Extol Not Riches Then, The Toil Of

O Loss Of Sight, Of Thee I Most Complain! Blind Among Enemies, O Worse Than Chains, Dungeon Or Beggary, Or Decrepit Age! Light, The Prime Work Of God, To Me Is Extinct, And All Her Various Objects Of Delight Annulled, Which Might In Part My Grief Have Eased. Inferior To The Vilest Now Become Of Man Or Worm; The Vilest Here Excel Me, They Creep, Yet See; I, Dark In Light, Exposed To Daily Fraud, Contempt, Abuse And Wrong, Within Doors, Or Without, Still As A Fool, In Power Of Others, Never In My Own; Scarce Half I Seem To Live, Dead More Than Half.

What Need A Man Forestall His Date Of Grief, And Run To Meet What He Would Most Avoid?.

He 's Gone, And Who Knows How He May Report Thy Words By Adding Fuel To The Flame?

Let Not England Forget Her Precedence Of Teaching Nations How To Live.

See Golden Days, Fruitful Of Golden Deeds, With Joy And Love Triumphing.