Of Manners Gentle, Of Affections Mild; In

Lend, Lend Your Wings! I Mount! I Fly! O Grave! Where Is Thy Victory? O Death! Where Is Thy Sting?

When To Mischief Mortals Bend Their Will, How Soon They Find It Instruments Of Ill.

O Peace! How Many Wars Were Waged In Thy Name.

When Much Dispute Has Past, We Find Our Tenets Just The Same As Last.

Who Finds Not Providence All Good And Wise, Alike In What It Gives, And What Denies.