The sickening pang of hope deferr'd.
We often praise the evening clouds, And tints so gay and bold, But seldom think upon our God, Who tinged these clouds with gold.
Commend me to sterling honesty though clad in rags.
The paths of virtue, though seldom those of worldly greatness, are always those of pleasantness and peace.
Give me an honest laugher.
The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears. The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.