

Most Satirists Are Indeed A Public Scourge; Their Mildest Physic Is A Farrier's Purge; Their Acrid Temper Turns, As Soon As Stirr'd, The Milk Of Their Good Purpose All To Curd. Their Zeal Begotten, As Their Works Rehearse, By Lean Despair Upon An Empty Purse.

We Sacrifice To Dress Till Household Joys And Comforts Cease. Dress Drains Our Cellar Dry, And Keeps Our Larder Lean.

Unmissed But By His Dogs And By His Groom.

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.

Where Men Of Judgment Creep And Feel Their Way, The Positive Pronounce Without Dismay.

That Good Diffused May More Abundant Grow.

Our Love Is Principle, And Has Its Root In Reason, Is Judicious, Manly, Free.

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

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.

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.

Tis Providence Alone Secures In Every Change Both Mine And Yours.

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

Heaven's Harmony Is Universal Love.

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.

Nature, Exerting An Unwearied Power, Forms, Opens, And Gives Scent To Every Flower; Spreads The Fresh Verdure Of The Field, And Leads The Dancing Naiads Through The Dewy Meads.

Riches Have Wings, And Grandeur Is A Dream.

There Is In Souls A Sympathy With Sounds.

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.

No, Freedom Has A Thousand Charms To Show That Slaves, Howe'er Contented, Never Know.

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

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.

In A Fleshly Tomb, I Am Buried Above Ground.

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.

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

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.

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

The Proud Are Ever Most Provoked By Pride.

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.

Knowledge, A Rude Unprofitable Mass, The Mere Materials With Which Wisdom Builds, Till Smoothed And Squared And Fitted To Its Place, Does But Encumber Whom It Seems To Enrich. Knowledge Is Proud That He Has Learned So Much; Wisdom Is Humble That He Knows No More.

I Would Not Have A Slave To Till My Ground, To Carry Me, To Fan Me While I Sleep, And Tremble When I Wake, For All The Wealth That Sinews Bought And Sold Have Ever Earn'd.

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

If Hindrances Obstruct The Way, Thy Magnanimity Display. And Let Thy Strength Be Seen: But O, If Fortune Fill Thy Sail With More Than A Propitious Gale, Take Half Thy Canvas In.

God Never Meant That Man Should Scale The Heavens By Strides Of Human Wisdom. In His Works, Though Wondrous, He Commands Us In His Word To Seek Him Rather Where His Mercy Shines.

A Heretic, My Dear Sir, Is A Fellow Who Disagrees With You Regarding Something Neither Of You Knows Anything About.

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.

O Winter, Ruler Of The Inverted Year!

But Animated Nature Sweeter Still, To Soothe And Satisfy The Human Ear.

Some People Are More Nice Than Wise.

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.

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

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.

Ten Thousand Casks, Forever Dribbling Out Their Base Contents, Touch'd By The Midas Finger Of The State, Bleed Gold For Ministers To Sport Away. Drink, And Be Mad Then; 'tis Your Country Bids!

Twere Better To Be Born A Stone Of Ruder Shape, And Feeling None, Than With A Tenderness Like Mine And Sensibilities So Fine! Ah, Hapless Wretch! Condemn'd To Dwell Forever In My Native Shell, Ordained To Move When Others Please, Not For My Own Content Or Ease; But Toss'd And Buffeted About, Now In The Water And Now Out.

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.

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

And Hast Thou Sworn On Every Slight Pretence, Till Perjuries Are Common As Bad Pence, While Thousands, Careless Of The Damning Sin, Kiss The Book's Outside, Who Ne'er Look'd Within?

He Finds His Fellow Guilty Of A Skin Not Color'd Like His Own, And Having Pow'r T' Enforce The Wrong, For Such A Worthy Cause Dooms And Devotes Him As His Lawful Prey.

The Only Amarantine Flower On Earth Is Virtue.

Just Knows, And Knows No More, Her Bible True,- A Truth The Brilliant Frenchman Never Knew.

Religion, Richest Favor Of The Skies.

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

The Mind, Relaxing Into Needful Sport, Should Turn To Writers Of An Abler Sort, Whose Wit Well Managed, And Whose Classic Style, Give Truth A Lustre, And Make Wisdom Smile.

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

How Fleet Is A Glance Of The Mind! Compared With The Speed Of Its Flight, The Tempest Itself Lags Behind, And The Swift-winged Arrows Of Light.

The Kindest And The Happiest Pair Will Find Occasion To Forbear; And Something, Every Day They Live, To Pity, And Perhaps Forgive.

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