Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.

Presumptuous Man! the reason wouldst thou find,Why form'd so weak, so little, and so blind?First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess,Why form'd no weaker, blinder, and no less!Ask of thy mother earth, why oaks are madeTaller or stronger than the weeds they shade?Or ask of yonder argent fields above,Why Jove's Satellites are less than Jove?

Pleas'd look forward, pleas'd to look behind,And count each birthday with a grateful mind.

Where's the man who counsel can bestow, still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know.

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.

To observations which ourselves we make, we grow more partial for th' observer's sake.