Pleasure Is Labour Too, And Tires As

Reasoning At Every Step He Treads, Man Yet Mistakes His Way, Whilst Meaner Things, Whom Instinct Leads, Are Rarely Known To Stray.

In Indolent Vacuity Of Thought.

Grief Is Itself A Medicine.

There Is In Souls A Sympathy With Sounds.

But, Oh, Thou Bounteous Giver Of All Good, Thou Art, Of All Thy Gifts, Thyself Thy Crown!