A Self-made Man? Yes, And One Who

This Cabin, Mary, In My Sight Appears, Built As It Has Been In Our Waning Years, A Rest Afforded To Our Weary Feet, Preliminary To - The Last Retreat.

Mansions Once Knew Their Own Masters, And Laborious Hinds, That Had Surviv'd The Father, Serv'd The Son. Now The Legitimate And Rightful Lord Is But A Transient Guest, Newly Arrived, And Soon To Be Supplanted. He That Saw His Patrimonial Timber Cast Its Leaf, Sells The Last Scantling, And Transfers The Price To Some Shrewd Sharper Ere It Buds Again. Estates Are Landscapes, Gazed Upon Awhile, Then Advertised And Auctioneer'd Away.

He That Negotiates Between God And Man, As God's Ambassador, The Grand Concerns Of Judgment And Of Mercy, Should Beware Of Lightness In His Speech.

Forgot The Blush That Virgin Fears Impart To Modest Cheeks, And Borrowed One From Art.

But Conversation, Choose What Theme We May, And Chiefly When Religion Leads The Way, Should Flow, Like Waters After Summer Show'rs, Not As If Raised By Mere Mechanic Powers.