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.

Know then this truth, enough for man to know virtue alone is happiness below.

On cold December fragrant chaplets blow, And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.

A wise physician, skill'd our wounds to heal, is more than armies to the public weal.

To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite, who never mentions hell to ears polite.

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

An excuse is worse and more terrible than a lie; for an excuse is a lie guarded.