Our Sight Is The Most Perfect And

In Rising Sighs And Falling Tears.

When All Thy Mercies, O My God, My Rising Soul Surveys, Transported With The View I'm Lost, In Wonder, Love And Praise.

Riches Expose A Man To Pride And Luxury, And A Foolish Elation Of Heart.

Soon As The Evening Shades Prevail, The Moon Takes Up The Wondrous Tale, And Nightly To The Listening Earth Repeats The Story Of Her Birth.

This Not In Mortals To Command Success, But We'll Do More, Sempronius, We'll Deserve It.