Reason saw not, till Faith sprung the Light.

Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.

If you have lived, take thankfully the past. Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last.

But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.

Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.

He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.

For they can conquer who believe they can.