To God, thy country, and thy friend be true.

Man hath still either toys or care: But hath no root, nor to one place is tied, but ever restless and irregular, about this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where; He says it is so far, that he has quite forgot how to go there.

I saw Eternity the other night Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm as it was bright.

As men are killed by fighting, the truth is lost in disputing.

If thou canst but thither, There grows the flower of Peace, The Rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress and thy ease.

So stick up ivy and the bays, and then restore the heathen ways, green will remind you of the Spring, though this great day denies the thing, and mortifies the earth, and all, but your wild revels, and loose hall.

They are all gone into the world of light, and I alone sit lingering here.