Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,/ The bee's collected treasure sweet,/ Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet/ The still small voice of gratitude.

Low on his funeral couch he lies!

Ah, tell them they are men!

One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.

From toil he wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful night; Rich, from the very want of wealth, In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?