I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.
God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations.
'Tis well averred, A scientific faith's absurd.
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
Pleasure must succeed to pleasure, else past pleasure turns to pain
A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: See all, nor be afraid!