Folly Ends Where Genuine Hope Begins.

Stamps God's Own Name Upon A Lie Just Made, To Turn A Penny In The Way Of Trade.

Riches Have Wings, And Grandeur Is A Dream.

Admirals Extolled For Standing Still, Or Doing Nothing With A Deal Of Skill.

But Conversation, Choose What Theme We May, And Chiefly When Religion Leads The Way, Should Flow, Like Waters After Summer Show'rs, Not As If Raised By Mere Mechanic Powers.

How Soft The Music Of Those Village Bells, Falling At Interval Upon The Ear In Cadence Sweet; Now Dying All Away, Now Pealing Loud Again, And Louder Still, Clear And Sonorous, As The Gale Comes On! With Easy Force It Opens All The Cells Where Memory Slept.