Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd and make the learned smile.

Happy the man whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, content to breathe his native air in his own ground.

And seem to walk on wings, and tread in air.

Know, Nature's children all divide her care, The fur that warms a monarch warmed a bear.

Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

These riches are possess'd, but not enjoy'd!

Genuine religion is not so much a matter of feeling as a matter of principle.