Nor Rural Sights Alone, But Rural Sounds,

The Fall Of Waters And The Song Of Birds, And Hills That Echo To The Distant Berds, Are Luxuries Excelling All The Glare The World Can Boast, And Her Chief Favorites Share.

Slaves Cannot Breathe In England; If Their Lungs Receive Our Air, That Moment They Are Free; They Touch Our Country, And Their Shackles Fall.

Ye Therefore Who Love Mercy, Teach Your Sons To Love It, Too.

It Chills My Blood To Hear The Blest Supreme Rudely Appealed To On Each Trifling Theme.

How Various His Employments Whom The World Calls Idle; And Who Justly In Return Esteems That Busy World An Idler Too!