The booby father craves a booby son, And by Heaven's blessing thinks himself undone.

Wonder is involuntary praise.

Death! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars.

Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume; The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound; When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam; Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.

Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings but himselfThat hideous sight,-a naked human heart.

Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.

The soft whispers of the God in man.