Beauty Is Nature's Coin, Must Not Be

Hope Allows Us To Bid Farewell To Fear.

And Storied Windows Richly Dight, Casting A Dim Religious Light. There Let The Pealing Organ Blow, To The Full-voiced Choir Below, In Service High, And Anthems Clear As May, With Sweetness, Through Mine Ear Dissolve Me Into Ecstasies, And Bring All Heaven Before Mine Eyes.

License They Mean When They Cry Liberty; For Who Loves That, Must First Be Wise And Good.

Love Virtue, She Alone Is Free, She Can Teach Ye How To Climb Higher Than The Sphery Chime; Or, If Virtue Feeble Were, Heav'n Itself Would Stoop To Her.

Ere The Blabbing Eastern Scout, The Nice Morn, On Th' Indian Steep From Her Cabin'd Loop-hole Peep.