If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes.

Low on his funeral couch he lies!

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.

There are certain scenes that would awe an atheist into belief, without the help of other argument.

To each his suff'rings; all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan,- The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'T is folly to be wise.

The still small voice of gratitude.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!