Let Cheerfulness On Happy Fortune Wait.

To Die Is Landing On Some Distant Shore.

I Strongly Wish For What I Faintly Hope; Like The Daydreams Of Melancholy Men, I Think And Think In Things Impossible, Yet Love To Wander In That Golden Maze.

And After Hearing What Our Church Can Say, If Still Our Reason Runs Another Way, That Private Reason 'tis More Just To Curb, Than By Disputes The Public Peace Disturb; For Points Obscure Are Of Small Use To Learn, But Common Quiet Is Mankind's Concern.

Not Judging Truth To Be In Nature Better Than Falsehood, But Setting A Value Upon Both According To Interest.

Music Is Inarticulate Poesy.