And The Earth Self-balanced On Her Centre

The Pilot Of The Galilean Lake; Two Massy Keys He Bore, Of Metals Twain (the Golden Opes, The Iron Shuts Amain).

Nor Jealousy Was Understood, The Injur'd Lover's Hell.

And Oft, Though Wisdom Wake, Suspicion Sleeps At Wisdom's Gate, And To Simplicity Resigns Her Charge, While Goodness Thinks No Ill Where No Ill Seems.

Hide Me From Day's Garish Eye.

Few Sometimes May Know, When Thousands Err.