Since All The Riches Of This World

Mysteries Are Not To Be Solved. They Eye Goes Blind When It Only Wants To See Why.

Does A Firm Persuasion That A Thing Is So, Make It So?

O Thou Who Passest Through Our Valleys In Thy Strength, Curb Thy Fierce Steeds, Allay The Heat That Flames From Their Large Nostrils! Thou, O Summer, Oft Pitchest Here Thy Golden Tent, And Oft Beneath Our Oaks Hast Slept, While We Beheld With Joy Thy Ruddy Limbs And Flourishing Hair.

Since The French Revolution Englishmen Are All Intermeasurable One By Another, Certainly A Happy State Of Agreement To Which I Forone Do Not Agree.

But If At Church They Would Give Some Ale. And A Pleasant Fire Our Souls To Regale. We'd Sing And We'd Pray All The Live Long Day, Nor Ever Once From The Church To Stray.