Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes.
They only babble who practise not reflection
Pity swells the tide of love.
Creation sleeps! 'T is as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause,- An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
He sins against this life, who slights the next.
And friend received with thumps upon the back.