O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

Trials make the promise sweet, Trials give new life to prayer; Trials bring me to His feet, Lay me low, and keep me there.

Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.

When nations are to perish in their sins, 'tis in the Church the leprosy begins.

Th' embroid'ry of poetic dreams.

Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy.

Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.