What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.

Hope travels through, nor quits us when we die.

Nor Fame I slight, nor her favors call.

I am satisfied to trifle away my time, rather than let it stick by me.

That, chang'd thro' all and yet in all the same, Great in the Earth as in th' Ætherial frame, Warms in the Sun, refreshes in the Breeze, Glows in the Stars, and blossoms in the Trees... Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part... Submit - in this, or any other Sphere, Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear. 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.

What will a child learn sooner than a song?

Men would be angels, angels would be gods.