Sweet instinct leaps; slow reason feebly climbs.

Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed: Who does the best his circumstance allows Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.

Prayer ardent opens heaven.

Who can take Death's portrait? The tyrant never sat.

Who lives to Nature, rarely can be poor ; who lives to fancy, never can be rich.

Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, how complicate, how wonderful is man! Distinguished link in being's endless chain! Midway from nothing to the Deity! Dim miniature of greatness absolute! An heir of glory! A frail child of dust! Helpless immortal! Insect infinite! A worm! A God!