But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.
To the Elysian shades dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.
On cold December fragrant chaplets blow, And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.
Hope springs eternal.
Be thou the first true merit to befriend, his praise is lost who stays till all commend.
In faith and hope the world will disagree, but all mankind's concern is charity.