O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
There is a luxury in self-dispraise; And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
Love betters what is best
Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!