In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.

The few that pray at all pray oft amiss.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.

O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.

Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another's pain.

We are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger.

Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.