Comfort and indolence are cronies.
It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm further off from heaven Than when I was a boy.
How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees of an industrious turn, willing, for an infinitesimal share of the honey, to undertake the labor of its fabrication.
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!