His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.

The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.

The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.

So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.

What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?

Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.