Virtue alone has majesty in death.

By night an atheist half-believes in God.

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

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.

We push time from us, and we wish him back; * * * * * * Life we think long and short; death seek and shun.

A Deity believed, is joy begun; A Deity adored, is joy advanced; A Deity beloved, is joy matured. Each branch of piety delight inspires.

O let me be undone the common way, And have the common comfort to be pity'd, And not be ruin'd in the mask of bliss, And so be envy'd, and be wretched too!