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

Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.

The Dying Christian to His Soul (1712) -Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! Stanza 1.

No Senses stronger than his brain can bear. Why has not Man a microscopic eye? For this plain reason, Man is not a Fly: What the advantage, if his finer eyes Study a Mite, not comprehend the Skies?... Or quick Effluvia darting thro' his brain, Die of a Rose, in Aromatic pain? If Nature thunder'd in his opening ears, And stunn'd him with the music of the Spheres... Who finds not Providence all-good and wise, Alike in what it gives, and what denies?

Many men have been capable of doing a wise thing, more a cunning thing, but very few a generous thing.

chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd.

While pensive poets painful vigils keep, Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.