Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far,-but far above the great.

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.

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

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

Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Confusion on thy banners wait! Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state.

The still small voice of gratitude.

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.