Could A Man Live By It, It

Some Fleeting Good, That Mocks Me With The View.

We Sometimes Had Those Little Rubs Which Providence Sends To Enhance The Value Of Its Favors.

At Night Returning, Every Labour Sped, He Sits Him Down, The Monarch Of A Shed; Smiles By His Cheerful Fire, And Round Surveys His Children's Looks, That Brighten At The Blaze; While His Lov'd Partner, Boastful Of Her Hoard, Displays Her Cleanly Platter On The Board.

In All My Wanderings Round This World Of Care, In All My Griefs-and God Has Given My Share- I Still Had Hopes My Latest Hours To Crown, Amidst These Humble Bowers To Lay Me Down.

Teach Erring Man To Spurn The Rage Of Gain.