Absence Of Occupation Is Not Rest.

When From Soft Love Proceeds The Deep Distress, Ah! Why Forbid The Willing Tears To Flow?

In The Vast, And The Minute, We See The Unambiguous Footsteps Of The God, Who Gives Its Lustre To An Insect's Wing And Wheels His Throne Upon The Rolling Worlds.

As If The World And They Were Hand And Glove.

Vice Stings Us Even In Our Pleasures, But Virtue Consoles Us Even In Our Pains.

Blest Be The Art That Can Immortalize,--the Art That Baffles Time's Tyrannic Claim To Quench It.